Apocalypse Forecast

Chapter 1056: Chapter 817: Aftermath (Part 2)

"I know."

Luo Lao nodded, pinching his chin, calmly asked, "Isn’t there still one last breath? It’s not a big deal."

He knew all too well that of the hundreds of extreme interpretations mastered by this Sword Saint, the most famous one, much like his favorite "Lactic Acid Accumulation," was a terrifying power completely contrary to common sense.

Whether called the ’Heart Sword’ or ’Desire Beyond the Sky,’ those are merely titles given by outsiders; its essence is that dreadful will to defy death for fifty years by relying on the last breath.

Initially, it was just a sharp, deadly technique, but in the end, it reached such extraordinary heights, shifting from a firm belief in the enemy’s death to a conviction in one’s own survival.

It emerged from the sword blade and was personally accomplished by Shangquan, and one could say this extreme interpretation is exactly what the Sword Saint is at the moment.

As long as he has the strength to raise the sword blade against death, he will not succumb.

——[Extreme Intention - Sword Saint]!

The Sword Saint was amused, his laughter hoarse and sharp, responding from his decayed throat.

"Such a pitiful wretch, holding a sword for fifty years without daring to unsheathe it, how can there be any talk of anything else?"

Such mockery.

When he raises his sword to face death, he has no strength left to face other enemies.

And the reason he braces himself, holding back a breath, enduring such disgrace to last fifty years, is merely to serve as an adornment.

To preserve this protective facade for himself.

For his disciples, for his former teacher, and for the royal favors and family of the past.

Under the oppression and arrogance of the Barbarian General, using his own existence to regain some dignity for the Former Emperor, acting as a deterrent akin to a bomb.

To retain a bit of vitality for the Yingzhou Phylogeny as much as possible.

Now, the great enemy has departed.

This last breath, after all, cannot last much longer...

He hasn’t much time left.

To intimidate his enemies, he has to force himself to believe he can continue living.

Because unless he can live on, there can be no turning back.

Once he releases his grip on life, there will be heavenly upheaval and earthly turmoil.

But now, he can finally die.

"When?" Luo Lao asked.

"Maybe in about half a year," Sword Saint thought for a while and replied, "Once everything is set on the right track."

By then, I can die at ease.

Saying this, the ugly, decayed face showed a look of peace, a serenity that made his opponent utterly jealous.

"I envy you, Shangquan," Luo Lao sighed softly, "Having done what you wanted to do, able to die without a burden."

"Whether it’s dying without burden or full of guilt, it makes no difference; both are death, an end," Shangquan looked at this long-lost opponent with pity, "Pity about you, Luo SiWei."

Truly, it’s too bad.

If you had been born thirty years earlier, meeting you would have surely meant a fierce battle, wouldn’t it?

If your injuries had healed ten years earlier, I would certainly have had the energy to respond to your invitation.

It’s truly a pity.

"It doesn’t matter."

Luo Lao reached out, took a scarf his daughter gave from his pocket to gently wipe Shangquan’s drool and snot from the corner of his mouth, so tenderly.

"We can do it now."

He sat beside Shangquan on a specially prepared chair, leaned back, adjusted his posture, casually invited, "What kind of place do you like? The bustling city? Ruins? Wasteland? Forget about the sea, I get seasick."

Shangquan thought for a moment, smacked his lips, fantasized, "In the mountains, rarely visited by people, won’t be disturbed, with deer and flying birds for wilderness fun."

"It’ll be really cold in winter."

"Yes, snowing, a white expanse between heaven and earth, so cold it makes one shiver." Shangquan squinted his eyes, smiling softly, "But after drinking flower wine and visiting women, coming back makes you warm, bare-armed, singing songs, not afraid of the cold."

Luo Lao rolled his eyes, "Still thinking about women at this time? Old lecher."

"And you?"

"For me, it’s probably having breakfast made by my daughter early in the morning, doing a few sets of anaerobic exercise, then going out for a jog?" Luo Lao thought for a while and said, "The air is refreshing, as if the whole world is breathing. Finding a worthy opponent to spar with would make it a perfect, regret-free day."

"I think the same way, old man."

Listening to Luo Lao’s words, Shangquan sighed lightly, his heart already longing...

They smiled, gazing into the night in the courtyard, as if seeing such a scene.

Thus, between the ice and snow-covered desolate mountains, on the vast, snow-white earth, amidst fluttering snowflakes, the decadent Samurai wandering Yoshiwara and the wayward roaming monk met.

They stared at each other, countless snowflakes falling between their eyes, turning into phantom raindrops.

Therefore, there’s no need for more words.

This is heaven’s blessing, a rare and worthy opponent.

Just smile.

Filled with gratitude, raise both fists, draw the blade, gamble on life and death, and fight here.

Until victory or defeat is decided.

Until — fully satisfied and return!

At that moment, on Huangquan Slope, everyone suddenly realized, looked up.

They glimpsed a phantom that did not exist there.

Is it raining?

Yet the sky was empty.

Only some intangible things drifted and fell.

Upon raising their hands to catch it, they felt the illusory chill.

This is snow...

When they closed their eyes, they heard the howl of blades from the afar snow and wind.

And, a second thunder.

"Drummer?"

Huai Shi suddenly looked up, staring at the ceiling, felt the sound from the sky, such a familiar rhythm, almost imprinted in instinct.

The echo spread in the sky dome as if an invisible five fingers tightened, turning the sky into an Iron Fist.

Thunder echoed!

Following that, a high-pitched cry completely cut through everything, the snowstorm vanished without a trace, like a towering mountain emerging from clouds, soaring high and far in the sky.

Ruling all things.

Huai Shi could feel the profound and lofty spirit resonating in the cry, an indescribable sense of oppression.

At the seat, Hisakawa’s hands trembled with excitement, "This is teacher’s Sword of Tianshi!"

Now, between heaven and earth, in this overly small border, a massive spirit rose from the mountains as if a giant of ten thousand feet was wrestling, trampling the earth, dancing the sky, turning mountains and stars as his weapon.

When they collided, they stirred up a storm and rain on earth.

Huai Shi closed his eyes, already immersed in that vast symphony.