Chapter 4425: Chapter 2045: Sword Salutation
The Path comes in dreams, and Qingju rests on my heart.
When awake, Hua Weiyang; when the sword is quiet, the Lonely Building’s shadow.
The first sword that once opened the third realm’s path to achieving the Way of Bazhun’an, silently arrived from a distant spacetime future, crossing millions of Mystical Gates.
"Dream..."
Saint Xin was not feeling the great thousand-year dream for the first time.
Unlike Xu Xiaoshou’s sword, as the initial creator of the great thousand-year dream, the sword wielded by Bazhun’an is more naturally flowing.
He had no intention of hiding when this sword would be wielded, how it would transform, or what outcome it ultimately aimed to guide towards.
Nor did he lay another layer of the Sea of Consciousness beneath the dream; even if those pierced by the sword escaped the dream realm, they could only fall into the next whirlpool.
His great thousand-year dream is simply a pure dream.
This sword aims to bring death in the dream, as if it has also assured the dreamers that there’s no possibility of waking.
"You have already reached the end of the Path, how can your sword make any progress?"
Saint Xin had no strength left to resist anything; in truth, upon seeing the millions of Mystical Gates placed before his eyes, he was already in complete despair.
After the "strong control" of the trillion Heavenly Mechanism Brain, his road was completely severed, he couldn’t hear any sound from the outside world, and he lost the will to save himself.
At the end of this life, the only thing he could do was to see the end of the Great Path one more time!
"Buzz..."
A buzzing sound akin to tinnitus trembled lightly at the cerebral cortex.
The vision blurred, and when clarity was regained, there was no longer any sight of the Shengshen Continent or the outer starry sky.
Beautiful petals, like a dream or illusion, floated up with the wind.
This world was too false, with no sky, no earth, and even the ground was made up of spatial mirror shards, pieced together, refracting faint colorful light.
It clearly told the dreamer that this was only a dream, that everything here was not credible; to believe is to die, to believe is to sink.
Yet, Saint Xin still believed.
He lowered his head and through the fragrance before him saw in the prismatic mirrors countless reflections of himself.
There was the teenage self who awakened the brilliance of the eye in the initial cultivation.
There was the youthful self elevated by the power of destiny, who understood the Great Path’s five elements and the Holy Path’s attributes derived from them.
There was the middle-aged self who became intoxicated by power, fearful of the future glimpsed, therefore slaughtering the hundred clans, leaving no reverse who opposed him alive.
There was the self who turned to the Devil Path, stimulated by the Sword Dragon and eventually desiring to reach higher, embracing more demonic greed.
There were far too many of these selves, this path of cultivation was filled with versions of "me" who had been determined, lost, sunk, and forgotten.
"I..."
With a single glance, countless dream selves invaded the Self.
The impact caused was more stirring to the mind than the trillion results of the Heavenly Mechanism Brain’s massive calculations.
Saint Xin raised his head.
All he had left was a remnant of the Path, not even a complete self.
At this moment, in the great thousand-year dream of the Sword Realm, he shed inexplicable tears under the onslaught of countless versions of himself across ages.
Tears blurred his vision, making what he saw more convoluted.
Saint Xin had completely lost the ability to act, think, or speak; he raised his eyes and looked into the distance only to feel that the illusory Bazhun’an Jianwo beyond the countless Mystical Gates was becoming more substantial as his self was increasingly lost.
In the end, as if the true body personally arrived in the dream world, though only eight feet tall and at shoulder level with himself, it seemed majestically high above the clouds, a glance revealing how insignificant the self was.
"Bazhun’an..."
Saint Xin’s face twisted as he struggled to say something.
He could not control the inner emotions impacted by all these selves; maybe he wanted to plead, maybe just to vent, maybe he was unwilling, maybe he was angry.
But he could not speak a word.
All emotions were stuck in his throat, making him feel extremely uncomfortable.
Opposite him, Bazhun’an, after solidifying his form, gave him no opportunity to speak, his eyebrows and eyes revealing only the calm indifference of ancient time’s long passage.
A sword, Qingju, rose obliquely, a hundred flowers in chaos.
The great thousand-year dream shattered, mirrors fragmented beyond repair.
"No..."
Saint Xin helplessly looked at the multitude of Mystical Gates before him, which at an instant, as if summoned, burst forth with dazzling sword light.
Behind every door, a silhouetted black figure emerged, each presenting a different image of swordsmen: stabbing, pointing, lifting, or blocking.
Millions of sword practitioners simultaneously transformed into a myriad of swords, all bowing at Bazhun’an’s position.
This bow sent the sword power soaring through the skies.
The human figures Saint Xin beheld were surrounded by vast sword energy, with clouds swirling and scenes unfolding extravagantly.
That wasn’t the "me" of self.
But the "me" of Bazhun’an.
As if he was seeking the Heavenly Realm throughout past time domains, grasping enlightenment when the chance came, battling people as encountered, waging relentless war without rest.
One person, one sword, a start and a battle, evenly matched.
Gradually, as the realm stabilized, he could resolve opponents in a few exchanges.
In the end, even picking up a dry twig or fallen leaf by the roadside, he could suppress all Ancestral Gods and Venerable Extremes, making families bow and ask for mercy, his fierce reputation spreading far before Qingju even roared to scare off any challengers.
"This..."
Saint Xin’s heart sank to the bottom.
It turned out the path Bazhun’an took was not purely a search for the Heavenly Realm but a road of conquest and slaughter.
Having undergone such a baptism, his aura was still this impressive, not declining but growing; against his current weakened self, what could he win with?
Boom!
All scenes, amidst the shock of the heart and mind, vanished like smoke and clouds.
In Saint Xin’s last look, the Bazhun’an, filled with endless sword power, casually pinched a half-dream leaf with two fingers and gently tossed it.
Whoosh!
The yellow sword leaf cut through spacetime, slashing toward him.
