Chapter 362: Three Hundred Years, One Sword

Zhao Xiang'er never expected that the final enemy awaiting her at the end of the Vermilion Bird's trial illusion would not be the Peacock King, but rather the innate spirit within her—Nine Feathers.

So, this was the demonic phoenix she ultimately had to face.

Yet, she still didn't understand why the Vermilion Bird, despite repeatedly trying to kill her, merely forced her into desperate situations, using others to strike, instead of personally delivering the killing blow. Why? Was it to compel the unseeable Abbot to save her? But what was the point of that?

And then there was the ultimate question.

If she wasn't the Vermilion Bird's daughter, then who was she?!

The young woman lowered her head in thought.

The Vermilion Bird's maid, dressed in a fiery red gown, looked like a puppet. She watched Zhao Xiang'er, awaiting her death. She wanted to see the color of despair, mixed with the betrayal of a loved one, in those proud eyes—it was the only thing she truly enjoyed witnessing in the human world.

Nine Feathers' black blade emitted no light, yet its killing intent illuminated Zhao Xiang'er's delicate neck.

It was only at this moment that Nine Feathers' memories gradually awakened.

Zhao Xiang'er knelt on the ground, her curves tragically alluring beneath her tight black battle attire. Her long hair, unkempt, had unconsciously reached her waist. Her kneeling body was taut like a bow, appearing soft but harboring inner fire. Strands of hair falling across her forehead concealed her face, revealing only a sharp corner of her chin.

The Vermilion Bird's maid looked at her motionless form and spoke coldly, "Nineteen years of life, a mere dream. If you wish to cry, I will allow you a good cry."

Hearing this, Zhao Xiang'er's slender shoulders subtly shifted. From beneath her bowed head, a faint laugh emerged.

She slowly raised her head, her smile faint: "During our three-year agreement, Ning Changjiu asked me a question."

The Vermilion Bird's maid showed some interest and asked, "What was it?"

Zhao Xiang'er replied, "He asked me what I would do if my mother tried to kill me."

The Vermilion Bird's maid watched her with indifference, awaiting her next words.

Zhao Xiang'er smiled slightly: "My answer at the time was simple: I am not a foolishly loyal person who drinks poisoned wine if it's offered or hangs herself with white silk if it's gifted... But I still underestimated my mother. I never imagined she would be so ruthless as to send the executioner directly to me."

The Vermilion Bird's maid gently shook her head, dismissive of her words.

She looked at Nine Feathers and commanded, "Take the core."

Nine Feathers solidified into a human form, her figure graceful yet entirely black, her body without depth, like a person cut from a sheet of black paper.

She raised her sword and brought it down, striking at Zhao Xiang'er's elegant back.

In the silent trial world, the clang of metal suddenly erupted!

The sword failed to sever the young woman's head.

In mid-air, the black sword and a slender umbrella-sword formed a cross.

Nine Feathers hadn't seen how Zhao Xiang'er turned, but in an instant, she had drawn her sword and spun around, her weapon sweeping horizontally to clash with the downward strike of Nine Feathers' blade!

Sparks flew, and bloodstains still marked Zhao Xiang'er's cheeks, yet a smile played in her clear, distinct black and white eyes.

"The Vermilion Bird kept me intact just for you, didn't she?" Zhao Xiang'er stared at Nine Feathers and asked.

Nine Feathers replied, "Do you wish to die with peace of mind?"

Zhao Xiang'er smiled faintly, gripping her sword with both hands and pressing forward with all her might: "You treat me as the Vermilion Bird's pawn, but aren't you one yourself?"

Nine Feathers also held her sword like a knife, her distinct raven hair fluttering sparsely. "You don't need to deceive yourself anymore."

Their bodies pressed close, then abruptly sprang apart.

As soon as Zhao Xiang'er steadied herself, her umbrella-sword flashed with a cold light, and she lunged forward again. She didn't know the weakness of this shadowy Nine Feathers, but her only thought was to plunge her blade into the opponent's body!

"Don't forget, this is *my* trial realm, and the air wall is still here. If you're waiting for me here, how are you any different from the Ghost Chariot or the Peacock King?" Zhao Xiang'er's figure flickered, bringing her blade down with a sweeping step, "You'll all be bones beneath my sword!"

Nine Feathers' sword cut smoothly, intercepting the tip of Zhao Xiang'er's blade. The moment they touched, a hundred clashes seemed to reverberate instantly.

