Chapter 55
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 54
Chapter Title: Remnants - 2
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The streets of Heavenly Pillar in Anhuiseong were pristine. Not a soul in sight.
The markets that should have bustled with crowds had shuttered their doors. The inns that ought to have been filled with rowdy guests were cloaked in solemn silence.
The homes were no different. Adults hushed their children and straightened their postures.
Suddenly, a breeze stirred. Spring winds swept down the wide, empty avenue.
Riding those winds, white cloths fluttered from every household. The wealthy hung white banners, while the poor draped simple white fabric.
The entire Heavenly Pillar district was in mourning. But this was no ordered decree—it was a voluntary show of respect.
All who dwelled here lived under the shadow of the Nangong Clan. It had been centuries since the clan established itself in Anhuiseong.
The proudly displayed plaques had been replaced many times over. From Anhui's Greatest Clan to Jiangnan's Foremost Clan, and now boldly proclaiming World's Greatest Clan. Their domain was vast, their renown towering.
They supplied the grain. They delivered the swords crafted by artisans. Escort agencies, merchant caravans, martial attire—even entertainment—all flowed through the Nangong Clan. They were the food and the master.
The death of the clan's direct bloodline weighed unbearably heavy.
The massive gates of the clan estate stood firmly shut. The thick paulownia doors creaked open only for visiting mourners, otherwise maintaining absolute silence. What of those who flung those heavy gates wide?
On the day of the funeral, the visitors who came to pay respects were enough to shock any who knew the martial world.
First came another chief mourner, the Blade King of Hebei, leading the Fierce Tiger Corps. From Hubei's Zhuge Clan came the Crouching Dragon Great Hall Master, the family head's own brother.
Even the distant Tang Clan of Sichuan dispatched their de facto vice leader, the Thousand Poisons Hall Master—a staggering move, considering the Tang rarely ventured beyond Sichuan.
And that was not all.
Four of the Nine Great Sects came, excluding the reclusive Buddhist orders: from Hubei and Shaanxi, the Sword Immortals themselves. Kongtong, Huashan, Kunlun, and Wudang. Masters whose swordsmanship had reached the realm of immortals.
Elders with deep ties to the Nangong Clan were spotted. Especially from Huashan and Kunlun, directly linked to the Four Dragons and Five Phoenixes, who sent the commanders of their martial forces—the weight of their presence unmatched.
Each one a powerhouse who could shake the martial world.
Kiiing—
As the clan gates creaked open, restrained sobs of mourning welcomed the guests. Amid the faint, chilling scent of incense wafted the coffins and spirit tablets—of the Nangong Clan's White Dragon and the Peng Clan young master.
And before them stood the Sword King.
Rumble. Amid his composed demeanor, a faint thunder rumbled. Even without the Soaring Heaven Divine Sword in hand.
The realm of the current World's Greatest Swordsman, who had bested the Huashan Divine Sword in a seven-hundred-exchange spar—no one dared even guess at its depths.
"The Nangong sword is a heavy sword."
Smoke rose from the incense sticks. Fleeting was its form, scattering toward the azure heavens.
"A sword that slays must not be light, so our ancestor forged it thus."
The emperor's sword must be heavy.
The Sword King had never once betrayed that creed.
Sending the clan's martial forces beyond the gates was a last resort. Assassinating foes in the shadows was a middling strategy. The supreme path was ensuring enemies could never even draw their blades.
Unlike the Huangfu and Peng Clans, who dominated the rivers and lakes with open force, they moved in darkness and silence. When wielding swords in the light, they settled matters through spars, never to the death.
Yet still, World's Greatest Swordsman. He had believed it unshakable for life.
"However."
Treat it with the weight of Mount Tai, but draw without hesitation.
Be resolute.
Why did whispers of shadow blades haunt Anhui's night streets like ghost stories? Because when drawn, they always tasted blood.
Dispatching Nangong Squadron. Failing to quell Guangdong's flames.
Lacking resolve, they missed the moment.
Ignorance led to defeat, forcing them to drain the bitter cup.
As a final gambit, they sacrificed the shadow blades—yet even that failed.
With no body to enshrine, they held the funeral with an empty coffin. Their old allies, the Huangfu Clan, teetered on the brink of annihilation, barely saving one grandson.
A miserable defeat.
"I am a worthless clan head."
