Chapter 125

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Chapter 125: Northern Wilderness

The central region reigns supreme among the five regions of the Tianwu Continent. Once, the Eastern Region held that title, but now it languishes at the bottom.

The Northern Region, since ancient times, has remained unremarkable among the five, its only claim to fame being its history as the site of the demon race’s palace.

In the era before antiquity, the human, beast, and demon races stood in a delicate balance, with the Northern Region serving as the domain of the demon race. It was a land steeped in demonic energy, its soil charred and ashen, a place of darkness and bitter cold.

The Tianwu Continent is dotted with vast plains, but none are as barren as the Northern Wilderness. Here, even the hardiest of plants struggle to grow; cities lie in ruins, narrow and crumbling. The sky stretches clear and blue, rarely marred by clouds, while the relentless sun scorches the earth for miles.

The wasteland Ming He seeks is known as Bei Huang, the largest and most desolate expanse in the Northern Region, situated at the northernmost edge of the Tianwu Continent.

Qin Huang Mountain stands at the heart of the central region, while the wasteland lies far to the north, separated by a distance that spans more than ten thousand miles—a journey too vast to put into words.

Ming He, unable to harness spiritual energy, cannot rely on Sword Flight or advanced techniques. Her only tools are her mortal body and sheer determination, as she traverses mountains and rivers, step by step, toward her destination.

For a Wind Master realm cultivator, this journey might be trivial, but for Ming He, it is a daunting odyssey across countless obstacles.

She has been traveling for half a year.

Alone, with a single sword, she left the ruins of the First Continent in the central region. Day and night, she pressed forward, quenching her thirst with dew and sating her hunger with wild fruits.

She fought against other races when they crossed her path, battled bandits when they appeared, moving from the remnants of once-thriving lands to overgrown fields, and finally to the barren expanse where nothing grows.

In these six months, she has aged from twenty to twenty-one.

Though her appearance has changed little—still clad in the blue and white robes of a sword cultivator from Qin Huang Mountain—her aura has undergone a profound transformation.

At twenty, she was a graceful sword cultivator, her movements effortless, her eyes sparkling with a brilliance that outshone the stars. Now, at twenty-one, she is a fallen cultivator, her once-radiant aura subdued, her gaze murky like the soil of the Northern Wilderness.

Clad in blue, she leaned against the Winter Weed tree, the only spirit plant that thrives in the Northern Wilderness. The Jing Ying Sword hung at her waist, while she gripped her long sword, its white blade glinting with a cold light, its tip dripping with blood.

The Blue Sea Sword rested on her back.

A purple Merchants’ Guild token fluttered in the wind.

Ming He gazed at the endless wasteland, a faint smile playing on her lips, but her expression hardened as she turned her eyes to the distant figures emerging on the horizon.

As the sun dipped lower, the figures became clearer—tall and broad-shouldered, their faces twisted and grotesque. Their presence was sharp yet tainted, exuding a palpable bloodlust, with a single vertical pupil on their foreheads, though its power remained dormant.

These were the Tian Yan Tribe.

They were no different from the ones she had encountered in the Liu Yun Mountains, save for their increased strength and numbers.

Ming He straightened, gripping the Jing Ying Sword tightly, her dark eyes locked on their forms.

Among the myriad alien races, the Tian Yan Tribe stood at the forefront.

Yet even within their ranks, there were distinctions. Kuang San, who had tried to assassinate her in Tianwu City, had displayed formidable skills. Though bound by the absolute formations of the Tianwu Continent, preventing him from activating his Tian Yan, he bore the royal bloodline of the Tian Yan Tribe, enduring the backlash of the Blood Fury Pill, which left Ming He in her current half-crippled state.

But the Tian Yan Tribe before her now were much like the monsters of the Liu Yun Mountains—mindless, driven solely by the instinct to kill.

Before gaining full intelligence, these Tian Yan Tribe members were sent here to gather and attack human cities when needed; otherwise, they roamed freely.

Without awakened intelligence, they were little more than beasts, driven by the primal urge to kill and feed on blood, attacking any human they encountered.

Though individually weak, their numbers were vast, roaming the Tianwu Continent and posing a threat to mortals and low-ranking cultivators alike. This is why Wind Master realm cultivators are tasked with traversing the five regions to eliminate these alien threats.