Their moves seemed to have been struck by the same person, their coordination truly reaching the level of 'siblings'. In their desperate, clashing swords, crimson sword light bloomed, instantly shattering into a rain of light. They didn't look like they were fighting, but rather like two gracefully dancing winds.

The Vermilion Bird's maid stood silently to the side, observing the sudden outbreak of combat.

Even with her profound indifference, she was still astonished by Zhao Xiang'er's willpower, but... it wouldn't change the outcome.

This might be the final battle between the Phoenix Seed and the Vermilion Bird Seed in the long river of history.

She did not interfere.

In the rain of light, Zhao Xiang'er's blade swept out. Nine Feathers accurately anticipated the sword's trajectory and cut down with her black blade, severing the momentum of the strike.

Nine Feathers said indifferently, "I also didn't expect you to have any strength left; it truly is a miracle you weren't killed by the Peacock King. But you are mistaken. This has never been your trial ground; it is where your soul will be replaced. I will not harm this body of yours, which captivates all beings. I will walk out in your place, and ascend to the highest position."

Zhao Xiang'er was forced back by a single sword strike. Nine Feathers' black blade pressed on, severing a stream of sword energy with an empty slash. As the blade swept past, the void cracked open.

Zhao Xiang'er deftly kicked the red umbrella with her toe. The umbrella flew out, opened in mid-air, and blocked the incoming sword strike. Her figure flashed, drawing a graceful arc in the air as she lunged back towards Nine Feathers.

She had just entered the Five Dao realm, and her foundation was still unstable. Yet, at this moment, she had to suppress all her injuries, drain the last bit of mystic power from her Five Dao, and face a decisive battle to the death.

Nine Feathers wielded her sword, conjuring multiple illusions, precisely cutting off Zhao Xiang'er's sword path. Their blades touched, the same moves clashing like mirror images, like two rapidly rotating pieces of steel twisted together.

Nine Feathers sneered, "I know all the moves you know, but I possess something... that you don't. How can you win?"

A dangerous premonition suddenly surged in Zhao Xiang'er's heart, and she immediately retreated.

Where Zhao Xiang'er had been standing moments before, a dazzling bubble now floated.

"A world?!" Zhao Xiang'er was slightly startled. She couldn't see Nine Feathers' face, but she knew Nine Feathers was smiling.

Nine Feathers said, "The world has always been my dominion, not yours. Now, I have reclaimed it. Give up..."

Vermilion Bird divine fire ignited on Nine Feathers' blade.

The authority of the world attached itself to it.

If she merely touched Zhao Xiang'er's sword, she could instantly draw her into her own domain, making her a fish on the chopping block.

Zhao Xiang'er looked at her blade, yet a faint smile appeared on her face.

For some reason, her mood was unexpectedly light.

"Give up?" Zhao Xiang'er's gaze was sharp as a knife. "How can I give up?"

As of this moment, she finally understood the full meaning of that dream.

Not everything she knew, Nine Feathers knew as well.

Nine Feathers was not contained within that dream.

She should have died long ago, at sixteen.

But, Abbot? Master? She didn't know what to call him, but he was a benefactor she had never met... For so many years, he had helped her overcome countless dangers to reach this day, never abandoning her.

If you didn't give up, how could I give up on myself!

The Ancient Pure Yang Scripture burned within her, and the Eye of Lunar Yin replaced her clear, distinct black and white eyes.

As Nine Feathers showed a slight surprise, Zhao Xiang'er, holding her blade, actively charged forward.

Faintly, she heard the young woman's whisper:

"Why do you trouble me?"

On Tianzhu Peak, the moon eternally hung at midnight.

Ning Changjiu carried Siming on his back, one hand supporting her slender jade leg, the other reaching to grasp the dust clouds in the moonlight. He moved ceaselessly, like an insignificant black speck in the pure white light. The boy's eyes were dry, his lips chapped, and his voice hoarse as the oldest crow.

He continued to speak, but even he could no longer hear what he was saying.

Siming lay quietly on his shoulder, her disheveled silver hair flowing like water, some strands draped over his white robe, others trickling inside his collar, lightly touching Ning Changjiu's scarred chest.

The silver hair made his neck slightly itch.

Ning Changjiu felt this itch, taking it as Siming's response to his words.

