At first, Jiang Siming really was only using his First Martial Soul in a reasonable way. He treated his Martial Soul as nothing more than a weapon, forgetting that a Martial Soul was innate, hidden within a Soul Master's body.
Why was it that once Weapon Martial Soul Soul Masters cultivated their abilities, they were bound to become powerful?
The difference between Beast Martial Souls and Weapon Martial Souls was that Beast Martial Soul Soul Masters never needed to think about their weapons, because their bodies were their weapons. As a result, they felt a powerful sense of identification with their Martial Souls.
Weapon Martial Soul Soul Masters, on the other hand, always treated their Martial Souls as external objects. They couldn't unite with their weapons or use them flexibly from the heart. Weapon Soul Masters of the same level as Titled Douluo were stronger because Weapon Martial Souls required insight. Beast Martial Souls came with a natural sense of identification, but without insight, they couldn't unleash greater power. A person's time was limited. Who would spend so much time understanding their Martial Soul instead of cultivating?
Weapon Soul Masters, however, had no choice but to spend time understanding their Martial Souls. That was why, among high-level Soul Masters of the same rank, Weapon Soul Masters were stronger.
Asura Battlefield
Who knew how much time had passed?
Jiang Siming kept swinging the Immortal Extinction Sword, gradually forgetting where he was. The sword intent around him grew stronger and stronger, as if it would tear this White Space apart.
At last, Jiang Siming abruptly stopped and pointed the Immortal Extinction Sword at the sky. The sword turned into flecks of golden light and merged into Jiang Siming's body.
At that moment, Jiang Siming seemed to be a sword, and the sword was him. The Immortal Extinction Sword's fierce sword intent surged from the crown of his head.
"The sword's intent is truly unfathomable. Is it that the sword became me? Or was the sword always me?" Jiang Siming shook his head helplessly. At some point, the wounds on his body had already healed. With that, Jiang Siming restrained his sword intent.
"Whatever the reason I came to this White Space, it seems I need to earn the recognition of the other three swords." Jiang Siming shook his head helplessly.
It turned out he had never understood his Martial Soul. He had only treated it as a tool. Could a power that was strong for no reason, without any thought behind it, really be reliable? If he gained a power without knowing where it came from, when might it leave him?
After thinking it over, Jiang Siming walked toward the Immortal Slaying Sword.
He didn't know how long he walked. He could see the Immortal Slaying Sword right there, but it felt as though he never got any closer.
As Jiang Siming walked, the White Space around him gradually darkened. It was as if he had passed through countless eras, experiencing a loneliness he had never known before.
The white all around him had faded away, leaving only endless darkness and the Immortal Slaying Sword in the distance, still as far away as ever.
Gradually, Jiang Siming changed from a handsome young man into an old man in his twilight years. He even forgot what he was supposed to do. He only kept moving toward the sword ahead. Little by little, Jiang Siming forgot what he was doing. He forgot his own name.
"Who am I?" Jiang Siming stopped for the first time. Loneliness and unfamiliarity filled his heart.
At last, Jiang Siming slowly fell. He shut his eyes unwillingly, and in that final moment before they closed, he kept staring at the distant Immortal Slaying Sword, close enough to see yet impossible to reach—a sword whose name he had already forgotten.
When Jiang Siming opened his eyes again,
he found himself on a battlefield, with blood flying everywhere. Around him lay corpse after corpse, all strangers. Arrows whistled past him from every direction.
"Clang, clang..." The clash of blades and the cries of battle battered Jiang Siming's ears.
A series of unfamiliar images flashed rapidly through Jiang Siming's mind. Slaughter. Nothing but slaughter.
"Who am I? Why am I here?" Jiang Siming desperately tried to remember, watching corpse after corpse fall in front of him. Blood suddenly splashed across his face. His eyes turned bright red, and the world before him became a bloody red, like a hell of slaughter.
"General!"