Ming He had encountered many low-tier Tian Yan tribes on her journey. Their cultivation levels were comparable to human cultivators at the Spirit Guiding stage or the Xuan Wei realm, with the strongest barely reaching the Dust Dispersal stage.

Those alien races above the Wind Master realm, possessing full intelligence, were gathered and organized by the Alien Race Hunting Hall.

If it were the Ming He of old, who had surpassed the Wind Master realm, she would naturally feel no fear. No matter how many members of the Tian Yan Tribe stood before her, she would not tremble. With a single stroke of her sword, she could cut through them like a scythe through wheat. If the battle turned against her, she could always retreat gracefully on her sword, for those below the Wind Master realm had no means to pursue her through the skies.

But now, Ming He’s spiritual ocean was damaged, a crippling blow to her path to cultivation. Without the ability to harness spiritual energy, the sword techniques, sword energy, and even her sword domain that depended on it were all beyond her reach. She was like a cultivator whose spirit had been extinguished, seemingly waiting for death, let alone seeking out the medicine she needed.

Yet, she was not dead.

Ming He’s lips curled into a faint smile, her eyes sharp and focused. With a flick of her wrist, she thrust her sword forward. She leapt lightly, her jump not high, her speed not fast—indeed, it was almost languid. It was the strength of a mere mortal.

Yet, the low-tier Tian Yan Tribe, known for their speed and agility beyond that of humans, found themselves immobilized under the slow-moving tip of her sword. Their sharp, menacing claws halted just an inch from her heart, their eyes glowing red, but they could only roar in vain.

With her right hand, Ming He held the Jing Ying Sword and slowly drew a circle in the air, deflecting the deadly claws of the Tian Yan Tribe. Her left hand rose slightly, and in a flash of sunlight, she drew the long sword from her back.

Unsheathing Style!

The Blue Sea Sword.

A blue glow sliced through the sky, its graceful arc rising with the red hues of the sunset. Where the arc ended, blood sprayed, and grotesque heads rolled across the ground.

Dust swirled, the Winter Weed tree swayed in the light, and the typically arid and scorched earth of the Northern Wilderness was now moistened with fresh blood. In the vast wilderness, beautiful crimson flowers bloomed, their stark beauty a contrast to the desolation.

Ming He lifted her toes to avoid staining her cloud-walking boots with blood. Her left hand returned the sword to its sheath, but the Jing Ying Sword in her right hand remained drawn, moving downward as her hand did, drops of blood still falling.

She still wore a faint smile, her gaze not lingering on the decapitated Tian Yan Tribe. Instead, she looked into the distance, where another wave of Tian Yan Tribe members emerged from the settling dust.

The low-tier Tian Yan Tribe were numerous, endless, scattered across every corner of the Tianwu Continent, lurking in the shadows, drawn by the scent of blood.

Ming He stood her ground, her eyes calmly observing the approaching Tian Yan Tribe. Just before they reached her, she swung her sword. Her left hand drew the Blue Sea Sword, executing the Unsheathing Style once more.

But this time, she did not cut through the aliens completely.

This wave was significantly stronger than the last.

Realizing this, Ming He’s gaze turned slightly colder, yet she remained unflustered. She stood straight, her back against the Winter Weed tree, the Jing Ying Sword in her right hand and the Blue Sea Sword in her left, wielding both in unison.

There was no Liu Yun Sword Technique, no Big Dipper Seven Star Sword Technique, no Nebula Sword Art, none of the sword techniques she had mastered before.

The Unsheathing Style was merely a starting move, not a true swordsmanship.

Her current techniques were born of the moment, each stroke radiant with sword light, gleaming like sunlight on water.

The claws of the Tian Yan Tribe tore through her clothes, leaving shallow cuts, but she paid them no mind. Her eyes only grew brighter with each swing of her sword.

This was the feeling!

Her intuition was correct.

Her path to cultivation was not wasted.

Or perhaps, this was the true path meant for her—Ming He’s swordsmanship.

Ming He’s eyes shone with a brilliance that outshone even the sword cultivators of the Wind Master realm—it was the essence of her former self.

She lifted her head to share the light with the sun above, a twinge of pain in her right hand, accompanied by a wry smile.