She was his only listener.

The moonlight was like a long river descending from the heavens. They drifted within it, moving upstream, using the dust clouds as steps, slowly leaving the human world behind, ascending above the moon.

"You're clearly good, but you always pretend to be bad."

"You clearly love Jiajia so much, yet you constantly find ways to tease her."

"You clearly like me, but you speak of hatred."

"You're so contradictory... this time, you said you were going to die, that's fake too, right..."

Ning Changjiu spoke in fits and starts.

He wished the woman on his shoulder would wake up, pull his ear, and sharply refute him.

But she was eerily quiet.

Fortunately, this beam of moonlight indeed possessed magical power.

Siming's last faint breath lingered softly at his neck. Her beauty at this moment was indescribable; in the tales of mortals, only death could elevate such beauty to a higher climax.

But Ning Changjiu did not want such an elevation.

The Underworld King had long since fallen; who would demand his life?

He gritted his teeth, held his breath, and continuously climbed through the dust clouds of moonlight.

Kunlun's height was unknown, but he was tireless.

Everything was still.

Ning Changjiu, at this moment, had no idea what lay behind this tranquility.

Outside Monster City, a silver figure solidified and appeared abruptly. Silver skirts swept across the fields.

The surrounding flowers, grass, and trees sensed her arrival and, as if struck by a frosty wind, bowed down.

The silver-clad woman looked at the sky-piercing column of light.

She extended her hand.

A massive silver sword formed in her hand.

The sword was twice her size. She raised it high, poised to strike.

Kunlun, though beautiful, was also fragile.

She was a Divine Official of the Silver Snow Palace, possessing the power to cleave Kunlun with a single sword strike!

But the sword did not fall smoothly.

The wild grass that had bowed to the ground stood up again, and the tall trees in the forest that had bent straightened themselves.

As all things returned to their original state, they also fell into a profound silence.

Outside Monster City, a figure in a green dress suddenly appeared, also without warning.

The moment she appeared, the Silver Divine Official, who commanded the human world, did not dare to bring her sword down.

The newcomer was none other than the Eldest Disciple of the Unseeable Temple.

Divine Master in her flowing green dress, with a pure and sacred aura, made a dismissive hand gesture and said, "You are already a Divine Official, why do you not dare to strike? Don't worry... I am no longer who I was back then. I am far from that powerful. You can try to bring it down."

To the human world, Divine Officials were legendary figures.

The person before her was a legend, thousands of years older than any Divine Official.

She had come before her.

All was silent.

The Divine Official faced her, not daring to drop her sword.

"If everyone in that temple were like you, I doubt the Divine Master would have ordered me here," the Divine Official said indifferently.

Divine Master smiled faintly: "My younger martial siblings are indeed not quite up to par, especially the youngest one, who worries me the most. But thankfully, the second one is decent enough; blocking the Heavenly Sovereign should be no problem."

The Divine Official said, "But it's not just us, is it?"

Divine Master replied, "No need to worry."

The Second Disciple sat on a massive rock, clad in green robes, sharpening his blade.

The round pommel was bronze-yellow. The black blade had a smooth curve, its edge gleaming brightly, and its spine was about half a thumb's width. The red lacquered sheath lay casually to one side.

Before him, a silver-clad man also stood.

The man gestured with his hand, estimating the thickness of the moon pillar, his fingers lightly twirling, as if poised to snap it with a flick of his wrist.

The Second Disciple rolled up his sleeves, wiped sweat from his brow, and chuckled: "As expected of the Heavenly Sovereign who follows Baizang, so hesitant in action. If I were you, I would have already made my move."

The Silver Heavenly Sovereign smiled indifferently. He withdrew his hand, one fist clenched before him, the other hanging behind his back.

He looked at the Second Disciple and said, "Emperor Bai, your city is more beautiful now than it was back then. If you have leisure, would you like to go back and see it?"

The Second Disciple said, "A magpie occupying a dove's nest; it's better not to go. A desolate, empty city, even if peace and joy reign in my temple?"

The Silver Heavenly Sovereign said, "If I am fortunate enough, I would indeed like to visit the Unseeable Temple."

The Second Disciple finished sharpening his blade, squinted one eye, examined the curve of the blade, and nodded in satisfaction: "Then I, on behalf of our entire temple, do not welcome you."

