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墨書 Inktalez
Bing Lie knelt quietly before the Wild Temple, his hands clasped together and head bowed, allowing the cold mountain wind to howl around him. The wind lifted his cloak and tousled his silver hair, yet he remained motionless, as if he had become a statue. The world before him gradually blurred, and the sound of the wind faded into the distance, as if the clamor of heaven and earth was being swept away by the torrent of time.
In this tranquility, his consciousness began to dive inward, as if his soul had broken free from the constraints of his body and stood up freely. His physical form remained kneeling in place, like an empty shell, while his soul gently floated upward, standing atop the frigid mountain peak.
When he lifted his gaze, he discovered he was not alone. Beside the humble Wild Temple, another figure knelt quietly. The person had their back to him, slender and upright, draped in an old but tidy gray robe—so familiar that Bing Lie's soul trembled slightly.
"Master..." he murmured softly, his voice dissipating in the stillness of the space, uncertain whether it was a call or merely an echo of his heart.
The figure remained silent, yet their silhouette was so familiar, like a towering mountain steadfastly standing in the depths of his memory. The Master’s presence was as tranquil as it had been in years past but carried an unfathomable majesty, as if the very center of this world revolved around him.
Bing Lie's soul involuntarily took a step forward; the cold wind at the summit sliced through him like a blade, yet his steps showed no hesitation. His gaze was fixed firmly on that silhouette, emotions surging within him—reverence, nostalgia, confusion, and a hint of lingering guilt.
He took a deep breath and knelt again, bowing his head to clasp his hands together once more, performing a deep salute to that familiar back just as he had countless times before. Even though the Master did not turn around, Bing Lie felt enveloped by a warm force within.
The Master moved. His actions were slow, as if time had been infinitely extended in this silent realm of souls. That familiar figure gradually turned around to reveal a steady and profound face. Bing Lie looked at him, emotions swirling within him like a tempest; yet his expression remained calm and unruffled like a still lake.
The Master's gaze met Bing Lie's; those eyes were still unfathomable, imbued with a wisdom and strength born from enduring many trials. They exchanged no words but seemed to understand each other's hearts completely. In this tranquil space, their silent communication became more vivid than any spoken language.
Bing Lie raised his head while still kneeling firmly on the ground. His hands slowly rested on his thighs, fingertips curling slightly as they lightly touched the phantom hilt of his sword. His movements mirrored those of the Master almost perfectly; the Master's hand also lay calmly on his knee without any fluctuation in breath.
Their eyes locked; there was not a trace of Killing Intent in the air nor any hostility. Only the cold wind at the summit continued to swirl within this realm of souls, yet this tranquility felt overwhelmingly oppressive. This was not a confrontation between enemies but rather a trial between master and disciple. Everything in this space seemed frozen in anticipation for the next moment’s eruption.
Their gazes clashed as if time stood still at that instant. Bing Lie's shoulders sank slightly while his back remained straight like a drawn bow. Every nerve in him awaited that singular moment to strike—the only correct moment to act.
The master's expression was eerily calm, like a silent, unyielding deep sea. His eyes fixed on Bing Lie, carrying a barely perceptible sharpness, while his palm rested steadily on his knee, devoid of any unnecessary movement.
This was a silent contest. There were no roars, no anger, and even the flow of sword intent was absent. Everything in this space was as tranquil as a morning lake, yet beneath that calm lay a power capable of tearing the heavens apart.
The master and disciple knelt quietly, as if awaiting fate's judgment, and in that moment, no one could predict who would act first.
Just as the stillness reached its peak, and the tense atmosphere seemed to compress the space to the point of suffocation, both their hands moved almost simultaneously. A powerful Killing Intent erupted in an instant, like thunder crashing down, shattering the surrounding silence. Bing Lie and the master's souls drew their blades at the same time; in that moment, the blade light flashed like lightning, carving a dazzling arc through the air.
"Clang!"
The blades clashed mid-air with a deafening metallic sound. The noise seemed to penetrate the entire soul space, bringing an indescribable sense of oppression. Bing Lie's hand firmly gripped the hilt, his gaze icy as he coldly stared into the master's eyes. His breathing was steady, shoulders slightly lowered; he resembled an immovable iceberg, allowing that overwhelming Killing Intent to ripple around him.
The master's blade pressed firmly against Bing Lie's sword edge; his gaze remained profound but carried a hint of imperceptible satisfaction. His movements were devoid of any excess, yet the Killing Intent wrapped around Bing Lie like invisible chains, seemingly testing every reaction he had.
Their eyes clashed in mid-air; there were no words exchanged—only the truest forces within them colliding. Time seemed to freeze at that moment, with the intersection of their swords becoming the center of the entire space.
Suddenly, the master's gaze shifted slightly, and then that pervasive Killing Intent swiftly receded like a tide. Bing Lie felt the pressure lessen and gradually withdrew his own Killing Intent. His sword remained firmly in hand, but its blade slowly drifted away from the other's sharpness before being sheathed once more.
At the same time, the master's sword returned to its place with graceful fluidity, like flowing clouds and water. He straightened up, his gaze falling once again on Bing Lie, a nearly imperceptible smile curving at the corners of his mouth. He nodded slightly with a look of satisfaction, as if to say, "Not bad."
Bing Lie remained kneeling, his hand gently resting on the hilt; his expression was serene, yet inside him stirred a subtle wave of emotion. He understood that in that fleeting moment he had gained the master's recognition—a silent praise that also bore an invisible pressure.
The cold wind howled once more in the soul space; however, at this moment, the Killing Intent had dissipated, leaving only the unspoken understanding between master and disciple.
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