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墨書 Inktalez
Feng Huo slowly stood up, his movements deliberate yet exuding an undeniable presence. He clasped his hands behind his back and walked to the back of the room, gazing through the narrow window at the scene outside.
Beyond the window lay a scorched earth, littered with charred remnants and scattered weapons. In the distance, Fog City Soldiers moved back and forth, busily clearing the battlefield. Several massive recycling machines emitted a low rumble as they slowly advanced, voraciously swallowing up the scattered steel and synthetic materials like ravenous wolves. Occasionally, a broken prosthetic would get stuck at the machine's entrance, only to be roughly battered by mechanical arms, accompanied by the harsh sound of metal grinding, before vanishing into the machine's vast metallic belly.
“Leng Lie…” Feng Huo suddenly spoke, his voice deep as if invoking some ancient and heavy memory. “That wanderer, his swordsmanship has reached a divine level. It would not be an exaggeration to call him the greatest swordsman in this world.”
His tone was calm but carried an unmistakable reverence, as if stating an irrefutable fact. His gaze remained fixed outside, observing the busy soldiers and machines, seemingly contemplating something deeper through these sights.
After a moment, Feng Huo burst into hearty laughter, his mirth bright yet tinged with disdain. He turned his head, his eyes landing on Yan Kong, a slight smirk playing on his lips that hinted at subtle mockery.
“Oh, please don’t get it wrong, Mr. Yan Kong.” There was a teasing note in Feng Huo’s voice now, his smile sharp as a blade. “Don’t think of me as a helpless scholar hiding here merely pointing fingers. Like you, I was once a warrior who danced on the edge of blades.”
Feng Huo stepped forward slowly, his gaze sharp as a knife as if testing Yan Kong’s reaction. His voice lowered further, each word striking the air like heavy blows: “In this life, I have taken eleven swords.”
He paused for effect, the smile deepening at the corners of his mouth, pride and provocation gleaming in his eyes. “So I do have some understanding of swordsmanship.”
Yan Kong raised an eyebrow slightly, arms crossed over his chest as he regarded Feng Huo with a cold stare. A faint smile flickered across his face, as if weighing the truth of Feng Huo’s words. His fingers lightly tapped against his arm, seemingly waiting for what Feng Huo would say next.
Feng Huo said nothing more and turned back to gaze out the window again, his silhouette straight as a blade, eyes deep with unspoken stories buried within that scorched earth.
Still looking outside, Feng Huo’s voice was low but laced with playful mockery: “You must be wondering why I don’t recruit a swordsman like Leng Lie instead of seeking out one of his defeated subordinates? Am I right?”
The words struck Yan Kong like a dagger to the heart. His jaw clenched tightly as he instinctively tightened his fists until his knuckles turned white from the pressure. His gaze turned icy in an instant; however, he found himself unable to refute Feng Huo's provocative question. He stared coldly at Feng Huo in silence for a moment before finally nodding slightly in acknowledgment of a truth he was reluctant to accept.
Feng Huo smiled with a hint of pride, a superior expression that seemed to penetrate the deepest contradictions and shame within Yan Kong. He slowly turned, casting a downward gaze upon the kneeling Yan Kong, his steps steady and deliberate, making the atmosphere even more oppressive.
As he approached Yan Kong, the smile on his face gradually faded, replaced by a cold and sharp expression. His eyes became as piercing as blades, directly stabbing into Yan Kong, his tone carrying an undeniable authority: "You are a fire, Yan Kong."
Yan Kong paused slightly, meeting Feng Huo's gaze with furrowed brows and a barely perceptible cold smile at the corners of his mouth. He did not understand Feng Huo's true intentions, but he sensed that this statement was not merely an evaluation; it felt more like a test and an assertion of control.
Feng Huo lowered himself to meet Yan Kong's eyes, his voice deep and powerful, each word striking like a hammer against Yan Kong's heart: "A raging fire. You desire success, a stable home, supreme power, and the admiration of others... You long for all of this, don’t you?"