The Silver Heavenly Sovereign revealed a cold, god-like smile. He suddenly asked, "Why don't you just take that young man back directly? Why all this fanfare, disturbing everyone's peace?"

The Second Disciple turned, glanced at the moonlight, and said, "How can he enter the temple without crossing Kunlun? This is something our junior brother must accomplish. As his seniors, we only need to provide him with tranquility."

But how easy was tranquility to achieve?

The Silver Heavenly Sovereign said, "Then I shall have to test if you can stop me should I truly wish to leave."

As he spoke, the Silver Heavenly Sovereign's clenched fist opened into a palm, and he made three ethereal chopping motions forward.

Space split into three.

The Silver Heavenly Sovereign casually stepped in, yet it was as if he had entered layered, more complex realms, vanishing without a trace.

The Second Disciple annoyedly ruffled his hair and sighed, "Ah, if Eldest Disciple Sister were here, he probably wouldn't dare move... Am I truly that weak now, that everyone wants to test my skill?"

With that, the Second Disciple shouldered his great saber, took a long stride, and vanished without a trace.

Outside Monster City, continuous thunderclaps erupted.

Hundreds of thousands of miles from Monster City, a dazzling sword shadow flickered in the sky, covering a hundred miles in an instant.

She was the Eldest Disciple of the Sword Pavilion.

She was still on her way to Monster City, but after her battle with Empress Nuwa, she was too heavily wounded, stopping and starting, causing too much delay.

She likely wouldn't make it in time.

The Eldest Disciple stopped in a wheat field, breathing gently.

The sword shadow undulated with her figure, and the wheat field swayed with her sword shadow.

She was already the second most powerful person in the Central Lands.

Yet, the gap between her and Empress Nuwa still far exceeded her imagination.

One could even say that the other party had held back.

She didn't feel defeated; instead, her gaze extended further and wider towards the pinnacle of the Great Dao.

Myriad sword intents spread around her. She sat cross-legged on the field ridge, her vermillion lips slightly parted. Between her lips, a small, hiltless sword formed, no larger than a chicken's egg, yet brightly gleaming.

She herself couldn't arrive, but her sword might make it in time. However, with the long distance, this sword strike would likely be greatly weakened upon arrival.

But events took an unexpected turn.

No sooner had the sword flown out than it was intercepted, before it even crossed the wheat field.

The one who intercepted the sword was a young woman with a somewhat round face.

The young woman had a delicate, petite figure, with slightly disheveled short hair. She wore leather clothing and trousers, and carried a weapon case on her back, filled with a dazzling array of eighteen types of weapons, like a peacock fanning its tail.

She was the Fourth Disciple Sister of the Sword Pavilion, also named Si.

Miss Si stood at the end of the wheat field, one hand resting on a long spear that supported her waist, the other pulling out a shield to earnestly block the flying sword from the Sword Pavilion's Eldest Disciple.

She glanced at the woman sitting cross-legged and asked, "Are you the one who was defeated by my senior sister?"

"Yes," the Sword Pavilion's Eldest Disciple admitted frankly.

Miss Si puffed out her cheeks and said, "Then you're the one I'm looking for!"

The Sword Pavilion's Eldest Disciple looked at her and asked, "Are you also from that place?"

Miss Si nodded: "Yes, I'm ranked fourth, and all my martial arts were taught by Eldest Disciple Sister."

The Sword Pavilion's Eldest Disciple asked, "Whose reincarnation are you?"

Miss Si sighed: "My status is too low, I'm ashamed to say. Oh, do we immortals have to announce our lineage before fighting? Let's just fight directly. If I win, it means I'm a skilled student of a renowned master. If I lose, it means my training wasn't good enough!"

Metal clanged, clashed, and rang out.

Behind Miss Si, the weapon case opened, and various weapons gleamed coldly, like wings.

The Sword Pavilion's Eldest Disciple also slowly rose.

Ten thousand sword intents once again gathered around her, like her skirt, and like silver dragons circling her body. She stood atop the silver dragons.

Just then, a meteor streaked across the sky above them.

Both looked up simultaneously.

After a moment of slight astonishment, the Eldest Disciple's gaze became fervent.

Miss Si let out a small cry, somewhat flustered... "Oh no! It's still coming..."

The sword originated from the location of the Sword Pavilion.

A single sword strike, a million miles.

The Sword Sage had not drawn his sword for three hundred years. Today, he emerged from seclusion, delivering a single strike that traversed the Central Lands.

