"Rusty weapons are unusable."
Little Red Riding Hood warned from behind Linge. She was an excellent warrior, with her own insights into equipment.
"Can't it be repaired?" Linge scratched his head upon hearing this, a troubled expression on his face.
"This sword can no longer be repaired."
The girl's cold words unceremoniously extinguished Linge's last shred of fantasy. "Due to rust and nicks, the structure of this sword is incomplete. Its strength is questionable. If you use it to fight, I'm afraid it won't yield good results."
"You know a lot."
Linge stood the sword upright, examining the blade from top to bottom, looking at the marks left by lack of maintenance, his face full of regret.
"Then let's leave this sword here as a monument."
"No."
Little Red Riding Hood objected to this: "You should take it with you."
"Why?"
Linge was puzzled by the girl's sudden change.
But Little Red Riding Hood just shook her head.
"A sword is not a monument."
She continued coldly:
"A sword is for killing."
Hearing this, Linge fell into deep thought as he looked at the broken sword.
Indeed, this object before him was not a ceremonial artifact; it was certainly not a burial item.
A defiant will still resided within this sword, as if a pitch-black fire of revenge had nowhere to vent.
It was a deadly weapon, and should never be buried in the soil.
"I've decided, I'm going to fix it!"
Linge raised the sword, thrusting it straight towards the sunlight.
"Even if it's blunt, I imagine this sword would still hurt quite a bit when smashing people."
Thus, he made this rash decision.
Anyway, he had done many foolish things, one more wouldn't hurt.
"Don't you like sharp weapons?"
Behind Linge, who was engrossed in his own play, the girl asked him.
..."Perhaps, but it's strange, I seem to genuinely prefer power-type weapons."
Hearing this, Linge was somewhat absent-minded. He found the buckle on the sword and tried to strap it to his back, but the blade was too long, making it feel awkward.
Finally, he stopped and answered the question.
"After all, if I use too sharp a weapon, I always feel like there's no room for regret."
"Regret?"
The girl looked up slightly and told him solemnly.
"If your heart is filled with doubt, do not draw your sword."
She continued, "No matter the weapon, no matter the situation, the moment you draw your sword, you must never hold back."
The words were simple, and their meaning was also very straightforward.
But Linge's reply was... "I'll try."
"…"
Hearing this, Little Red Riding Hood closed her eyes and, without waiting, turned and walked into the jungle.
Did he make her angry?
Linge quickly followed, but the sword was too heavy, and the girl's steps were very light. He had to take big strides, looking disheveled, to barely keep up.
"Don't rush, too fast a pace makes it easy to miss the scenery along the way."
The girl did not respond to such words.
She seemed not to care about the scenery around her; her eyes were only on the destination.
"Please take care of a patient with osteoporosis... How about I tell you some stories?"
Linge racked his brains, carefully weighing his words, attempting to appease the girl, but he was ultimately an amateur. This feeling of not getting a response made him anxious and uncertain.
He didn't understand why Leike was angry, so he began to wonder if it was his own problem.
Perhaps it was because of his affectation.
Little Red Riding Hood was a straightforward person, and she might not like the word 'try'.
Or perhaps, she saw that Linge was avoiding the question.
Therefore, it was only natural for her to be angry.
"At least... don't leave me behind..."
Linge's voice was very low, so low that only he could hear it.
Because he hated himself for being like this, he couldn't speak loudly, couldn't express his demands directly, and could only continue to consume himself internally.
How sentimental... and humble.
Following the girl's footsteps, they walked out of the jungle. Losing the shelter of the trees, the sunlight shone directly down, plunging them into momentary darkness.
When his vision returned, he saw the girl waiting for him by the lake.
"The scenery here seems quite nice too."
Linge looked up and saw a bridge in the distance, leading straight to the center of the lake.
By then, the girl had already walked over, and he quickly followed.
When he reached the bridgehead, he discovered that there was a small whirlpool in the center of the lake.
Uh, it was then that Linge realized what the lake surface resembled—
It was like a placenta... and the sword on his back was trembling slightly.
Truly... bizarre.
"Throw your sword in."
"Huh?"
Linge didn't want to refute, but he truly couldn't understand the girl's meaning.
A sword is a deadly weapon, it should not be buried, this was what Little Red Riding Hood herself had said.
But now, she wanted him to throw it into the lake.
Was she teasing him?
Or was she holding a grudge against him?
