Chapter 63: Address Me by My Title While on Duty
Qian Renxue looked down upon him from her lofty perch.
Her gaze was as cold as the eternal ice of ages past.
"The City of Slaughter?" she repeated softly, the corners of her lips curling into a faint—yet utterly chilling—arc. "And you think you are worthy to go there?"
With a gentle thrust, the tip of the sword shot forward.
Hiss.
The pleas for mercy ceased abruptly. Golden flames spread from the wound, instantly engulfing the Fallen One.
The battle ended swiftly.
Of the twenty-three Fallen Ones, not a single one survived.
The knights began to silently clear the battlefield, gathering the black-robed corpses in an open clearing.
One of the squad members unleashed a scorching flame-based Soul Skill, preparing to cremate the bodies.
Tian Yue walked over to Qian Renxue’s side and removed her helmet; strands of her golden hair were dampened with sweat.
She gazed at the raging flames, then turned her eyes to the cold-faced Qian Renxue. After a moment of hesitation, she finally spoke: "Sister Xue..."
"Tian Yue," Qian Renxue interrupted her, her gaze still fixed upon the fire. "When on a mission, address me by my rank."
"..."
Tian Yue pursed her lips, then corrected herself: "Captain. Did we... perhaps handle this too absolutely? According to protocol, we are supposed to capture and transport any Fallen Ones who surrender voluntarily—provided they haven’t caused significant casualties—to the City of Slaughter. Yet this time... we didn’t leave a single survivor."
It was not that she felt any sympathy for these Fallen Ones.
Every single member of the Holy Knights Order had the blood of Fallen Ones on their hands.
She simply felt that this... seemed...
Qian Renxue slowly turned her head to look at Tian Yue. The lingering glow of the setting sun cast deep shadows across her flawless profile.
"Leave them alive? Why would we leave them alive?"
Her voice was soft, yet it carried an air of absolute finality.
"Our manpower is limited; we have no spare resources to waste on guarding prisoners. The journey of transport is fraught with variables; these rats of the gutter are masters at exploiting every opportunity to escape—or worse, to strike back."
She paused, her gaze returning to the raging inferno that was consuming the corpses; the flames danced within her eyes.
"More importantly," Qian Renxue’s voice suddenly turned cold, carrying a chill that seemed to penetrate to the very bone, "Corruption is an irreversible defilement. Once a soul is stained by darkness, and one’s blood is steeped in sin, there is no longer any path of return."
"If you spare his life today and send him to the City of Slaughter, tomorrow he may return in an even more ferocious guise to slaughter even more innocents."
"Once they are Fallen, they remain Fallen for life; we absolutely cannot afford to be soft-hearted."
Qian Renxue tightened her grip on the hilt of the sword at her waist, her knuckles turning faintly white. Her voice dropped to a lower register, yet it sounded all the more resolute.
"To show mercy toward such vermin—creatures that defile this world—is to be cruel to their victims. Only by utterly eradicating them can we sever the root of this evil."
"They do not deserve to live."
Tian Yue stared blankly at Qian Renxue. In that moment, she saw reflected in the eyes of this older sister—with whom she had grown up since childhood and whose talent was truly exceptional—a cold conviction bordering on fanaticism, as well as a trace of... a deep-seated, ineffable pain and rage hidden beneath the surface.
Tian Yue fell silent. She no longer questioned; instead, she performed a solemn knight’s salute: "I understand, Captain."
The flames crackled and spat, reducing the last vestiges of filth to ash.
Once everything had been dealt with...
Qian Renxue swung herself into the saddle, her platinum-gold armor still faintly glowing amidst the darkness. She cast one final glance at the village—now restored to tranquility—then turned her steed around.
"Move out. On to the next location."
"Yes, Captain!"
The sound of hooves rose once more as the thirteen riders vanished into the deep, dark night.
...
Nuoding Academy.
A slender, diminutive figure crossed the courtyard and came to a halt before a familiar wooden door.
Tang San gave a gentle knock: "Teacher? Are you in?"
There was no reply.
He knocked again, raising his voice slightly: "Teacher, it’s me—Tang San."
Still, nothing but dead silence.