This crucial sword strike arrived silently, without any warning.

The Sword Sage's sword was also within expectations.

He was the last person in the entire Central Lands qualified to make a move.

The sword was ancient and unadorned. It passed through the starry sky without diminishing its brilliance, and over night lakes without disturbing the dreams of fish. It had long reached the true form of 'great form has no shape', requiring no words to elaborate on its power.

Its target was singular.

The Kunlun Celestial Pillar.

More precisely, it was to cleave Ning Changjiu along with the Kunlun Celestial Pillar.

This was the Sword Sage's first strike since his seclusion, and it was bound to be a world-shattering feat.

The sword passed over mountains and seas, lakes and swamps, iron-like city towers, flying higher and higher, directly towards the divine pillar.

The first to intercept the sword was the Third Disciple.

The Third Disciple usually did not reside in the temple, and very few in the human world knew his true identity.

He was Ji Xuan, the Lord of the Divine Painting Tower, and the third most powerful person in the Central Lands.

This was a sword contest between the third and first most powerful individuals.

The Third Disciple, clad in red robes, resembled a self-immolating figure, engulfed in flames, high up on a branch.

He raised the sword in his hand.

The sword's name was "Divine Painting."

When he swung his sword, wherever its light passed, everything would fall from three dimensions into two, becoming a painting scroll drawn by his sword light.

Eighty-one painting scrolls, like iron chains, stretched across the sky, each depicting different landscapes.

The Sword Sage's sword arrived from afar.

The sound of silk paintings tearing echoed continuously.

The Sword Sage's sword had not been unsheathed for centuries; its strike now was no small matter.

All eighty-one scrolls depicted magnificent and grand landscapes, yet they could not contain this single sword.

The scrolls rapidly shattered, transforming into butterfly-like fragments, which then reassembled into mountains and rivers, forming a new landscape beneath the Third Disciple's feet.

All eighty-one scrolls were broken.

At the end of the scrolls, the Third Disciple waited.

He drew his sword to intercept.

However, it seemed the Sword Sage had received some kind of heavenly gift during his seclusion.

The intensity of this sword strike surpassed his expectations.

The Third Disciple intended to receive the sword with his own body as a scroll.

The sword pierced his body, encountering resistance within him.

*Pfft*. Blood spurted.

The sword eventually passed through his flesh, flying further behind him, but its speed was significantly reduced.

The Third Disciple spat out a mouthful of blood and used the Divine Painting Sword to wipe away the wound above his lower abdomen. He looked behind him, a hint of regret in his eyes.

By the time the sword reached Monster City, Ning Changjiu had already climbed most of the divine pillar.

His hands and feet were numb and weak, moving in mechanical motions. Everything he saw was a blur, with only his single-minded obsession sustaining him.

He traversed the initial sea of clouds, passed through increasingly thin and cold atmospheric layers, crossed the boundaries of the world, journeyed through the Void Sea, and even caught a glimpse of the immortal court's ruins...

Carrying Siming on his back, he didn't even dare to speak.

It wasn't fear of alarming the immortals in heaven, but that too much time had passed. He was terrified, afraid that all his efforts would be in vain, afraid that Siming would truly never answer him again.

Siming remained gently asleep on his back, whether in a dream or death, he didn't know.

Kunlun truly lived up to its name as the sky-piercing pillar; even now, its top was still out of sight.

But fortunately, the light was always there.

The young man carried the exquisitely beautiful woman, climbing up the moonlight. The woman, with her silver hair and divine robe, was like a moon spirit...

What a beautiful scene this should have been.

Yet, all Ning Changjiu could see with his eyes and smell with his nose was desolation.

Ning Changjiu's eyelids occasionally drooped heavily, the desire for unconsciousness so strong, like ink stirred into clear water.

His muscles had already reached their limit; every subsequent twitch of a muscle caused agonizing pain throughout his body.

He had never thought of giving up, but his physical body had reached its limit.

Ning Changjiu's hands, calloused and bloody, clutched at the dust in the moonlight. His eyes could barely stay open, but thankfully, his body's instinct had also learned to climb.

Gradually, gradually.

Ning Changjiu noticed that the moon was getting closer.

It was so unbeautiful, its surface pitted and cratered, tinged with silver-gray, nothing but desolation as far as the eye could see.

