This Is a Lie

The Sky Frost Sword suddenly lit up.

The fifth soul ring flashed.

Ice Age.

A terrifying chill erupted from Wu Zhangkong's body, instantly engulfing the entire training room.

The air froze, the floor iced over, and the walls were coated in a thick layer of frost.

The temperature plummeted below minus fifty degrees Celsius, enough to freeze an ordinary Soul Master to death in an instant.

Zhong Shenxiu was forcibly driven back.

He stumbled back seven steps, each one leaving a bloody footprint on the ice.

Those footprints were quickly covered by frost, blending into the ground.

He dropped to one knee, bracing himself with his spear as he gasped for breath.

White vapor poured from his mouth, condensing into ice crystals in the air before falling with a soft rustle.

The cold was invading his body.

He could feel his blood slowing, his muscles stiffening, and every beat of his heart becoming more difficult.

Wu Zhangkong stood in the distance, watching him.

Six Soul Rings revolved slowly around him, radiating suffocating pressure.

That white figure flickered in and out of sight amid the icy mist, like the grim reaper upon a snowy plain.

"Still want to continue?"

Wu Zhangkong asked.

His voice was as indifferent as ever, devoid of emotion.

Zhong Shenxiu raised his head.

His face was covered in blood, his school uniform was tattered beyond recognition, and the exposed dragon scales were marred by countless sword wounds. Some cuts were deep enough to reveal bone, with golden blood slowly seeping out.

But he smiled.

The corners of his lips curled up, revealing bloodstained teeth.

Within those molten-gold vertical pupils burned flames fiercer than before.

He said nothing.

He merely tightened his grip on the spear shaft and rose to his feet.

Then—

He laughed.

It was not a smile, nor a quiet chuckle, but real laughter.

The kind that burst out loud.

"HAHAHAHA—"

His laughter echoed through the freezing training room, carrying an indescribable exhilaration, an indescribable recklessness, an indescribable... madness.

Wu Zhangkong's gaze narrowed slightly.

He had seen many reactions from people standing at death's edge.

Fear.

Despair.

Rage.

Madness.

But he had never seen anything like this.

This child was laughing.

He was truly laughing.

That smile was not forced, nor was it feigned courage. It was genuine, from the depths of his heart—an utterly unrestrained laugh.

As though this was the very moment he had been waiting for.

As though these wounds, this cold, these threats of death—

Were precisely what he wanted.

Zhong Shenxiu's laughter came to an abrupt halt.

He gripped his spear shaft and looked at Wu Zhangkong.

Within those molten-gold vertical pupils burned an even more terrifying light.

"Continue."

He spoke.

His voice was hoarse and low, carrying an indescribable... longing.

Then he moved.

A golden streak of light charged at the white figure once more.

His spear shot forth like a dragon.

It was still a thrust.

Still an attack.

Still the same life-risking madness.

Those wounds excited him.

That cold sharpened his mind.

Those threats of death made him—

Feel alive again!

The Sky Light Dragon Spear thrust out, its tip leaving a golden trail through the air.

Wu Zhangkong sidestepped it and slashed Zhong Shenxiu across the shoulder at the same time. The blade cut through dragon scales and flesh, nearly reaching the bone.

Zhong Shenxiu did not dodge.

He did not even frown.

He merely used the force of that slash to spin, sweeping his spear shaft across Wu Zhangkong's sword.

Clang!

Wu Zhangkong's arm paused slightly.

This child... had become stronger again.

No.

It was not that his strength had increased.

It was that he had finally begun to truly use his own strength.

His earlier attacks had been sharp, but they had always carried a sense of restraint.

As though he feared something, as though he were suppressing something.

But now, he was no longer holding back.

No longer suppressing it.

He was unleashing it.

Completely, without reservation.

The Sky Light Dragon Spear thrust out again.

This time, golden flames began to burn along its shaft.

That was not a soul skill, nor was it any technique.

