(4) Ziyuan Rides to the Rescue

Ziyuan, it must be said, rarely came down to the mortal realm—he had no wish to disturb the workings of that world's natural order. Even on the rare occasions he did descend, he made a point of restraining the brilliant golden light that radiated from him. But today's matter was urgent; the moment he sensed Anu was in danger, he had flown down at once, and having already sensed there were no mortals nearby, he saw no need to hold back his radiance—especially since the sort of creatures that couldn't bear the light were exactly the kind that needed the crushing weight of such high cultivation brought to bear on them.

　　"Your Highness! What is this? It looks utterly strange." Changxiu eyed the black whirlwind, unable to make sense of it, and turned to ask Ziyuan.

　　Just moments before, Ziyuan had finished discussing state affairs with the Celestial Sovereign and was walking toward his sleeping chambers when Changxiu, sharp-eyed as ever, noticed him press a hand lightly to his chest, brow furrowing. He heard only the words "Anu is in danger" before Ziyuan vanished entirely. Bewildered, Changxiu had hurried after him at once—never expecting to find this scene awaiting him.

　　Ziyuan steadied himself and studied the whirlwind intently, his brow creasing. "Centuries ago, a brutal war was fought here—blood ran like rivers, corpses littered the ground, and it happened not once but many times over the years. What was once open plains for a thousand li has become dense forest now, the world transformed beyond recognition. The countless souls who died in agony here condensed into a thick mass of resentment, and it has laid this sinister formation to feed on the spirits of those who pass through, strengthening itself. It has some skill to it, certainly, but it should only hold power over mortals and immortals or spirits of shallow cultivation. Anu's power runs deep—by rights, this shouldn't have been able to touch her."

　　"Perhaps it's because Anu drank wine last night…" Xing'er said, hunching low, her voice trembling.

　　At Xing'er's answer, a flicker of helpless frustration crossed Ziyuan's face. The Asura Clan had never had a head for liquor—but this was no time to assign blame or dwell on causes. Every moment Anu remained trapped inside was another moment of danger; her life hung by a thread, and he could not afford to waste even an instant. In the next breath, the Dragon-Rider Sword surged forth from his sleeve, and Ziyuan leapt astride it into the air, the whirlwind whipping his robes and hair into disarray, his ordinarily gentle and refined face suddenly hardening with a cold, forbidding edge. Changxiu, having only just grasped what was unfolding, looked up to see Ziyuan preparing to strike and flew quickly to his side. "This is a mere trick of the underworld—leave it to me, Your Highness need not lower yourself to deal with it personally."

　　Ziyuan, his hands already forming seals, his expression intent, said only, "The girl's life hangs by a thread—the formation must be broken at once. I know you're capable, but I fear any delay at all. This calls for speed, not caution—there's no time to spare. Stand by."

　　"Yes." Changxiu bowed his head respectfully at the command and stood aside to watch. Gazing quietly at Ziyuan, he understood well enough how dire the situation must be—for Ziyuan, ordinarily so gentle and forbearing, would never resort to such ruthless measures otherwise.

　　In an instant, the Dragon-Rider Sword transformed into an enormous golden dragon, coiling and roaring through the air, circling the black whirlwind again and again, its whole body ablaze with radiant golden light, forcing the whirlwind's momentum to falter, its spinning speed dropping sharply. Ziyuan raised a brow and lifted his hand; the golden dragon let out a thunderous roar that shook the clouds themselves, the trees and stones trembling with the force of it, before it dove straight down toward the center of the whirlwind. The black whirlwind, unable to withstand the assault any longer, scattered apart at last, dissolving into a haze of broken black mist that spread across the wilderness.

　　But that black mist, illuminated through and through by the brilliant golden light of Ziyuan and his dragon, could hide nothing any longer. Within the mist appeared a figure—something neither quite human nor quite elderly, its face featureless, nothing but a writhing mass of malevolence, sweeping a bitter, freezing hatred toward Ziyuan. Its white hair whipped wildly in its fury, and against that formless, roiling face, the effect—though it bared no fangs, showed no snarl—was more terrifying still. The wraith struck out furiously with both palms, and from their centers countless ghostly figures came pouring forth, mixed with cold laughter and mournful wailing, converging on Ziyuan in a wave.

　　Quick as thought, Ziyuan gave his sleeve a light flick, and the golden dragon beneath him transformed into thousands upon thousands of radiant Dragon-Rider swords, arrayed in layer upon layer like mountain ranges stacked one behind another, weaving together into a vast golden net that caught every one of the countless ghosts rushing toward him and swept them away, each one dissolving into nothing in an instant. The ghosts' cold laughter and wailing turned at once into shrill, anguished screams that filled the forest, terrifying Xing'er so badly her legs went weak and trembling.

　　Seeing this, the eerie, twisted old figure grew only more enraged, and though he knew full well he was no match for the one before him, he still forced out a furious cry. "Heaven has failed me, and all under Heaven has failed me too—what wrong did we ever commit? Cut down by blade and spear, with not even a grave to call our own, and now we merely wish for others to taste the same suffering—why must a noble one like you come and ruin what little we have?"

　　Before the words had even finished, the old figure summoned more ghosts to draw Ziyuan's attention, then gathered a fierce chill about himself and made to flee backward. With a wave of his hand, a twisted barrier took shape, and the old figure tried to slip swiftly through it—but his body suddenly convulsed as a searing, tearing pain overtook him: the Dragon-Rider Sword had pierced clean through his chest, and Changxiu, following up, drove his own blade in as well. The old figure could only cry out in shock as he watched what could hardly even be called a body tear itself apart before his eyes, his soul scattering into oblivion on the spot.

　　Ziyuan spared the old figure no further thought. At once he unleashed a barrage of attacks from both hands, a thousand swords loosed together, wave after wave crashing like storm surf against the barrier the old figure had set—Anu was nowhere in sight, and there was every chance she lay trapped within it, so Ziyuan dared not delay a moment longer. The relentless assault tore a breach straight through the barrier, and Ziyuan surged through the opening at once; the barrier collapsed in his wake, dissolving into nothing.