Chapter 219: Strike Off

“No need to thank me. You will be delivering a message on my behalf, Young Daoist.”

Yang was shocked and completely unwilling as his mind ran through the implications of passing on a message to one of Senior’s buddies. Considering Senior was able to destroy a higher-level world, even if with help from others, anyone he would want to pass on the message to would be older and, if still alive, a lot more powerful than him. 

This Senior was indulgent and kind enough, but what guarantee did Yang have that another fossil-aged monster would be of a similar temperament? 

The answer was simple: none.

Even then, Yang was well aware that he had no choice but to agree. 

Despite the Senior stating otherwise before, he simply didn't have the guts to deny him.

There is always Master and the Sect to rely on, he reminded himself. After all, if something is too difficult, what is wrong with foisting it off on the Elders? 

“Who do you want me to give the message to, Senior?”

“No need to look so worried. Chen Yang,” the Senior said, amusement ringing in his tone, making Yang again feel like his thoughts were laid bare for him to read.

“The message is intended for your Sect Master and elders.”

“Senior, can you read my mind?” Yang blurted out immediately without pause. He was now more than fifty percent certain that this Senior was reading his mind and horrified at the implication.

He hadn't thought of anything treacherous to do against the Senior, but his mental commentary was seldom respectful. If others were capable of reading his mind, he had no doubt even his Senior brothers would beat him black and blue, let alone a strange, powerful cultivator he had just met.

“No.” The Senior replied dryly. “I can recognize what is going through your mind just by looking at your expression.”

Yang stared admiringly at the Senior as he thought about how his lifelong experience and high cultivation must make him extremely perceptive, allowing him to intuit with an almost exact accuracy what the other person is thinking just by looking at them. 

“You overthink.” Senior cut through Yang’s mental monologue. “You are simply bad at controlling your facial expressions.” 

Yang, feeling thoroughly wounded, looked up into Senior’s eyes, the featureless white orb of light that was supposedly his face, before he asked the more pertinent question.

“A message to my Sect Master and Elders?” Yang inquired, hoping to quickly move past his lack of poker face.

“Yes, a message to the Sect Master and Elders of the White Cloud Sect. While your fourth level of Qi Condensation realm is remarkably impressive, it falls a bit short of achieving what I need done.” 

Yang didn’t appreciate the sarcasm but decided to tolerate it with a strained smile. It wasn't as if he had any other option.

The Senior raised his hand and a small ball of light formed on the tip of his index finger, which detached from him and went to float in front of Yang’s face. “Take it.”

Yang tentatively raised his hand, and as soon as his fingers touched the sphere, it solidified into a perfectly round pearl, cold and smooth against his palm. There was a slight illumination left in it if one concentrated, but it mostly looked like a large precious pearl. 

“Pass it on to your Elders. Anyone with sufficient cultivation will be able to perceive the message within.” 

“Senior, I will pass on the message but of course, I can’t assu—”

“You need not assure me of anything. If there are sound minds remaining in your sect, they would have no issue with my message.”

Yang nodded and placed the pearl inside his storage ring along with the ice blue coloured token he still had in his hand.

“May I leave now, Senior?” Yang asked respectfully. If Senior Brother Qing An had lost sight of him upon entering the formation, then he was likely beside himself with concern. He would prefer leaving and assuaging any worry he may have caused. Especially since this place offered no treasure or inheritance to claim.

“Soon,” Senior said as he stepped closer to Yang, facing him completely.

“I have granted you a way out of this place in exchange for carrying my message,” Senior said as he raised his hand, bringing it close to Yang’s forehead. “But since I brought you here to sate my own curiosity, I owe you a boon as an Elder.”

Before Yang could say anything, the Senior touched Yang in the center of his forehead again.

And the world around him dissolved into nothing.

Instead of feeling the rush of his memories like last time, Yang found himself in endless bright white.

Instantly, Yang felt himself being sliced by a sharp blade. 

He threw himself back as he felt the blade whistle past his ear.

He kept backtracking as the sword kept following him relentlessly.

He shifted again and again, each time contorting his body to protect himself from the strikes of the sword, but it kept coming for him. 

A sharp cry tore out of him as the sword sliced into his shoulder.

Slicing into his skin and bones. Cutting his muscles and tendons.

He screamed as the sword cut off his left leg and took a step back.

The sword came again. This time for his neck, and before he could do anything, he felt all his blood spray out. He stumbled as he clutched the wound on his neck, holding tight to keep his blood in.

The sword impaled him in the belly; he felt the blade go through his muscles and organs and emerge from his back. 

He lurched towards his left.

Yang was drenched in his own blood. His whole body ached. He kept backing off, but the sword kept coming for him. Not leaving him an inch to retreat nor allowing him a moment of respite. 

Yang tried to turn around and run, but the sword came down hard on his back in a downward strike, almost shattering his vertebrae.

He fell and rolled on the ground, protecting his back, and watched in horror as the sword rose higher, coming down to cleave him in half, and raised his hands defensively to protect his face and chest.

As the sword fell, he instinctively grabbed it by the blade, holding it back from finishing him. He felt the pressure increase as it bit deeper into his hands. Blood poured out of his hands, slick and hot, making his grip slip. 

The pressure increased, and Yang’s arm trembled with the strain as the blade drew closer to his face. 

His right hand slipped, and the blade fell towards his face. With a desperate, sudden surge of strength, he felt his right hand reach for the sword, fingers wrapping around the hot hilt of the sword.

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