Soul-Slaying Maiden: Master Of Ancient Divine Weapons

Li Shutong's funeral was arranged for the year-end day.

In the old days of commerce, debts had to be settled by year-end. For those in debt, the year-end was as difficult as crossing a threshold, hence the term "Year-End."

The current plight of Da Xia was even more challenging than crossing a threshold.

After discussing with his senior brothers, Han Zhen decided to arrange the funeral on this day, leaving all sorrow behind in this year and reserving hope for the new year tomorrow.

On the year-end day, heavy snow fell like goose feathers.

The perpetual spring formations covered only the main residential areas, while other places were still buried in thick snow, creating a silver-clad world.

Han Zhen, Wei Qing, Lin Jingxuan, and Shen Zheqi carried an empty coffin, trudging through the snow with heavy steps.

Behind them followed a vast procession, silent like a solemn march.

The coffin was empty; Li Shutong's body had long since disintegrated, unable to bear the power beyond mortal limits.

Yet the empty coffin, resting on their shoulders, felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.

The burial site was chosen at Julao Pass, the northern fortress closest to the south.

A lifelike statue of Li Shutong was carved, facing southward.

Southward lay the lands they had lost.

Southward were their compatriots who had been captured.

Southward was the hatred and enemy they must remember.

Amidst the densely packed crowd, under the pouring snow, everyone's hair turned white with snow. Faces reddened by cold and limbs stiff, no one left.

As Li Shutong's coffin was buried, snow mixed with earth covered it completely.

Everyone mourned in silence, completing the final farewell ceremony.

Li Shutong's epitaph stood before the grave, echoing the same words Han Zhen had seen on the tombstones of other battle spirit contract warriors:"To risk life for the nation, shunning neither fortune nor calamity."

Han Zhen had written this epitaph for Li Shutong, believing it was the most fitting description of his life.

A hundred years ago, he turned the tide, saving Da Xia from the brink of collapse, extending its legacy for a century, establishing eight battle zones, expanding territories, and giving his all.

A hundred years later, he used his death as a gambit to uproot the decaying Da Xia, setting it aflame, burning away its filth, and bringing clarity to the heavens and earth.

Li Shutong was the War God of Da Xia. The title of hero was well-deserved.

Compared to his teacher, Han Zhen had a long way to go.

Yet, at his senior brothers' urging, he stepped forward, one step at a time, to stand before the crowd.

The wind and snow intensified.

Under the relentless storm, Han Zhen stood beneath Li Shutong's statue, turning to face the crowd behind him.

In this crowd were his senior brothers, companions, fellow citizens, elders, and children.

They all looked at him in unison, giving Han Zhen the illusion of being back in the Hundred Herbs Sacred Heart World.

In that world, he had broken the curse, won the people's hearts, completed the "Shennong Legacy," and became the new Saint Master.

Here, he had assisted Li Shutong in battling the Insect Clan, clashing against three ninth-rank powerhouses as a fifth-rank, and was both Li Shutong's student and inheritor.

Han Zhen exhaled deeply.

"Citizens of Da Xia, comrades-in-arms, the pillar of Da Xia has fallen."

"He did not fall in battle against the Insect Clan but was struck down by greed, selfishness, desires, and vile schemes."

"But we will forever remember his name, this man, the War God of Da Xia, Li Shutong."

"I am no hero, nor do I wish to be one. I'm just a small man who fears death. Compared to my teacher, I feel deeply unworthy."

"In the past, I only wanted to guard my small piece of land and be with the one I loved. I thought my decent talent and a mentor like him would shield me and grant me time to grow."

"My luck has been both good and bad."

"But my friends, that's life. Losing the War God of Da Xia does not mean complete defeat, because each of us can become our own War God."

"Let us bury our hatred and pain here. Let us take every step forward resolutely, even knowing failure is inevitable."

"In this apocalyptic age of the Zerg Disaster, our lives may be as light as feathers, as fragile as wild grass."

"But having seen the darkest night, the blazing fire in our hearts will never waver."

As Han Zhen spoke, he suddenly raised the Xuanyuan Sword, turned, and carved two bold characters into the wall of Julao Pass:

Southward!

"This is my promise and my vow to my teacher."

"One day, I will lead everyone southward to reclaim everything that is rightfully ours."

"Southward!"

"Southward!"

"Southward!"

At that moment, the crowd erupted in fervent cheers, pouring out their anger and determination.

They had once fled north like scurrying rats, escaping the villains who had stolen their victory.

Their War God had fallen, and their lives were adrift like duckweed, with no hope in sight.

But now, the bold character Han Zhen had carved on the wall became a crimson banner, planted firmly in every wandering Da Xia heart.

Northward retreat meant eventual southward advance.

Defeat was not frightening, for as long as they lived, there was a chance for victory.

Even in defeat, they would bite a piece off their enemies.

"Northward, southward." Wei Qing stared at Han Zhen standing amid the snowstorm, his fists clenched tightly, his body trembling with excitement.

Lin Jingxuan's glasses fogged up. He removed them, gently wiping them clean. "Southward, southward. Teacher, you truly saw the right person."

Shen Zheqi's eyes sparkled, and the exhaustion of endless journeys vanished as an inexhaustible energy surged from within him.

In a distant sanatorium, injured spirit contract warriors and their companions faintly heard the tumultuous roar from afar, but their sharp ears couldn't discern the words.

In one ward, a disheveled, crazed man suddenly dashed out.

"Lord Ye!" The nurses hurried after him, trying to restrain him.

Ye Qiu easily broke free, laughing maniacally, then paused to listen intently before laughing again. "Southward! They're shouting southward! Southward! Hahaha!"

Southward?

For a moment, the sanatorium fell silent. Then, one by one, its occupants erupted in loud, passionate cheers.

"That's right, southward!"

"Damn it, that's how it should be!"

"Southward! Southward!"

That day, all of Northern Command echoed with the cry of "Southward!"

That day was the day of Li Shutong's burial.

That day marked the last day of the old year.

[T/N: The Deep Blue Arc ends here. Next volume: Crimson]

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