Unable to understand, Linge did not obey blindly, but asked directly.
"I only ask, is this necessary?"
"Yes."
The girl nodded slightly, showing no emotion. She continued:
"This is a place of 'nurturing'. Throwing the sword in can grant it new life."
Hearing this, Linge hesitated for a moment, but still unfastened the sword, held it vertically above the center of the lake, and gently, released his hand.
Gurgle, gurgle... As the sword submerged, bubbles continuously rose from the lake surface, as if boiling, and then... Ahhh—Ahhhh!!!
It was a sharp, piercing scream.
Red threads floated on the lake surface, and soon, his eyes were filled with blood.
"What... what happened?"
Though the scream was sharp and ear-piercing, he could still discern it as a female voice.
"Did I just... kill a woman?"
Linge's breathing unconsciously grew heavy.
"Perhaps it's the Lady of the Lake."
Turning around, Little Red Riding Hood's face was close by. Linge jumped in fright, almost falling into the water, but the girl caught his hand.
Although he was in danger, Linge didn't feel shaken, which was strange.
"The Lady of the Lake, do you mean Viviane?"
The noble lady of the lake who, in legends, bestowed the invincible Sword of Kings upon King Arthur, nurtured and trained Lancelot, and indirectly influenced the fate of the kingdom.
Was Little Red Riding Hood referring to her?
However, Linge felt he had asked a foolish question.
The girl did not respond, but stared intently at the still-boiling lake surface.
With a splash, something shot out, scattering water everywhere.
Linge quickly pulled up his robe and stood in front of the girl.
After a while, the lake surface quieted down. Fortunately, they were not affected by the lake water.
"What... what happened?"
Linge lowered the gray hem of his clothing, watching the lake surface gradually calm down. A moment later, the lake became clear again.
He turned to look, but Little Red Riding Hood was staring intently at one spot. She pointed.
Following her gaze, he realized... it was a sword.
No longer so long, no longer rusty.
The blade seemed to have swallowed all light, as black as an abyss.
Only the edge still gleamed with a chilling cold light.
This was a veteran sword, reborn in a pool of blood. It was no longer the same, having been tainted with demonic nature, transforming into the most terrifying weapon in the world.
Or, perhaps, this was what was called the monster within the sword.
And all of this development was orchestrated by Little Red Riding Hood Leike herself.
"Have you been here before?"
This seemed like another foolish question, but Linge was actually asking for something else.
If Little Red Riding Hood had not only been here but also knew its secrets, did that mean... she was willing to share it with him because she trusted him?
"Mm."
Little Red Riding Hood nodded.
"I see..."
Linge smiled faintly as he slowly walked towards the sword.
Drawing the sword, he found that it was now about his height.
"From now on, this will be my sword, my... Black Cleave."
Linge was not good at naming things, which was quite poor for a writer.
However, he was very satisfied with this name. Although it was a simple stacking of elements, it directly expressed the sword's characteristics and ownership.
A weapon doesn't have to be called'Sword of Promised Victory'; after all, it's just a tool.
What's truly important is the wielder, the one who swings it.
Therefore, obtaining the sword was only the beginning of his training.
"Next... where are we going?"
The sword felt much handier. Linge re-strapped the sword to his back and turned to look at Little Red Riding Hood. The girl surely knew the next itinerary, so he might as well ask directly.
"Let's go."
Little Red Riding Hood took a step, and Linge quickly followed.
"How about I tell a story?"
Along the way, the usually quiet girl slowed her pace.
Linge found this strange. He tilted his head to look at the girl's face, and the girl was also looking at him.
And looking into those clear blue eyes, Linge finally realized... that the most beautiful scenery along the way had always been right beside him.
"Alright."
He nodded, "I'm all ears."
"Once upon a time, there was a woodcutter who had a very sharp axe. Every day, he would take this axe up the mountain..."
The girl began to narrate, but such a monotone delivery, without inflection, was ultimately dull and tedious.
"Afterward, the River God appeared. After understanding the situation, he sank to the bottom of the lake, retrieved a golden axe, and asked the woodcutter: 'Is this your axe?'. The woodcutter shook his head: 'No'..."
"Mm."
Linge occasionally responded as he listened to the girl's narration.
The most important thing in storytelling is courage.
And courage, naturally, is given by the audience.
Yes... Linge stopped, looking at the girl's red back.
"It's courage..."
"Because of his honesty, the River God gave all three axes to the woodcutter..."
