Black Sail
Chapter 604: CCXX. Light Snow (4K)_2

Chapter 604: CCXX. Light Snow (4K)_2

But it was far from enough.

Under the extreme blood radiance, it seemed as though the world turned black and white, with only the bright red remaining!

This was Zote’s ultimate strike.

The sharpness cut through time, a cold brilliance flashed by, altering the colors of mountains and rivers, cracking the abyss, and severing the sea flow.

In eleven years.

Liszt had never witnessed such a terrifying scene, never.

The spell power of the three merged Junlin Swords was fully unleashed, and Liszt’s whole body was being scorched by the spell power flames, charring his skin. This was his final desperate attempt, raising the Junlin Sword.

In an instant.

As the blades met.

The world fell silent, as if muted.

Liszt caught the strike.

An extreme explosion centered on him, with the violent airflow causing the great fire in the entire city to collapse and twist like a ring, with thick smoke rolling.

Zote flashed and retreated, looking a bit disheveled, gasping under the overload, but still had some strength left.

But he was wrong about one thing.

Unlike the so-called Dragon Rider Divine Punishment Army, desperados have their own way of fighting.

Liszt, with his flesh and skin busted open, charged out of the dense smoke like a ferocious ghost, grabbing Zote’s broadsword with both hands, the Red Ghost Shadow clamped tightly, frantically injecting terrifying spell power into it.

Liszt was reckless, ignoring his body’s limits, causing the odd broadsword to fracture with fine cracks, then completely shatter into fragments falling to the ground.

This blade had accompanied Zote for many years, but to him, it was just a tool.

Immediately, spell power hands pressed down on Zote, who had just undergone the overclocked state of Ten Directions Great Destruction, making the internal circuitry extremely fragile. Liszt intended to destroy this armor completely.

Zote forcibly broke free, snapping the spell power hands, and with the standard military knife lost on the battlefield underfoot, he kicked it up into his hand and slashed directly at Liszt.

Instead of retreating, Liszt advanced, diverting his mind to let the Red Ghost Shadow parry the strike, but Zote’s strength was too great, forcing the blade into his scapula, slicing toward his chest. The Red Ghost Shadow could only shift the blade’s trajectory, ultimately sliding into the right chest, piercing through a lung.

Liszt ignored this exchange of injuries, continuing to infuse surging spell power. Even though it was the power of the Junlin Sword, and despite the Ten Directions Great Destruction being crafted by the strongest Gouzhuang Master of thirty years ago, it too began to disintegrate.

This was the moment.

Liszt instantly summoned the Junlin Sword.

Zote reacted swiftly, spinning aside, but his face was still grazed by Liszt, leaving a wound that oozed bright red blood.

Liszt was already exhausted, his whole skin charred, panting heavily and completely losing the ability to fight, but the outcome was clear.

He had won.

But...

Mastering the Junlin Sword requires three elements: Outer Heaven Visitor, King’s Measure, and "Deceiving Death."

Zote did not need to master the Junlin Sword.

He only needed to stay alive under it.

Zote was Death himself.

"It’s your defeat, it’s over... you truly are the East Sea King."

Under the Ten Directions Great Destruction, Zote was clad in the black officer’s uniform of the former Secret Department, holding only a standard military knife infused with magic ore materials.

But Liszt could no longer fight.

"I’m really... fucked."

Liszt looked up at the sky, with only one thought, he had stepped right into the damn Aisnor Tiger-man Nashano’s dirty trick.

Raging flames scorched the fine snow drifting from the ashen sky, dust from the carbonized ruins mingling with the blood and tears of Mulong’s survival flung toward the gloomy clouds by the heat wave.

Just like twenty-seven years ago, in the Soterlan Duke Territory, that snowy night.

Identical in every way.

Zote walked forward slowly, ready to kill Liszt.

But the disarmed man.

Stood right in front of him.

"It’s you... the defeated,"

Zote looked coldly at Magnus, wearing neither his mechanical arm, his sleeve hanging empty, holding only the broken blade of Absolute Blade Henrik, his father, in his lone left hand.

But the broken blade had been reforged.

Magnus did not want to participate in the war, rescuing the wounded in the city, which led him to find Zote.

Ostensibly an apprentice to Archer, but in reality, Magnus learned nothing from this worthless scoundrel, and his sword skill hadn’t improved even slightly.