The Sword King rose. His farmer-like face instantly took on majestic dignity. His aura before the spirit tablet was like a single razor-sharp blade.
A lone sword piercing the clear sky.
It embodied boundless rage and sorrow. But where did those emotions point? Not just the sacrifice of kin.
Nangong Squadron's sacrifice was fated. The grief was a burden to bear.
But Sword King Nangong Jincheon's anguish stemmed not from a subordinate's death... but from himself, who rendered that sacrifice meaningless.
He had offered his son for Guangdong's peace, yet achieved nothing—an utter failure.
The head of the World's Greatest Clan allowed no margin for error. Such mistakes were unforgivable.
Nangong Clan Head accepted the truth calmly.
Yet the Sword King's blade would not yield to mere sorrow.
"Thus, this worthless clan head shall fulfill his duty."
Nangong Jincheon pierced the air with his gaze. An unspoken pressure shot toward the heavens.
"The evil cult swarm that appeared on Fire Mountain in Guangdong calls themselves the Divine Cult."
"Their Dharma Protectors are murderous demons who slaughtered over thirty heroes in Jiangming, and their followers harbored foul intent, threatening Fire Mountain's peace."
"In the end, their vile hands reached the Huangfu Clan, committing atrocities too horrific to speak aloud—slaying the young elites and felling the innocent."
"Therefore, to all fellow martial artists gathered here for the world's peace."
Behind the Sword King, a pristine white blade materialized. Kurung—a thunderous roar echoed in the clear sky, the air growing heavy in an instant.
Ching—somewhere, a phantom ring echoed. The sound of a sword being drawn.
"From this moment, the Nangong Clan enters a deathmatch."
"Any who set foot on Anhui soil and dare claim themselves Divine Cult followers."
"Shall be annihilated."
The heavens trembled at the Sword King's fury.
Suu—the energy receded. The mourners all clasped fists toward Nangong Jincheon. Leading them, naturally, was the Blade King in mourning white.
Behind followed the Zhuge Clan, and even the reclusive Sichuan Tang Clan stood shoulder to shoulder.
The four of the Nine Great Sects, who had vied with Nangong in power openly or not, joined as well—even Huashan, who had suffered the Divine Sword's defeat.
"Fellow martial artists! On this day, we unite to aid the noble Nangong Clan!"
"We shall eradicate the evil cult swarm and bring stability to these chaotic times!"
"Thus, the martial world swears as one!"
Future generations would call it the Martial Alliance.
Fire Mountain, on the Huangfu Clan's grounds, buzzed with activity. Even at night, lights blazed as everyone toiled. Tak-tak-tak—the hammers rang out.
Where once the clan's great hall stood, a new structure rose.
But it fit the Huangfu Clan not at all.
No grand palace, no lodgings for guests. From afar, it looked like a shabby pile of lumber.
Its true form: an altar, a platform for the divine.
Cobbled from leftover scraps, the bizarre altar's shape was crude, haphazard, teeth uneven.
Even with cultists pooling their heads.
Only its scale was immense, incomparable.
"Can't we make it bigger?"
"Park said if we go any larger here, it'll collapse!"
"Argh! What a shame! It's for Her Holiness to ascend!"
"Hey, you think I don't regret it? This is barely holding together!"
All wanted it as grand as possible, no exceptions.
The time had come.
No word from Her Holiness, no scheme from the Strategist—the cultists felt it themselves. Not an order from above, but the masses acting on their own.
Cultists to elders, elders to apostles. In the tight two-night deadline, they completed it.
An altar for Her Holiness.
Cultists gathered from across vast Guangdong. Some carpenters, some masons—they pooled strength to push the limits.
Tomorrow, for the first time, they would offer Her Holiness a proper rite.
A chaotic world. Martial artists' blades sowed death everywhere, one house apart.
Yet when family starved, robbed of food, they endured. When a sole lover fell to a martial artist's edge, they bore it.
For broken teeth and frail limbs could not touch those martial artists.
Thus, the Huangfu Clan was not the end. It could not be.
Farther. More.
Revenge upon the world.
"Alright, back to work! Sun's rising!"
Those leaning back for a brief rest wiped sweat. Deep into the night, hammers never ceased. Cheerful work songs spread on the damp air.
The grotesque altar swelled ever larger.
As if devouring the corpses of martial clans.