Chapter 17

Back home, Lin Sheng didn't waste words with his parents. After finishing dinner and quickly completing his homework, he grabbed a wooden stick and began practicing basic stances in his bedroom.

The only weapon he could find in his dreams was a longsword, specifically a cruciform sword, and the books he had managed to translate were all related to swordsmanship techniques.

He was desperate to prove whether those sword moves were actually useful.

After finishing his stances and the first basic thrusting technique, Lin Sheng washed up and went to bed, sleeping without dreams for the night.

The next day, after classes ended, he rushed over in the afternoon, arriving just as a few students were left in the large classroom sparring.

Lin Sheng excitedly donned his protective gear and helmet—all simple bamboo constructions—and grabbed a wooden stick to join the sparring.

Since everyone was a novice anyway, they just swung their sticks around wildly.

Just like that, for several days in a row, Lin Sheng didn't enter the dreamscape, choosing instead to head to the club every day to practice what he had learned.

Aside from him, no one else in the entire club was quite as diligent.

Chen Huan saw him many times, always practicing until evening before heading home, and she was slightly moved. Whenever she had free time, she would give him some extra guidance and offer a few pointers.

After a week of this routine, Lin Sheng finally welcomed the opportunity to enter the nightmare once again.

Hiss. Hiss.

Before he even opened his eyes, Lin Sheng heard the sound of a sword tip dragging across the floor nearby.

As his vision cleared, he immediately looked toward the direction of the sound.

In the manor's grand hall, that limping, rotting swordsman was still there!

It was hobbling along, dragging its sword, standing before the oil painting on the left wall in a daze. The black longsword fused to its hand twitched from time to time, emitting a faint hissing sound.

Lin Sheng regained his composure and immediately spotted the silver longsword lying in the corner; it was the very one he had taken from the bedroom.

He glanced at the rotting swordsman, who was facing away from him and hadn't noticed his presence.

Lin Sheng moved his feet cautiously, circling around the large dining table toward the longsword by the doorway.

Having studied basic swordsmanship for a week, he now understood what kind of move had killed him last time.

It was a simple, direct thrust.

A direct thrust is the simplest move, yet it is also the easiest to learn and the hardest to master.

Naxi Swordsmanship's direct thrust required the body to be turned sideways with the arm extended forward, maximizing the reach of the strike to pierce the opponent while simultaneously avoiding their counterattack.

Step by step, Lin Sheng slowly shifted his body until he reached the longsword by the door.

He kept a careful eye on the rotting swordsman as he bent down, his right hand gently gripping the sword hilt.

A week of practicing basic stances and thrusts had left him eager to try and take this monster down.

It's just a cripple, a monster that moves so slowly. As long as I'm careful, it should be fine.

Lin Sheng calculated the distance in his mind.

This monster seemed to rely entirely on hearing to judge its surroundings; as long as he didn't make a sound, he should be able to launch a sneak attack from behind.

He made up his mind, lifted the sword, and slowly crept toward the rotting swordsman.

As the distance closed, he gripped the sword with both hands and slowly raised it high, positioning it beside his right ear in a "roof" stance.

All week, he had focused on practicing two moves: this stance combined with a downward slash, and the direct thrust.

He practiced every day, night and day, fantasizing about using the rotting swordsman as his sparring partner.

Now, finally, the opportunity had arrived!

Under the dim, grey light of the hall, Lin Sheng stood about three paces behind the rotting swordsman, his sword held high, teeth clenched.

"Die!"

Suddenly, he slashed down with all his might.

CLANG!

In a split second, the rotting swordsman spun around, its right arm tracing a black arc as it precisely parried upward, blocking Lin Sheng's downward slash.

The two metal swords collided violently. Lin Sheng felt a jolt in his wrists and a sharp pain; a massive vibration traveled through the hilt, nearly causing him to lose his grip.

He gritted his teeth, desperately forcing his blade downward while simultaneously kicking hard at the creature's knee.

Thud.

The rotting swordsman's legs were sluggish, and it couldn't dodge in time. The kick landed squarely on its knee, and a crisp crack echoed through the room as the bone seemed to snap.

Losing its support, the creature's center of gravity shifted, and the black longsword in its hand slipped.

Lin Sheng's downward-pressing blade slid uncontrollably, falling off the edge of the black sword.

Squelch!

Before he even realized it, he felt his longsword sink into something soft.

Black blood splattered like spilled ink, staining the floor a dark, murky color.

Hrrgh... hrrgh...

The rotting swordsman stumbled to the left, a spray of black blood erupting from the left side of his neck as he collapsed to the ground.

Lin Sheng stood there, gripping his sword in a daze, staring at the monster that had fallen before him.

In an instant, a faint wisp of black, smoky thread rose from the rotting swordsman, winding through the air like a serpent before flying straight toward his chest.

Hiss.

The black thread slammed into Lin Sheng's chest and vanished in an instant.

A myriad of fragmented, broken images flooded into his mind.

Thud.

Lin Sheng fell to his knees, his hands slipping from the sword hilt to clutch his head.

He wanted to wail, but his convulsing body and the violent headache left him without the strength to even scream.

Wisps of black mist continuously evaporated and drifted from his body.

A long time passed—he did not know if it had been ten minutes or half an hour.

Lin Sheng, still kneeling, slowly struggled to pull his hands away from his face.

His pupils, already black, were now surrounded by whites laced with black bloodshot veins.

A dense web of black, thread-like veins was evenly distributed around his irises.

"Ravel Green."

Lin Sheng stood up and looked down at the rotting swordsman sprawled on the ground, his expression complex.

"Ravel, you once said you would love me until the end of time. Have you forgotten all of that?" A voice suddenly rang out from behind Lin Sheng.

A chill ran through his entire body, and he spun around violently.

There was nothing behind him.

"An hallucination?"

Lin Sheng gritted his teeth and caught his breath, quickly picking up his longsword from the ground.

Unfortunately, there was a small notch on the silver blade, with tiny cracks spreading out from the gap.

"It's unusable now. It must have been too long; the sword itself was made of ordinary materials. It's a miracle it held up through a single fight."

Lin Sheng set the longsword down and shifted his gaze to the black sword growing from the rotting swordsman's right arm.

He took a deep breath. The moment that black thread had surged into his chest, he had seen fragments of memories.

Those fragments were all about Ravel, the master of this manor.

Those memories and those blurred, broken voices had echoed incessantly in his mind until they finally receded just moments ago.

For that instant, it was as if he had personally experienced a small portion of Ravel's life and history.

Fortunately, the influx of memories had been minimal; otherwise, he felt he might have been driven insane by the mental shock.

Bending down, Lin Sheng checked the rotting swordsman's corpse to ensure it would no longer move.

Only then did he raise the longsword, aim at the creature's right arm, and hack down with all his might.

Splut!

Even with the notched blade, he severed the rotting swordsman's right arm at the root in one stroke.

Lin Sheng didn't even feel much resistance. It was clear that the level of decay in the creature's body had greatly weakened its bone density, or it wouldn't have been so easy.