At this point, the girl stopped, waiting for Linge to catch up.
"What happened next?"
Seeing that the girl was eager to continue the story, Linge proactively asked.
"After the woodcutter returned with the three axes, he widely publicized his experience, began drinking and reveling, became a compulsive gambler, and never went back up the mountain to chop wood. Soon after, he was heavily in debt and utterly destitute."
The girl seemed to be hitting her stride; her narration became much smoother.
"Finally, he took his last remaining possession, that rusty axe, and went to the river again. He threw the axe down..."
"Then he smashed the River God to death?"
Since he had already guessed the continuation, Linge made a clever remark here.
The girl stared at him, her icy face quite intimidating. Seeing this, Linge instinctively drew his head back.
"Alright, alright..."
Linge chuckled awkwardly, lowered his head slightly, and suggested, "How about I tell the rest of the story?"
"Mhm."
Little Red Riding Hood nodded slightly; she didn't seem to object.
"Immediately after, the axe plunged into the water with a splash. He waited and waited, from sunrise until moonrise, but the River God still did not appear."
"He wept, he howled, he cursed, because that axe was the last thing he owned. He was in genuine, heartfelt pain..."
"It wasn't until the moon turned back into the sun, his tears dried up, and his throat felt like he had swallowed hot coals, rendering him speechless, that he finally realized—"
"Perhaps, everything he had experienced was merely a fleeting dream..."
"When he descended the mountain, his back was already piled high with gathered firewood. He returned home, determined to start anew."
As he spoke, Linge wore a mocking smile.
"After this, whenever he went up the mountain, he always ran into his friends and many familiar faces."
"But these guys would always curse him out upon seeing him..."
"Where is this so-called River God?"
The story ended.
Adaptation is not fabrication; Linge felt he had done a decent job.
But the girl's face remained icy, making it difficult for him to get any feedback.
This made him restless and unable to control his impatience.
"How... how was it?"
Linge asked cautiously.
"Very good."
Little Red Riding Hood responded simply, almost dismissively.
"I'm sorry."
Linge immediately began apologizing.
"I apologize for suddenly interrupting you."
He looked at Leike's face and felt utterly despicable.
Just because the story's development didn't suit his taste, he heavily edited and rewrote it.
After that, it became his story. What did its quality have to do with the girl?
This was outrageous, especially since the girl had been so serious... "Now that I think about it, missing out on your story is truly a pity."
Linge scratched his head, his face full of shame.
That's just how he was—always self-absorbed and easily immersed in his own world.
It was also his fault for being too smart; he had guessed the subsequent development just from the girl's earlier narration.
He neither liked nor wished to acknowledge such a cruel story.
"Is that so..."
Little Red Riding Hood continued forward. As she passed Linge, a faint smile seemed to appear on her face.
"I really like your story."
"Is that right..."
Linge, feeling relieved, smiled and followed her.
The girl stopped when she reached the riverbank. She looked at a vortex not far away, speaking as if to herself.
"So, how could there be any gods in this world?"
"Indeed. If you use both hands to pray, what is left to hold a sword..."
Linge sighed deeply from behind her.
"That's very true, but..."
Little Red Riding Hood turned around. She extended her hand, "Are you ready?"
"Huh?"
Linge hesitated for a moment, then reached out and grasped the girl's hand.
Immediately, there was a tremendous pull as the girl dragged Linge, and they both plummeted into the river.
Stop kidding! Since there's no River God in this world, there won't be any Golden Linge or Silver Linge, much less Golden Little Red Riding Hood or Silver Little Red Riding Hood... So where... are you taking me?
Forget it, whatever happens, happens... Linge then tightly closed his eyes, feeling the increasingly intense pressure of the river water all over his body.
He was very calm, not thrashing about like a typical drowning person. This wasn't strange, because his hand was still being tightly held.
After an unknown amount of time, perhaps very quickly.
"Hoo! Hoo..."
He glanced around. It was very dark, but there was a faint, fluctuating light. It seemed they were at the riverbed, confirmed by the surrounding seaweed and reefs.
"I can breathe..."
Linge was slightly surprised. He looked up, seeing the glittering light rippling above, revealing a hazy brightness.
He waved his hand and felt as if he was being propelled, which astonished him.
"This truly defies common sense..."
"Mhm."
Little Red Riding Hood had been standing there for a while. Seeing that Linge accepted the situation quickly, she started walking in one direction.
