Chapter 3
Chapter 3
“At least find a way to set my bones back together,” I said to Nanmen Daren, speaking from my position as a man snapped in two.
“I can’t think of a way. I’m not a swordsmith,” Nanmen Daren replied, looking innocent once again.
“Well, I can’t exactly be a ‘sword-man’ for the rest of my life, can I?”
“You’re already dead. Does it really matter what form you take?”
“Dead people are supposed to enter the cycle of reincarnation. Look at the state of me-does this look like I’ve been reincarnated?”
Nanmen Daren fell silent.
After a long while, he let out a sigh.
“Fine. Since I’ve already come this far, I might as well see it through. I’ll think of something.”
Rongzhou’s wanted posters were useless once you stepped outside the borders of Rongzhou.
Nanmen Daren planned to take me to Sword-Forging Valley to seek a way to reforge me.
These were chaotic times. The Emperor was incompetent and tyrannical, the various states governed themselves, and naturally, the martial world was rife with conflict.
However, across the entire three-thousand-li journey from Rongzhou to Sword-Forging Valley, not a single bandit dared to lay a finger on Nanmen Daren.
The reason was simple.
A middle-aged man dressed as a swordsman, carrying an exaggeratedly styled bone sword on his back and a heavy, pitch-black war sword hanging from his waist.
Even more terrifying was that this swordsman would occasionally strike up a conversation with the bone sword on his back, and the bone sword would respond to him with melodic hums.
Who would dare provoke such a sinister individual?
In truth, Nanmen Daren’s swordsmanship was second-rate at best.
As for his trump cards-his talismans-they required a long string of incantations to take effect, making them ill-suited for actual combat.
“Only those who know how to pose can live a long life.”
This was a truth we had realized together.
“Nanmen Daren, a disciple of the Sword Talisman Sect, greets the Senior Master of the Valley.”
“Dispense with the formalities. What is your business?”
“A friend of mine was murdered by a villain and transformed into this sword, which was then broken during a battle.”
Wang Dachui, the Master of the Valley of Sword-Forging Valley, listened to Nanmen Daren’s account with a thoughtful expression.
“Continue.”
“I make so bold as to ask the Master of the Valley to repair this sword,” Nanmen Daren pleaded, bowing his head low.
Wang Dachui picked me up, flicked the edge of the blade with his finger, and then blew a breath across it.
Dammit, he has bad breath.
“Repairing this sword is no difficult task for this Master. However, as for the payment…”
Wang Dachui rubbed his fingers together, looking at Nanmen Daren with a smile.
“As long as this sword can be repaired, I will do anything the Master asks.”
Seeing Nanmen Daren so agreeable, Wang Dachui nodded with delight.
The next day, Wang Dachui took me to a volcanic crater. Using a secret technique, he drew forth scalding magma and tossed my two broken halves straight into the molten flow.
“Holy mother of-! It’s burning me to death!”
“Kid, shut up!”
With a wave of his hand, the disciples of Sword-Forging Valley worked together to haul out a massive hammer and place it in his grip.
The moment Wang Dachui grasped that great hammer, his entire aura shifted. Every movement he made seemed to carry the weight of ten thousand tons.
“Forge bones into iron! Condense soul into blade!”
Wang Dachui roared. With every word he spat out, I took a heavy strike from the hammer.
“A thousand hammers, a hundred quenches-what was the second half of that line again?”
Wang Dachui didn’t bother to think it through; he simply slammed the hammer down on me once more.