But if anything must be said.

Magnus learned one crucial thing, that a sword is not just for killing; it can also be used for cutting vegetables.

That’s all.

A sword... is just a sword.

Perhaps there’s no problem that must be solved with a sword, and there’s no need to consider if the sword is quick enough.

"Do what you left unfinished twenty-seven years ago, just like me."

Magnus didn’t waste words, simply raised his sword, and slowly walked toward Zote.

Zote raised a slight smile, admitting that Liszt is a regional overlord. Despite his blade and armor being completely shattered by this person, with only a knife in hand, he remains the Deputy Director of the Old Aran Witch Hunting Secret Place.

Not someone a mere nobody could defeat.

"Your father was a despicable man, and you’re the same. Too many petty men need to be exterminated."

Zote stood still, waiting for Magnus to approach.

"Right or wrong has nothing to do with me. Killing you is my life’s wish."

Until now.

This wish has become calm; Magnus’s life, born on a snowy night, is also ending on this snowy night.

Pure as a blade.

"Then let the blade speak."

There’s nothing in the world that can’t be solved with a blade; the only thing to consider is whether the blade is fast enough.

Facing Magnus approaching step by step.

Zote did not slacken, the warmth retreating from his eyes, leaving only a gleam of cold light. He held the long knife sideways, paced to the left, walking slowly and obliquely towards Magnus, without making a move.

In the ruins and rubble under the flurrying wind and snow of the ashes of industrial fire, the instant when the two crossed paths.

Magnus made his move, drew his knife and twisted it backward, a flash of silver light appeared, the blade wind went wild, suppressing the surrounding intense fire.

No one could see the actions clearly.

In a flash.

Zote’s blade had lightly landed on Magnus’s shoulder, like a thousand pounds falling, but was single-handedly held off by the blade forged from Ancient Divine Steel.

Magnus, with his one arm, spun to neutralize the force with his left hand, and Zote took a few steps back, a bit of amazement in his gaze.

His empty sleeve.

Just like always.

Magnus wanted to use his crippled body to dance with the broken blade his father left behind, and the half of the "Sword Manual" learned from the East Sea scoundrels.

To kill back all the lives Zote took away years ago.

As the wind swept by, the blades intertwined once again.

The knives in the hands of both suddenly came to life, the blade’s light no longer being just blade light. Some lacked killing intent, some lacked wishes.

But both were geared towards the ultimate sharpness, to be faster, to be lighter, to abandon everything in order to be faster, lighter.

Actions, desires, dreams.

Too heavy.

Nation, land, hatred.

Even heavier.

History, destiny, the obsession of domination.

The burden upon the shoulders, these burdens are too terrifying.

Burn all memories, discard all yesterdays, what you love or hate, what you think or envision, abandon everything to wield the fastest blade to solve everything.

Zote had become more exhilarated as the battle progressed, yet at this moment, he grew increasingly calm in battle.

In the ultimate duel between masters, every moment both witness two types of death simultaneously.

In the mirror-like blade of Magnus, he saw himself like a ghost, his left eye crawling with Gu Worms.

The ultimate sharp blade?

Zote’s sword skill reached a supreme transformation and sublimation at this moment, stronger than at any other time, as if witnessing the trembling eyelashes of all those dying beneath his blade, those moments eternally closer to the essence of slaying than any blade’s edge, the blood flowing from all deceased of Old Aran seemed to pour back to the moment before he swung the knife.

Too fast.

Unmatched through ages, no one is lighter than Zote, no one’s blade is faster than Zote’s.

And Magnus’s blade was extremely slow, yet it seemed to gather all the sharpness between heaven and earth.

Over twenty years of hatred.

How many blades does it take to vent it thoroughly?

The answer is one blade.

With just one blade, it can split the wind and sever hatred.

The two passed each other.

Fine snow fluttered.

Fire dyed the white frost.

Magnus coughed up blood from his mouth, weakly kneeling on the ground.

Zote took a few steps toward Aran, he hesitated for a moment, weakened by his hand plugging the neck wound, and fresh blood gushed out.

He still wanted to return to Aran to kill more, even to kill the Emperor.

But there was no chance.

Everyone needs a blade, holding a blade always makes you want to cut something.

Some become chefs, some become butchers.

And some...

Die.

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