Han Wubing stared up at the sky in a daze. Ye Wuming had destroyed an entire era for the sole purpose of opposing the Heavenly Dao. If there truly existed some “external enemy” of the Heavenly Dao, she would have seized the opportunity without hesitation. Yet Han Wubing, who had inherited the memories of the ancient White Tiger, knew well that during the last era, Ye Wuming had shown no interest in the Spirit Tribe’s land. In fact, she had gone out of her way to avoid touching it. The conventional explanation had always been that awakening it would draw too much attention, provoking the Heavenly Dao. It made sense, and so Han Wubing had never questioned it. But now, if the one attempting to awaken this land was the Sword Emperor, and the Sword Emperor was a pawn of the Heavenly Dao, then Zhao Changhe’s reasoning made far more sense. Still, who would have ever suspected the Sword Emperor of being the Heavenly Dao’s agent? Nothing about him seemed to align with that. He was a pure swordsman—unmarked by earth, fire, wind, water, sun, moon, or stars. Any other demon god would have seemed a more likely candidate. And yet, despite how implausible it seemed, if Han Wubing had to choose between the Sword Emperor and Zhao Changhe, if he had to place his trust in one... Well, there had never been any doubt about which one it would be. Even with all the conflict he harbored toward Zhao Changhe, he would still choose to believe him. Then again, if there was one aspect of the Sword Emperor that echoed the Heavenly Dao, it would be the sword slave technique used by Snow Owl. Was that not a gift from the Sword Emperor? Han Wubing clenched his jaw so hard his teeth nearly cracked, and the hand that held his sword trembled In the last era, he discovered he was nothing more than a conceptual fabrication. The empress he had once revered had cast him aside. He went mad, tore out his sword bone, and reforged himself as a man. His sword bone was sharp, true, and unwavering. But with his soul incomplete, he had become an easy target, easily becoming another’s sword slave. He thought he had broken free, that he had shattered fate, that he had reclaimed memory, identity, and self; yet, after everything, he was still just someone else’s pawn. Even arriving here felt preordained, as if he had been lured, positioned, and arranged. It was as if he had never escaped fate. It seemed as though there was always a string above, pulling him around like a puppet. Whether he went mad or not, the frame was inescapable. He had been a puppet from beginning to end—then, now, always. Ye Wuming had seen this. She had raged at it, destroyed everything, restarted the world, and unleashed a war that would span two eras. And she still could not trust even the Four Idols. Because who could say? One did not even need to be a planted agent. Anyone, no matter how fine a person, could, in that critical moment, suddenly fall under the control of the Heavenly Dao, just like a sword slave. It was just like Han Wubing now. Whether he knew the truth or not did not matter, and whether he wanted to be used or not did not matter. When the moment arrived, it was already too late. “Aaaghhh—!” Han Wubing suddenly dropped his sword and clutched his head, screaming in agony. His once-sharp, unwavering gaze turned crimson. His eyes were so red that it became impossible to distinguish the iris from the sclera. This aura... Zhao Changhe knew it all too well. It was the same resentful will he had felt beneath the Abyss of the Frost Chi. When Han Wubing looked up again, the warmth between old comrades was gone. He opened with a sword strike, one aimed straight at Zhao Changhe, who was far away atop the sacred mountain. Sword light flashed, flashing like lightning, slicing through the black of night. This was the White Tiger’s sword—sharp enough to rend the southern sky. And with that one strike, the slumbering earth began to stir. It was as if this sword had roused the very body of the land. Just moments earlier, before Zhao Changhe and Han Wubing had exchanged those fateful words, on the snowy summit outside the secret realm, the Sword Emperor had merged all his swords into one, driving it straight into the heart of the Four Idols Formation. At the core of the formation stood Yue Hongling. Sword against sword, she took the brunt of the blow. Last time, the Sword Emperor had dueled her with increasingly advanced forms, from basic techniques all the way to sword intent. But this time, his sword intent had completely changed. Countless streams of sword qi surged out from Yue Hongling, instantly dyeing her robes crimson. Lady Three, Huangfu Qing, and Xia Chichi all paled in horror. The formation they had painstakingly refined for so long was shattered in a single stroke. They could only pour their own energy into Yue Hongling, desperately trying to keep her upright. Yet even as Yue Hongling’s body trembled, her gaze held unyielding. The Sword Emperor looked into those defiant eyes and let out a strange laugh. “So this is the so-called daughter of heaven, the one favored by destiny. In the end, you’re just another piece chosen by the Heavenly Dao. Did you think that duel between us was one of admiration or of legacy? Wrong... I merely needed to confirm how much of the ancient sword intent you carried. The more complete it is, the easier it would be for me to control you. To your credit, you tried to hedge your bets. You cultivated the White