Chapter 1788: Everlasting Embers (Part 4)

Cang Xuan stood rooted to the spot.

The shadow continued:

“Have those civilizations we forgot really disappeared?” The shadow pointed to an Illusion Stone:

“This is the technology of the Bloodline Civilization. The Life Origin Weaving Technique they pursued for their entire lives, which they could not reach despite exhausting all their clan’s efforts, finally blossomed in our hands.”

“From an absolutely rational perspective, those civilizations we’ve conquered have indeed been annihilated in the river of history, but their civilization memories and unfulfilled dreams have all merged into the Dream Weaving Civilization, becoming our goals.”

The surrounding light and shadows flowed, revealing how the Dream Weaving Civilization melded the wisdom of various civilizations to create unprecedented brilliance.

“We have become the continuers of their dreams, like relay carriers, carrying their unfulfilled dreams to places they never reached.”

“Every civilization that was integrated is like a seed, taking root and sprouting in our soil, blooming into entirely new flowers. Their demise is not an end, but a continuation in another form.”

Cang Xuan stared at the everlasting marks of civilizations in the Dream Weaving Realm, feeling a sudden enlightenment within.

“Just like how I steadfastly adhered to the Sword Dao back then, wasn’t it guarding a seed that was about to be forgotten?”

“So, I am the last choice of the Dream Weaving Civilization, letting the seeds of civilization continue to drift in the river of time. We do not know where they will drift or which civilization will pick them up. They may grow into forms we do not recognize, or perhaps merge with seeds from other civilizations to produce new branches… But the part belonging to the Dream Weaving Clan will always exist with this drift.”

The shadow paused, its gaze becoming firm:

“The inheritance of flesh and blood has an end, dynasties have a final chapter, but spiritual inheritance does not. It transcends bloodlines and cultural limits. As long as someone can draw strength from these memories, the civilization has not truly perished.”

The shadow’s words were like a key, opening the door that was about to close in Cang Xuan’s heart.

After two hundred years of lonely slaughter, Cang Xuan thought everything he had protected had turned to illusions, thinking the end of the Sword Dao only led to void.

“My Sword Dao…” Cang Xuan lowered his head, looking at his wrinkled arms.

The shadow followed his gaze to his arms, smiling slightly:

“Your Sword Dao is the last glimmering light of the Dream Weaving Civilization. It began with the defense of Martial City, matured in the Land of Dreams’ nourishment, and was tempered in the flames of war with both gentle guardianship and fierce slaughter. It even embraced decisive destruction… After you left, your story inspired countless warriors as a heroic tale, not to be buried in obscurity.”

Cang Xuan raised his head, the confusion in his eyes gradually dissipating.

He remembered his loneliness during the defense of Martial City and his persistence while practicing swordsmanship in the Land of Dreams.

This Sword Dao had long ceased to be merely strength; it was the portrayal of his whole life and a small epitome of the Dream Weaving Civilization.

Even when abandoned by the times, he never gave up on holding the line.

“Let the seed of the Sword Dao continue to drift…” he muttered, a faint light rekindling in his eyes.

The shadow watched him, nodding slowly:

“The inheritance of civilization is never a static replica but a rebirth in drifting. Your Sword Dao might be given new meaning by future inheritors, or it may blend with the forces of other civilizations, creating new forms. But your part is the root, which will remain in it forever, becoming an indelible mark in the river of time.”

After speaking, the shadow’s form began to turn transparent, gradually merging into the surrounding light and shadow.

Cang Xuan slowly stood upright, reaching out as the broken Iron Sword on the pedestal outside the great hall shot toward him.

Upon catching it, the broken Iron Sword transformed into points of spirit light in his hand, finally consolidating into a giant sword.

The sword transformed back into the Guardian Sword, yet it was even more solemn and heavy than before.

The faint golden light flowing on the sword’s body was introverted, melding the hundreds of years of Martial City’s defense, the attachment to the homeland’s civilization, and the regrets and awakenings of ultimately failing to protect it all.

This sword was now a carrier of a memory of civilization, a spiritual inheritance.

Cang Xuan, holding the sword’s hilt, felt the Guardian Sword Intent flowing within it, slowly closing his eyes and sitting cross-legged against the stone pillar.

He would use his last will, combined with the Dream Weaving Realm, to separate the “shadow” that bore the essence of his Sword Dao, and imbue the illusion realm with the three core insights: guardianship, slaughter, and destruction.

Awaiting a deserving “successor.”

Just as the Dream Weaving Clan once accepted the legacies of other civilizations, he threw his “Dao” into the river of time.

Time passed.

The sunlight shone through the collapsed dome, warming Cang Xuan like the spring sun of Martial City.

A slight smile appeared on the corner of Cang Xuan’s mouth, his head bowed slightly as his breath faded away like a burnt-out candle, peacefully dissipating.

This time, he left with tranquility.

He had witnessed the twilight of civilization, and personally sowed a seed of wisdom, including his own “Dao,” for the future.

The physical body returned to dust, and the obsession vanished into the void.

But the sword remained.

…

The retrospection scene dissipated here, and the picture in Tu Hu’s eyes returned to that lush green hillside.

He still stood in place, tightly gripping the giant sword, his mind surging with Cang Xuan’s vast yet ultimately silent life.

In his mind echoed the words Cang Xuan had said:

“The sword does not age, but the one who wields it does. No matter how strong the Sword Dao, it cannot withstand the erosion of time.”

Upon first hearing those words.

He shallowly thought it was an old man’s lament of life’s finitude and the boundlessness of the great Dao, an expression of individual powerlessness in the face of time.

Until he witnessed Cang Xuan’s story himself.

When Cang Xuan leveled the Erosion Light Clan land and returned, dragging his aged body, only to face a civilization already turned to ruins.

Two hundred years of time, grinding away not just his appearance, but the entire Dream Weaving Civilization.

The aging, not just the body holding the sword.

When what the sword protected turned to dust, the sword lost its existential foundation.

No matter how powerful, there was no place to return.

Like a rootless tree, an arrow without a target.

This was the cruelest erosion of time: the sword had not dulled, yet lost its purpose of existence.

But at the civilization’s end, Cang Xuan found a way to counteract time.

He transformed his Sword Dao into a seed of inheritance, casting it into the river of time.

Regardless of who inherits it, not fixated on recreating the past, only hoping this “Dao” could cross the civilization gap, gaining new life in unknown soil.

Tu Hu gazed down, staring at the Heavy Sword in his hand.

The Guardian Intent flowing on the sword’s body made it feel so heavy at this moment.

It was a master’s lifelong legacy, and also the last gift of a vanished civilization, a trust transcending time.

Taking a deep breath, Tu Hu gripped the sword tighter, then looked at the Guidance hovering by his side, voicing his inner curiosity:

“Guidance, just how strong was Mr. Cang Xuan Sr?”

[Physically weak, unable to withstand a blow, but using Sword Momentum as a guide, he nurtured his own unique Rule, his destructive power reached the God Realm levels, comprehensive evaluation: Void God Realm.]

“Wow, the old man was truly amazing.”