138: Chapter 138: The sword may break, but the person remains; I'll help you off the stage.

The residual warmth of the Fox Fire had yet to dissipate from Chen Fan's knuckles when he saw Ling Wuchen, kneeling on one knee, suddenly straighten his back.

The thousand tribulations sword was thrust diagonally into the black crystal ground. Within the vibrating hum of the blade was a certain sense of resolve—it was the resonance of an old partner who had been in his grip for twenty years, its scabbard worn smooth to a patina.

"Final stance, Thousand Tribulations · Return to Ruins." When Ling Wuchen looked up, his bangs fell to cover half his face, but Chen Fan could see his Adam's apple bobbing violently.

The Sword Heart Casket floated between the two of them at some unknown point. Fine cracks appeared on the dark red body of the casket, and Xiao Chan's voice seeped out like water-soaked cotton: "Brother, come home... stop fighting..."

Ling Wuchen's shoulders shook violently. Beneath his blood-stained white robes, beads of blood from old wounds were trickling down his collarbone, accumulating into small droplets on the faded red cord of the sword scabbard.

Chen Fan suddenly remembered a scene he saw while scouring his memories three days ago—a twelve-year-old Ling Wuchen carrying an even younger Xiao Chan on his back, gathering firewood in the snow. The red cord was woven from grass stalks by his sister, who said, "Tie this to your sword, and Brother won't get lost."

"Win one more time... then go home..." Ling Wuchen's voice was as soft as a sigh, but the veins on his hand gripping the sword bulged.

With a hum, the thousand tribulations sword was fully unsheathed. The sword qi condensed into substance, churning the surrounding air into fine currents.

Chen Fan could feel tiny beads of blood being sliced from his skin, yet he didn't retreat a single step—he stared at the surging dark tides in the depths of Ling Wuchen's eyes. There were calluses worn down by the system's rules over twenty years, but also fissures softened by Xiao Chan's calling.

"You should have gone home long ago." Chen Fan suddenly withdrew his fist, the blue flame of the Fox Fire slowly retracting along the patterns on his arm.

The critical hit system vibrated in his sea of consciousness, and two anchor points flashed before his eyes: one was the slight pause in Ling Wuchen's toes when he started his move three seconds ago; the other was the bit of grass stuck to his sword tassel ten years ago, when he first held Xiao Chan while taking shelter from the rain in a ruined temple.

The moment the sword qi slashed down like a blade, Chen Fan's pupils suddenly contracted into thin lines.

Instead of retreating, he advanced, his left foot crushing the cracks in the black crystal ground—that was the Heart Returning Blast energy planted during the last battle, which now surged into his fingertips through his meridians like a living thing.

During the first regression, locking onto the moment before the start, he saw clearly that Ling Wuchen habitually pressed his thumb against the third notch on the sword's spine when gripping it. During the second regression, pinning down the moment the sword was withdrawn—back when Xiao Chan was binding his wounds, he had intentionally tied the sword tassel half an inch looser so his sister wouldn't worry.

"Break!"

Chen Fan's fingertip tapped the spine of the thousand tribulations sword, and the Heart Returning Blast energy, compressed to its limit, pierced in like an awl.

Amidst a thunderous roar, the divine sword snapped from the middle. The upper half, trailing residual light, shot straight into the sky, while the lower half fell to the ground with a clang. Shards of the blade fell all around them like crushed stars.

At some point, Light Erosion Butterflies had swarmed around them.

These swarms of ghostly blue butterflies, formed from the obsessions of the defeated, circled Chen Fan. The frequency of their wing vibrations happened to induce the most primal euphoria in the human brain—he saw himself standing at the pinnacle of kings, with the Shadow Pavilion bowing at his feet, and Su Shuang's soul whole as before, smiling at him while holding a teacup.

"Damn it!" Chen Fan shook his head violently and slammed a fist into his own temple.

The sensation of pain was like exploding fireworks, instantly dispelling the illusion.

He staggered two steps, but didn't look at the butterflies. He only stared at Ling Wuchen, who had fallen amidst the broken sword—another bloodstain had appeared over the bluish-purple bruise on the man's chest, but the cold hardness in his eyes had completely faded, leaving only a child-like helplessness.

"Get up." Chen Fan reached out and hooked his arm under Ling Wuchen's armpit, helping him up.

Ling Wuchen was stiff at first, until Chen Fan pressed his palm against the old wound on his back and said softly: "I've seen you carry Xiao Chan up the snowy mountains. Back then, you couldn't even hold a sword steady, but you weren't as heavy as you are now."

The live streams for all players suddenly fell into silence.

Usually, the system announcement would pop up exactly when the winner stepped over the loser's corpse. This time, it lagged for five seconds before the mechanical voice exploded with static: [Player Chen Fan has defeated Sword God Ling Wuchen and obtained the 'Sword Stage Sovereign Token'.]

The Silent Sword Monk's carving knife traced the first inch-deep mark on his chest.

The old man's cloudy eyes glistened with tears. The knife mark was crooked, with no name, only a vertical line: "In a hundred years, you are the first winner to help up the defeated."

The sword pillars collapsed amidst the tremors.

When Chen Fan looked up, he saw the blue flame of Su Shuang's remnant soul drifting down from a crack, like a leaf caught in the wind, gently landing in his arms.

The blue flame resonated with the fire seed in his heart, and Xiao Chan's whisper was mixed within: "Thank him... for me."

Ling Wuchen's hand suddenly grabbed Chen Fan's wrist.

He looked at the sky, his voice so soft it seemed it would be carried away by the wind: "See the spring at the foot of the mountain... for me." Before his voice faded, his form turned into points of white light, leaving only the broken sword thrust into the center of the stage. The two characters for "No Return" on the hilt were soaked in blood, making it look as though he had "Returned."

Chen Fan held Su Shuang gently and steadily, only then discovering that her fingertips were trembling slightly—the remnant soul actually showed signs of awakening.

The notification sound of the critical hit system rang out simultaneously, and pale gold text floated on his retina: [Process Correction Module — Activated. Combat nodes can be regressed twice per day.]

"The secret letter from the Shadow Pavilion's Third Seat has moved—they're going to start the 'Final Purification Ritual' early!" Black Crow's voice came through the communication talisman, carrying an urgent crack.

Chen Fan lowered his head and kissed the blue flame at the crown of Su Shuang's head, and the fire seed flared up even brighter.

He bent down to pick up the broken sword. The blade at the break glinted coldly in the firelight, possessing even more sharpness than when it was whole.

"Fine," he laughed into the communication talisman, baring his white teeth. "Then I'll take the Sword God's broken sword and hack your 'Final Purification' into a 'New Life'."

The wind from the rift valley swirled with shredded snow, pouring into the sword stage.

Chen Fan charged into the wind and snow holding Su Shuang. Black Crow's transmission was intermittent: "Watch out... Shadow Pavilion... ambush..." On the black crystal ground he had stepped over, the Silent Sword Monk's nameless mark flashed in the snowy light like a newly opened fissure—and at the end of that fissure, the morning light was washing over the mountain ridge.