It was simply Light Power burning wildly.

The two molten-gold flames in Zhong Shenxiu's eyes were burning as well.

They burned even more fiercely than the flames upon his spear.

A glimmer flashed through Wu Zhangkong's eyes.

Then he made a decision.

The Sky Frost Sword rose.

The sixth soul ring flashed.

Extreme Cold Frost.

A sword radiance even more terrifying than before erupted from the blade, carrying a chill capable of freezing the soul as it slashed toward Zhong Shenxiu.

Zhong Shenxiu did not retreat.

Gripping the spear with both hands, he faced that sword radiance and unleashed his strongest—

No.

Not his strongest.

His most satisfying thrust.

The spear tip collided with the sword radiance.

Boom!

A terrifying shockwave erupted from the point of impact. The ice covering the floor shattered instantly, exploding into countless ice crystals that scattered in every direction. The protective formations on the walls flashed violently, emitting piercing alarm sounds.

Zhong Shenxiu was blasted backward, smashing heavily into the wall.

The wall caved in, cracks spreading across it.

He slid to the floor and spat out mouthfuls of blood.

Golden blood spread across the ground, quickly freezing under the cold and turning into golden ice crystals.

He dropped to one knee, bracing himself with his spear, head lowered and utterly still.

Wu Zhangkong remained where he was, watching him.

The sword radiance faded, ice crystals drifted down, and silence filled the training room.

After a long while.

Zhong Shenxiu moved.

He raised his head.

His face was covered in blood, his school uniform was so shredded it was almost impossible to make out its original form, and his dragon scales were densely covered in sword wounds.

Several of those wounds had even pierced through his body, golden blood slowly seeping out.

But he smiled.

It was still that same smile.

A wild, unrestrained, savage smile.

"Ha... hahahaha..."

He laughed softly, because he no longer had the strength to laugh loudly.

But he truly was laughing—laughing to his heart's content, laughing in complete satisfaction.

Wu Zhangkong watched him.

Complex emotions surfaced in those usually indifferent eyes for the first time in a long while.

There was surprise, shock, and an indescribable... pity.

He had seen many people.

Many geniuses.

Many monsters.

But he had never seen one like this.

This child truly was not afraid of death.

No, it was not that he was unafraid of death.

He needed death.

He needed that feeling of struggling on death's edge.

To him, it was not fear, nor was it a threat.

It was oxygen.

It was water.

It was something necessary to stay alive.

Wu Zhangkong suddenly recalled what Zhong Shenxiu had said earlier.

"I want to challenge my limits."

This was a lie.

What "challenging his limits," what "wanting to see his own upper limit"—they were all excuses.

The true reason had become utterly clear to Wu Zhangkong during those few short minutes of battle.

This child did not want to challenge his limits.

He wanted to die.

No, he did not want to die.

He wanted to experience death.

He needed that feeling of struggling at death's edge.

To him, it was not fear, not a threat, not something to be avoided.

It was oxygen, it was water, it was something necessary to stay alive.

Wu Zhangkong stood in the center of the training room, looking at the blood-covered figure in the corner.

Zhong Shenxiu was still kneeling there, one knee on the ground, bracing himself with his spear. His head was lowered, his shoulders rose and fell slightly as he gasped for breath. Golden blood seeped from countless wounds across his body, pooling on the ground before freezing into golden ice crystals.

But he was still smiling.

Wu Zhangkong had seen that kind of smile before.

On battlefields, on the faces of old soldiers who had endured too much life and death and had already grown numb to death itself.

But it should not have appeared on the face of a nine-year-old child.

Wu Zhangkong fell silent.

He stood there, staring at Zhong Shenxiu for a long time without saying a word.

Complex emotions surged like a tide in those cold, detached eyes.

Surprise.

Shock.

Pity.

And some kind of indescribable...

Sorrow.

He remembered when he was nine years old.

What had he been doing then?