Chapter 298 — The Blade of Forgetfulness
The Herdsman of the Wasteland · Page 2 of 4
Si Yunxiang put away the bronze mirror and glanced at the sword in his hand. "Grand Hierarch, that sword of yours..."
Shen Mu hastily tightened his grip on the Sword of No Sorrow and said warily, "This is the mother sword of the sword pellet. You can't have it."
Si Yunxiang burst out laughing. "I never said I wanted it. I only wondered—after so much time and effort, whether your sword pellet is finally forged."
"A sword pellet—the word 'pellet' means round. To join several thousand swords into a sphere demands extraordinary powers of calculation. The curve of the sword-hilts' base is a sphere divided into eight thousand parts, every part identical, precise to the faintest blur!"
Shen Mu said, with no small pride, "My calculations have always been excellent."
Ling Yuxiu and Si Yunxiang both pursed their lips.
Shen Mu laughed aloud, gripped the Sword of No Sorrow, and poured his vital qi into it. At once the mother sword and the other seven thousand nine hundred ninety-nine child swords resonated with one another; keen blades shrieked through the air, and in an instant the Directorate Foundry was ablaze with sword-light, whirling across the sky.
Shen Mu shook his sword, and countless streaks of sword-light came shrieking in; clang, clang, clang, they struck one another, and one after another the streaks of light winked out.
Shen Mu's face grew redder and redder. He gave a stifled grunt, his thighs trembling, his arms trembling too.
Suddenly the flagstones beneath his feet split into four and shattered, and both his shoes were crushed to powder.
More streaks of sword-light than could be counted came flying in; with a thunderous crash Shen Mu vanished, borne down into the earth, punching a great hole through the foundry floor!
Ling Yuxiu and Si Yunxiang, terrified beyond words, rushed forward crying, "Help! Someone come quickly!"
The other disciples of the Hall of Heavenly Crafts in the foundry hurried over. From beneath the ground came a rumbling, rumbling tremor; the sword pellet was so heavy that it pressed Shen Mu ever deeper, and by the sound of it he had already sunk three to five zhang into the earth.
The crowd was just about to dig him out when Shen Mu's muffled voice came from below: "I'm fine—the sword's too heavy. Stand clear!"
They scattered at once, and from the great hole countless flying swords came gushing up like a spring; eight thousand swords danced in the air, then ding-ding-ding drove into the ground, their hilts quivering without cease.
Shen Mu leaped from the hole and landed on both feet, though his legs still shook and his face was not a pretty sight.
He shook his sword again; shh, shh, shh, countless flying swords came flying in. This time, though, Shen Mu had learned his lesson: he stood atop the pile of dark iron blocks heaped in the foundry, points downward, and the eight thousand swords gathered together into a sphere of swords.
Just as he had said, the bases of so many sword-hilts could indeed be joined into one great sphere, a perfect sphere, its error no more than a blur.
Only, the sword pellet was unexpectedly large: a good eighteen or nineteen feet across.
"A sword pellet this big is a rare sight..." Ling Yuxiu circled the sphere of swords, looking up at it, and could not hold back a smile.
"Shrink!"
Shen Mu urged on his dharma power, and the huge sword pellet began to shrink by degrees. When it had shrunk to its utmost, it still measured three feet across.
Shen Mu's vital qi was driven to its limit, his face red with the strain, and still it would not shrink further.
In truth, each of his eight thousand flying swords had been forged so that it could shrink to the size of an inch, but there were so many of them that the sword pellet they formed was still immense.