Linge re-sheathed his sword and followed her pace.
Then, the two entered a cave where they could breathe, but it was strewn with skeletons and filled with dazzling light. There was a huge stone block, like a tombstone on land, and a platform deeper inside.
"Has someone been here?" Linge looked at the surrounding skeletons, confusion on his face.
Were these things washed in by the river?
If so, how could that massive tombstone be explained?
"I don't know."
Little Red Riding Hood responded simply. She closed her eyes, listening quietly. A moment later, an expression of 'just as expected' appeared on her face.
"It's not dead yet."
"Huh?"
Following Little Red Riding Hood's gaze, Linge saw an abyss that looked like a scar.
It was not dark there; instead, the colors were gorgeous and captivating.
There was a massive skeleton, the remains of a fish, resting there... "This is the 'God's Young Fish.' It died by my hand once," said Little Red Riding Hood.
No... but Linge felt a resonance, and he could see clearly.
It was a dark, black flame, like a wisp of smoke, gathering toward a certain spot.
Gradually, it formed a vortex, resembling a pitch-black sun at the bottom of the water.
Suddenly, there was a loud tremor.
It was muffled yet pervasive.
The black magic receded, revealing a blood-red heart.
Subsequently, blood vessels and nerves swayed in the deep water, like bright red, transparent seaweed. Then, they intertwined, sketching out linear contours that tightly attached to the skeleton... And the eyes, which had formed unnoticed, quietly turned.
In just an instant, its musculature was completely repaired, and the outline of its skin appeared. Its blood gills pumped, and it violently thrashed its tail, changing position immediately. It opened its abyssal maw, and an irresistible suction force appeared... Linge and Leike were precisely its targets... The two facing the abyss were enveloped by the current, unable to move, and were then easily swallowed.
Following that was total darkness.
"It really is alive..."
Little Red Riding Hood's voice rang out beside him.
But... the world instantly flipped upside down. Linge quickly used his sword to anchor himself and reached out to pull Little Red Riding Hood.
Without needing to look, merely following the pull of fate, his hand grasped something—that warm and very familiar feeling.
He held on.
Buzz—
Leike waved flames from her hand, and tiny sparks filled the cavity.
"That's quite dangerous..."
Linge muttered, looking at the concentrated flames.
Currently, their location was equivalent to a sealed room; rashly starting a fire could easily lead to fatal consequences.
But explaining this now was clearly pointless. After a fierce tremor, illuminated by the firelight, they saw... a thick, green liquid rushing toward them.
"How strange, that's disgusting!"
He could tell immediately that this substance was highly corrosive. As the floodwaters approached, Linge felt physically ill.
"Please calm down..."
The girl's soft voice was by his ear. She continued:
"If you hear something, then sing it out boldly."
There was no time to think about what she meant; the massive green wave had already struck, submerging them both.
Linge felt pain; the skin all over his body felt scorched.
Is this... magic power?
In the current, Linge seemed to perceive something.
It wasn't sight, nor hearing, nor even touch... rather, it transcended all senses, weaving together all information, where the abstract and the real converged, as if... the soul had opened its eyes.
"This is precisely the so-called Sixth Sense, the so-called 'Heart Perception'... isn't it?"
As a writer, Linge was more knowledgeable than the average person, but at this moment, he doubted whether this strange perspective could even be defined by humans.
Subsequently, he discovered that from this perspective, the flood that swept over them was interwoven with dark green colors; it wasn't merely magic power, but something much more viscous.
And this meant that its target was definitely not just their flesh and blood; it was targeting their souls!
Linge thought helplessly that if he were to describe this with a straightforward term, it would be'Soul Melting Soup.'
In other words... could this be the River Styx?!
Wait, it seems... could the sound the girl mentioned earlier be echoing here?
Linge's heart suddenly jumped. He tried to calm himself down, and soon, he perceived that long, light melody, a tune lingering between life and death that refused to dissipate. He began to hum along.
As he hummed, he instantly felt a sharp pain—his soul was enduring a sense of oppression, as if... Death was whispering behind him!
This was the Requiem.
A powerful ability, followed by an expensive price to pay.
But as for the soul, if you want it... then take it!
Lingering between life and death, in the seam between the Netherworld and the Human Realm, the same melody echoed.
Hand in hand, yes, they had already mortgaged their souls to the Devil. The two of them were fellow travelers on the Road to the Yellow Springs.