A hurried cry rang out. When Jiang Siming turned around, the soldier who had just called to him was run through the chest by a sword. Blood sprayed once more.
"No!" Jiang Siming shouted with all his strength. At some point, he had put on armor. He gripped the Immortal Slaying Sword he had been searching for, though he had already forgotten it.
Jiang Siming slowly raised his head. Enemies were closing in from all sides, while the soldiers guarding him fell one by one. He didn't even know their names.
"Kill! Kill! Kill!" Jiang Siming shouted like a madman. He charged wildly at the enemy, swinging the Immortal Slaying Sword again and again. With every swing, he took a life.
There were no battle tactics, no sword forms. It was the most primitive, brutal, blood-soaked slaughter.
"I am Jiang Siming, vanguard general of Nanguo!" Jiang Siming shouted—not just to vent his feelings, but also to try to awaken the soldiers who had fallen into eternal sleep.
"I am Jiang Siming, vanguard general of Nanguo!" Jiang Siming didn't know how long he shouted or how many people he had killed.
When the shouting finally stopped, silence fell all around. It seemed Jiang Siming was the only one still alive. He had lost count of the arrows embedded in him and the wounds covering his body. His black armor had turned crimson. His clothes were soaked through with blood, making him feel as if he were submerged in water, unable to escape. The pungent stench of blood made it hard to breathe.
Every enemy was dead, but so were all his men.
Jiang Siming looked at the corpses stretching as far as the eye could see, at the blood everywhere, then at his blood-soaked hands. He could no longer tell whether it was the enemy's blood or the blood of the men who had died protecting him.
The shouts rose again behind Jiang Siming.
"Victory! Victory! Victory!"
Nanguo's reinforcements had finally arrived, but of the soldiers who had held the line for Nanguo, only the vanguard general, Jiang Siming, remained.
"Congratulations, General, on your victory and driving back the enemy. Another great achievement!" A middle-aged man who looked like a civil official stepped out from among the reinforcements to congratulate him.
Jiang Siming wanted to walk up and demand, "Why? Why did you only come now?"
But with every step Jiang Siming took, the middle-aged man stepped back. The reinforcements who had arrived with him also retreated.
Jiang Siming saw fear in their eyes, as if he were nothing but a madman who knew how to kill.
Jiang Siming had joined the army at sixteen and served for twenty years. He had forged countless legends, and everyone called him the God of War. The people of Nanguo revered him as their protector. Even three-year-old children knew that as long as Jiang Siming, the vanguard general of Nanguo, was alive, Nanguo had nothing to fear. They had probably all forgotten that the vanguard army and its general were only supposed to probe the enemy's strength.
"General, His Majesty knew you would surely triumph, so he had me prepare a celebratory banquet in advance. That's why I arrived so late. As expected, you haven't let us down and have driven back the enemy!" The middle-aged official seemed to summon all his courage. He stopped retreating, clasped his hands, and spoke.
"Hahaha, a celebratory banquet! Hahahahaha!" Jiang Siming laughed like a madman.
The middle-aged official and the tens of thousands of reinforcements behind him were frightened by the sudden laughter, their faces filling with fear.
"A celebratory drink? Go drink it yourself! I have to gather my brothers' bodies." Jiang Siming drove the Immortal Slaying Sword into the ground. It marked a boundary no one dared cross. Jiang Siming turned away, leaving only his lonely back—a silhouette filled with an indescribable emotion.
From then on, Nanguo no longer had a vanguard general named Jiang Siming. The border battlefield gained a solitary corpse collector whom no one dared offend.
Decades of wind and decades of rain passed. Jiang Siming had become an old man in his twilight years. The Immortal Slaying Sword still stood there, and no one dared pull it free. Its blade was already covered in rust. Perhaps it was simply old age. Today, Jiang Siming had once again forgotten who he was. He had forgotten what he was supposed to do. He only kept carrying corpses, as always, while hating the sword stuck in the ground.