Jingliu had been through much on her journey from a young prodigy others praised for her extraordinary talent to the pinnacle of swordsmanship acknowledged throughout the Xianzhou, a swordswoman unmatched even in ten thousand years.
Before she had revealed her brilliance, she had been nothing more than an ordinary recruit.
At the sight of her own people's corpses, her heart had nearly stopped.
But on the battlefield, the enemy would show no mercy.
Jingliu had not even had time to be afraid.
She had no choice but to kill.
First, Jingliu had sliced open an abomination's chest.
Then, with trembling hands, she had driven her sword through a former comrade's dantian.
Jingliu had not stopped walking.
She had crossed bloodstained ground, stepped over severed limbs, passed shattered remains, and continued fighting the abominations.
Again and again, Jingliu had brushed against death.
When dreams visited her at midnight, she often saw the companions who had died by her sword, falling into nightmares she could neither break free of nor escape.
In those unfocused, clouded eyes, Jingliu had seen her own ending.
She would become mara-struck and die at a companion's hands.
Jingliu had long expected it.
Everything in the world had its cause and consequence.
The moment she had raised her sword against her companions, her ending had already been sealed.
She only hoped that day would come a little later.
Before she died, she wanted to slay as many abominations as she could for the Xianzhou and its people.
Until Jingliu met Xianyu.
She had never intended to confess her feelings to him.
But the human heart was always selfish, always greedy.
At some point, she had actually begun to fear death.
She wanted to spend the rest of her life close beside Xianyu.
Jingliu lowered her head, tears spilling