This statement ignited a hidden flame within Yan Kong; his pupils constricted slightly, and his heart raced like a drum. His fists clenched again, his voice tinged with suppressed anger: "What exactly do you want to say, Feng Huo?"
Feng Huo's lips curled into a knowing smile once more, his eyes glinting with an elusive chill as if waiting for the silent blaze within Yan Kong to erupt completely.
Standing upright again, Feng Huo clasped his hands behind his back, the smile vanishing entirely to be replaced by an air of cold authority. His tone was low and commanding, slicing through the room like a cold wind: "What I want to say is... I am giving you an opportunity—an opportunity to quell this chaotic world. And you, Yan Kong, will be that pivotal figure—the eye of the storm."
He paused for a moment, his gaze sharp as a knife sweeping over the kneeling Yan Kong. His voice grew even deeper yet carried an undeniable force: "Your fury will consume all enemies before you, turning them to ashes until you stand at the heights you desire, looking down upon this land you once thought impossible to conquer."
Feng Huo's voice echoed in the spacious room as if it could penetrate thick walls and resonate across scorched earth. His tone gradually rose with infectious fervor, as if there truly were legions waiting for Yan Kong to lead and destroy. He raised his hand slightly as if pointing toward an endless battlefield, his eyes sparkling with zeal for the future.
"You will no longer be that failed Yankeeper; you will no longer be that ridiculed wanderer. You will become legend—a ruler in this chaotic world!" Feng Huo spoke passionately as if he could already envision flames consuming enemy forces and Yan Kong standing atop a field littered with corpses, raising his solitary blade to receive the worship and fear of all.
Yan Kong remained kneeling with his head bowed, not responding immediately. His fists were tightly clenched on his knees, knuckles white; he resembled a silent statue. Thoughts surged within him, filled with contradictions and contemplation. He felt an overwhelming force pressing against his chest that made it hard to breathe.
"Is this truly what I seek?" he silently questioned himself. Images of countless duels flashed through his mind—intense moments of life and death, the sharp clash of blades, the bloody scent accompanying fallen bodies.
He suddenly realized that his years of fighting and struggling had merely served to make him a pawn in someone else's plan. Now, the path to greatness seemed to lie right before him. He could feel that he had already crossed the threshold.
"Do you really believe I can do it?" Yan Kong asked softly, his voice low and slightly hoarse. The question seemed to be directed at Feng Huo, but also at himself.
Feng Huo suddenly burst into laughter, a deep and resonant sound that seemed to shake the very room. He slowly brought his hands from behind his back and walked steadily toward Yan Kong, then bent slightly at the waist to meet the gaze of Yan Kong, who was kneeling on the ground.
He reached out, unhesitatingly grasping Yan Kong's thighs, which were tightly clenched from suppressed emotions. His grip was firm and undeniable. His palms were cold and hard, yet his touch carried an irresistible force.
"Don't let a small failure make you doubt yourself," Feng Huo's voice softened, laced with a kind of almost cruel encouragement. A smile curled at the corners of his mouth, infused with a hint of aggressive warmth. "I believe in you, my warrior, Yan Kong."
Yan Kong lifted his head to look at Feng Huo standing before him. The confident smile on his face remained, but beneath that smile, Yan Kong sensed a chilling sense of control. Feng Huo's gaze was deep and calm, as if he had already seen through every choice Yan Kong would make and had paved the way for each step ahead.
"My warrior..." The words felt like an invisible chain tightly binding Yan Kong's soul. The voice was deep and powerful, both an honor bestowed and a shackle forged.
Yan Kong lowered his head slightly, his eyes drifting over the hands that Feng Huo held firmly. A surge of indescribable emotion welled up within him. He could feel Feng Huo's cold yet unwavering strength, as if every movement carried an irresistible pressure.
"This is a trap," Yan Kong thought coldly to himself. His teeth clenched tightly as if a massive stone pressed against his chest. Yet he understood that this path might be his only choice; no matter where it led, he had no way out.
Feng Huo straightened up and released Yan Kong's hands, his smile returning to that nonchalant confidence. "Now, rise," he commanded in a low voice that was impossible to refuse. "The raging flames will never lie down on the ground."
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