Tiger’s path to break the mold... But unfortunately, the White Tiger’s power is no longer in your hands.” A terrible thought crept into everyone’s minds: That first fateful glance between Zhao Changhe and Yue Hongling, back in the jianghu, was not destiny. It was a chess move in the great game between Ye Wuming and the Heavenly Dao. There was no such thing as a proud daughter of heaven. The Sword Emperor’s smile widened. “I even planted that seed myself, telling you that the Four Idols Formation’s offense was lacking. I knew it would push you to adjust the White Tiger’s node, to pit Yue Hongling against me in the core. And the more you refined it, the deeper you fell into the trap. This formation of yours... would’ve been better off with four strangers...” But as he spoke, his smile faltered. Because he suddenly realized that Yue Hongling, though grievously wounded at first, had begun to recover. She had initially still required the Four Idols Formation to help her stay up, but now the Sword Emperor could clearly feel her sword qi regathering and growing, and this time, he could no longer control it. “Is that so...” Blood trickled from the corner of Yue Hongling’s lips as the wind teased her hair and brushed across her pale face. “Every stance I take, every thrust and slash I’ve mastered, was earned and honed through blood and hardship on the battlefield. Nothing was granted by divine favor, nothing was gifted through divine enlightenment. Even the Ye sisters, who were born with such gifts, awakened only to be devoured by backlash. And you think you can seize control of my sword qi with just a shred of sword intent? Sword Emperor, or maybe I should call you pawn of the Heavenly Dao... you never learn.” The Sword Emperor immediately sensed something unfamiliar in her sword qi. “That’s... frost sword qi!” “Yes...” Yue Hongling murmured as if speaking to herself. “We, too, have comrades who stand on equal footing with the Heavenly Dao. They’ve guided us and shown us what we lacked. I don’t cultivate ice or frost, but the formation makes us one, and what Chichi possesses, so do I. This mutual unity, this interwoven protection, is something you have never known across two eras, so how could you ever hope to command it?” A blade of sword qi veered off its intended trajectory, going straight for Xia Chichi. Since Chichi’s frost sword intent had been shared with Yue Hongling, it stood to reason that her own defenses would now be thinner. The Sword Emperor wasted no time, striking there first to break the formation. A dragon’s roar echoed as an enormous phantom of the Azure Dragon unfurled from Chichi’s body, spiraling into the sky. The majestic aura of the Human Emperor surged forth, brimming with vitality, forming a shield so absolute it resembled divine protection. The Sword Emperor’s mighty sword qi vanished into it like a pebble into the sea. Even Yue Hongling’s gaping wounds from a moment ago were instantly healed. The Sword Emperor faltered. This mischievous, impish girl... is the Human Emperor? And this essence of the Azure Dragon... How did she cultivate it to rival even the ancient Azure Dragon? How is this possible?! Wait, that feels like the transference of qi veins... Zhao Changhe... Piaomiao! Those names raced through the Sword Emperor’s mind, but before he could fully grasp the implications, a fist wreathed in the power of the Black Tortoise crashed into his left cheek, while flames of the Vermillion Bird slammed into his right. At the same moment, Yue Hongling struck again, her sword piercing straight for his core. A violent explosion ripped through the air, sending tremors across the snowy peak. The Sword Emperor staggered backward, disheveled. He was not stronger than Piaomiao. In fact, Piaomiao was stronger now than the Sword Emperor used to be, and by no small margin. If even she could not break the Four Idols Formation, then neither could he. If there had been any weakness in the ancient formation, it was the absence of Shuanghua. Ye Wuming had kept her deliberately at her side. But now, with Iceheart anchoring the array, it had no flaws. Offense, defense, elemental manipulation, physical power, even healing, they had it all. Most importantly, as Yue Hongling had said, these women had fought tooth and nail for every ounce of power. They were no longer those ancient avatars that were easily manipulated by the Heavenly Dao. This new human era surpasses the old. The Sword Emperor felt the thought crystalize in his mind, and then he snapped his fingers. Instantly, across the world, every blade worn by every warrior leaped from its scabbard. Even those working late at night—Tang Wanzhuang and Baoqin among them—felt their swords lurch. That was not the worst of it. In Miaojiang, from the Spirit Tribe to the common folk, blades turned on their masters. Sisi’s dagger suddenly slashed toward her own throat—unrelenting and unstoppable. Chaos engulfed the world. Unable to break the Four Idols by force, he resorted to trickery. Whether it would achieve the “blood sacrifice of all beings” that Lie had once alluded to was uncertain, but under the Heavenly Dao’s hand, the result might be the same. However, the Four Idols ignored him. Their barrage continued. The Sword Emperor roared, “You’re letting innocent people die! Is this your so-called gathering of humanity’s destiny?!” His voice died in his throat. Every blade halted, three cun from its master’s flesh, moving no farther.