Tang San frowned. He hadn’t seen Yu Xiaogang for several days now; he had initially assumed his teacher was simply off at the library researching materials or conducting theoretical studies in solitude.
However, to remain completely out of sight for several consecutive days was highly unusual.
He tentatively pushed against the door; to his surprise, it wasn’t locked. With a soft creak, it swung open just enough to reveal a narrow gap.
"Teacher?" Tang San lowered his voice and slipped inside.
The room was pitch black; only the faint moonlight filtering in through the window outlined the silhouettes of the furniture.
A faint, musty odor hung in the air.
"Purple Demon Eye!"
Everything within the darkness instantly came into sharp focus. Several half-opened books lay spread across the table; a chair sat askew, and various papers were scattered across the floor.
He walked over to the table, located an oil lamp, and lit it.
A dim, yellow glow dispelled the darkness in one corner of the room.
"Where on earth did Teacher go?" Tang San’s bewilderment deepened. He glanced around the room, his gaze settling upon several crumpled, torn balls of paper lying on the floor.
Driven by curiosity, he bent down to pick up the two largest wads, carefully unfolding and smoothing them out.
The papers had been violently torn in half, leaving jagged edges, yet the handwriting upon them remained clearly legible.
The title on the cover read: Refutations and Revisions Regarding Certain Issues in the Theory of the Ten Core Competencies of Martial Souls.
"The Ten Core Competencies of Martial Souls?" Tang San raised an eyebrow.
"Isn’t this Teacher’s work? How dare someone criticize Teacher’s book?"
A surge of anger instantly welled up within him.
In his eyes, Yu Xiaogang was the very embodiment of wisdom and knowledge—one of the few people in this world who truly understood him and was willing to guide him.
And yet, someone actually dared to openly pen an article criticizing him?
"It seems you are truly courting death!" Tang San gritted his teeth and muttered in a low voice, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.
Exercising patience, he pieced together the book pages he had torn in half and began to read by the lamplight.
At first, he was dismissive. He wanted to see just what kind of nonsense this author—named "Jiang Xue’er"—could possibly spout.
But gradually, his brow furrowed deeper and deeper.
The article began with objective data regarding the disparities in Martial Soul quality, citing a vast array of examples.
The data was detailed, and the citations were rigorous. Every single argument was substantiated by examples or research reports drawn from at least three different sources.
Tang San’s fingers, clutching the pages, began to tighten their grip.
He was no fool; on the contrary, his experiences across two lifetimes had made him far more adept at critical thinking and judgment than his peers. This data and these case studies... the logic was watertight, making them incredibly difficult to refute.
He continued reading.
Each critique landed like a heavy hammer blow, smashing against the beliefs Tang San had previously held as absolute truth.
His inner world was thrown into even greater turmoil when he reached the section where the author refuted the "Martial Soul Mimicry Theory."
"Impossible..." Tang San’s voice trembled slightly. He shook his head violently, as if trying to physically dislodge these "fallacies" that had invaded his mind.
"How could Master’s theory possibly be wrong? This person must be taking things out of context—or worse, deliberately disparaging Master just to gain fame!"
Yet, deep within the recesses of his mind, a corner of his convictions began to waver.
The data was simply too specific; the case studies were too authentic. If it were merely fabricated nonsense, it would be impossible to construct such a vast and internally consistent system.
He forced himself to stop reading, then violently tore the pieced-together pages into shreds once more, sending scraps of paper fluttering through the air.
"Nonsense... It’s all utter nonsense!" Tang San’s eyes were bloodshot, and he panted heavily like an ox.
"This Jiang Xue’er... she has truly courted her own death!"
After venting his rage by tearing at the paper for a while, he forced himself to calm down.
"Wait—Master!" A sudden thought struck him.
"Could it be that Master saw this article, flew into a rage, and went to confront this Jiang Xue’er in person?"
The mere thought made his heart clench.
He swiftly gathered the scraps of paper scattered on the floor and gave the room a cursory tidy-up, striving to restore it to its original state.
He could not let anyone suspect that something untoward had occurred in his teacher’s quarters.
"I’ll go make inquiries first thing tomorrow morning." Having resolved this, he blew out the oil lamp, slipped silently out of the room, and gently closed the door behind him.
...