Yet, it seemed there was nothing more beautiful in the world.

"Xue Ci... Xue Ci." Ning Changjiu opened his mouth and uttered a dry sound. His expression was stiff, yet he was so happy, like a child.

"Xue Ci, do you see it?"

Ning Changjiu said hoarsely, as if coaxing a little girl, "This is the moon now, we... we're almost there. Please don't fall asleep, you won't have good dreams if you sleep now."

Siming remained perfectly still, without any response.

Ning Changjiu panted, staring at the moon, struggling against the current to ascend.

The destination was almost within reach.

But he didn't know that the Sword Sage's sword had also reached the outskirts of Monster City.

The sword entered Monster City.

The lion's roar of the Nine-Spirited Primordial Sage resounded.

He hadn't sought Ke Wenzhou, yet Ke Wenzhou's sword had actively entered the city. What a great humiliation?

But he was too severely wounded at this moment; his nine lion roars were overwhelmed by the sword's ringing, and ultimately, he could not stop the blade.

The sword continued its flight.

Bai Ze manifested his Dharma Idol, but it was also pierced by the ancient sword and could not stop it.

The thunderous ringing of the sword echoed throughout Monster City, overpowering even the roars of the two mighty lions.

The Eldest Disciple kept the Divine Official occupied, while the Second Disciple and the Heavenly Sovereign moved unpredictably through various realms outside the city.

The Sword Sage's sword, unleashed once every three hundred years—who could stop it?

Ning Changjiu, carrying Siming on his back, staggered forward. The light gradually faded, and the moon before him continuously grew larger, and larger, and larger, until it became an boundless expanse, filling his entire vision.

Everything was within reach.

The sword came from behind him.

Ning Changjiu sensed the danger, turned his head, and his pupils contracted sharply.

In that instant, time seemed to stretch endlessly. He felt death arriving in a flash. In his pupils, the ancient sword's simple, rusted blade was so clear, every detail vividly discernible.

But the Eldest Disciple did not come.

The slowing of time was merely his illusion.

The sword came almost directly along Kunlun.

It thrust toward him without any flourish.

It was clearly right before him... clearly just a step away...

The moon was so close, yet it was about to become an unattainable destination.

In the final moment, Ning Changjiu could do nothing. The only thing he had time to do was turn around, strain to straighten his stiff, cold back, facing the sword directly, to shield Xue Ci from everything one last time.

At this moment, the unconscious Siming on his back let out a soft hum, as if waking, or perhaps murmuring in a dream.

She was still alive! The moonlight protected her, locking her last breath within her body.

But the Sword Sage's blade had arrived, and nothing mattered anymore.

Ning Changjiu stood on the dust cloud, closing his eyes.

*Clang—*

The sword did not pierce his body. Instead, the clear, distant sound of a bell rang in his ears once more.

When Ning Changjiu opened his eyes again, a white-clad man appeared out of thin air, standing before him.

That back was very familiar, scholarly in demeanor—it was precisely the Fifth Disciple, well-versed in books. The Fifth Disciple revered knowledge, believing it to be power, but today, he did not use knowledge as a shield.

He wielded an iron staff in his hand, and at its tip, the Sword Sage's blade, like a clinging speck of white light, was still struggling.

The Ruyi Black Iron Divine Staff!

It was with this object that he had blocked the Sword Sage's once-in-a-century strike!

"Master..." Ning Changjiu wanted to bow, but he could no longer speak.

The Fifth Disciple stood with his back to him, one hand gripping the staff, the other pointing to the sky, and sighed deeply: "Junior brother... Master has waited for you for fifteen years. Don't be late this time."

Ning Changjiu was stunned for a moment, then let out a heavy "Mhm."

It was the only sound he could make.

He mustered his last bit of strength, turned, and, carrying the woman he cherished, lunged towards the moon.

Moonlight, like water, gently embraced them.

Ning Changjiu floated gently onto the moon.

Desolation met his gaze.

Here...

Ning Changjiu was jolted as if by lightning.

The door to his memories opened once more.

He had been here before!

Back on the night of the full moon ascension, his Master's sword had pierced his body, striking him down the Cloud Cliff. Before his reincarnation, he had been trapped in a desolate, gray-white place.

This was that very place!

He would never forget it.

The Evil One had once told him that the Unseeable Temple's former name was "Prison."

This was it.

The Moon Prison!