Her swordsmanship was intact, but her spiritual ocean was indeed damaged. Now, she was merely a mortal, possessing only mortal strength.

And the strength of a mortal is limited.

Exhausted, one can perish.

She now stood at the brink of exhaustion, yet she would not die.

In the boundless Northern Wilderness, vast and endless, even amidst many cultivators, one often walks alone. Yet, she was not a solitary sword cultivator.

At least, not at this moment.

As she thought this, she faced the sharp claws lunging at her and sheathed her long sword, her expression calm and surprisingly unafraid.

Ming He opened her eyes, sensing the rancid, putrid stench approaching. She raised an eyebrow, pleased to see a white, snow-like long sword blocking the claws of the Tian Yan Tribe before her.

The owner of the long sword was dressed in white, a white cloth covering his face, with a jade pendant shaped like a crescent moon at his waist.

He was from the Nine Heavens Pavilion, a member of the Nine Heavens Guard, lurking in the shadows to protect the human race’s talents.

Was she still considered a talent of the human race now that her spiritual ocean was lacking?

Ming He lowered her gaze, appearing inscrutable as she slowly stepped back to lean against the Winter Weed tree, watching the white-clad figure swing his sword, releasing light like that of the bright moon, effortlessly adding brilliance to the hazy Northern Wilderness.

Her Senior Sister had once said that among the sword cultivators of the Nine Heavens Pavilion’s Nine Heavens Guard, all trained in the Moonlight Sword Art.

It was rumored to be the sword technique realized by the Pavilion Master under the moon, hiding in darkness yet shining bright like the moon; they were the moon in the night, thus they practiced the Moonlight Sword Art.

In the past six months from the First Continent to the Northern Wilderness, she encountered many Tian Yan Tribe members, their blood staining her sword.

The Jing Ying Sword had officially been unleashed, and even at this moment without spiritual energy, it remained her life spirit sword.

Yet as a mortal, she faced limitations; she had often found herself in life-and-death moments, not because of lacking strength, but due to insufficient stamina.

In these critical moments, it was the white-clad figure before her who saved her.

He had always followed her, only taking action when she was in dire need.

Could this be a form of tempering for a talent?

When it came to the Nine Heavens Pavilion, was she still considered a talent of the human race?

Ming He pursed her lips, a hint of sarcasm in her smile, but if that were true, why had he not appeared during the battle in Tianwu City or when she escaped into the void, appearing only now?

And what about Qin Huang Mountain and the Imperial Palace?

She momentarily lost her thoughts, pondering the whole situation as a breeze swept away the stench of blood, floating the purple Merchants’ Guild token at her waist.

Ming He frowned, seemingly unsure of her surroundings.

She blinked, observing the bloody scene around her, and naturally recalled another matter.

The white-clad figure who took the Xuanyuan Sword in the Blood God Wilderness bore a similar appearance.

However, the person before her was not the same as the one who appeared in the Divine Sword Tomb; this person seemed weaker.

If she were still a sword cultivator of the Wind Master realm, perhaps she could challenge him.

Ming He focused all her attention on him.

The Tian Yan Tribe had all been slaughtered, dust still swirling in the distance, but for now, there were no Tian Yan figures in sight.

This place was safe and clean for the moment.

The white-clad figure sheathed his sword and prepared to leave stealthily as before but felt a piercing gaze fixed upon him. After a moment’s hesitation, he couldn’t help but look up, a hint of worry flashing in his eyes as he met Ming He’s clear gaze that sparkled like spring water.

In her eyes was reflected the figure in white, adorned in white robes and white cloth.

The woman leaning against the tree seemed careless, yet as she met his gaze, her expression shifted to one of surprise and depth.

The white-clad figure’s heart jolted, and he instinctively lowered his head, disappearing into the swirling dust, retracing his path.

Ming He experienced the same moment of shock.

She blinked, struggling to regain her composure; that gaze, that silhouette felt eerily familiar.

Could the white-clad person be an old acquaintance?

But when had she met someone from the Nine Heavens Pavilion?

Yet she was certain she had seen that person before.

Who could it be?

Ming He straightened her posture, contemplating for a long time, mentally running through acquaintances, but she could not find an answer.

Forget it! Finding medicine is more important.

She sighed deeply and stepped toward the depths of the wilderness.