Chu Nanping sat up, breathing quietly. The sky was still so dark, he thought, so he closed his eyes to let them adjust, then opened them again and squinted into the gloom. At last, he made out a blur of shadows...
The sky didn't seem quite so dark, after all, he thought. He reached for his long sword, the precious thing he kept within arm's reach even when he slept.
There was nothing there. A little anxious, as if he'd suddenly discovered his arm had grown shorter, he fumbled faster, his movements growing more frantic.
The long sword slipped into his hand on its own. Chu Nanping started. Someone was standing beside him, and he hadn't noticed at all. If that person had been an enemy, he'd already be dead.
His left hand gripped the scabbard, his right the hilt. Chu Nanping felt a little more at ease, but the darkness grew stranger by the moment. It was a hazy white, shrouded in mist, lacking the crisp clarity of a true night.
A darker shadow shifted slightly. Chu Nanping instinctively wanted to draw his sword, but he couldn't—not because he lacked strength, but because he had no confidence in making the strike.
As a swordsman, he never stabbed blindly without a purpose. Every sword strike had a goal. A highly skilled opponent could, of course, evade it, but it was around that goal that he could unleash the complete Heartless Sword Style. Now, he could find no target. Rather than flail about and strike at random, he would rather sit still.
Gradually, he remembered. He had been about to fight the Dragon King when the lights suddenly went out, and his entire world had turned dark with them. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in this blurred,