Chapter 437 — A Cosmic Spectacle
The Herdsman of the Wasteland · Page 3 of 4
He skirted the black line, and as his gaze shifted the line seemed to widen by degrees: it was a blade-light frozen in the air, one that had only cut space open, and space had caught it fast; yet the power of the divine art within the blade was held in reserve, so that space could not knit itself closed! "What a terrifying blade art! " The Flood Dragon King Deity could not help but shudder; such a blade could well be called a divine blade, a blade art that had reached the level of the Dao realm — nothing it did not shatter, terrifying beyond measure.
"Grandpa Tu's heavenly blade — the Butcher's Blade Art!
" Shen Mu could not help but marvel. He had learned the Butcher's Blade Art himself, yet had never been able to bring it to the Butcher's level.
The Butcher's blade was too wild; even one who learned it could hardly draw out its full power — only a madness like the Butcher's own could unleash it.
Next they came upon a sea of fire, so fiercely hot that it melted the mountain; even the darkness could not swallow that sea of flame.
"Grandpa Silent Craftsman's forge has been smashed!
" Shen Mu was startled. The sea of fire had come from the Silent Craftsman's furnace: the furnace had been shattered, and its fire had formed this burning sea. "Could Grandpa Silent Craftsman have met with disaster?
" They crossed the sea of fire, and suddenly Shen Mu saw the Old Tathagata. The Old Tathagata sat cross-legged, the twenty tiers of heaven about him, all Buddhas encircling him, and the gods of the twenty heavens, great and small, seated scattered in the air around him.
Beside him stood a deity of High Heaven. The two faced each other.
Shen Mu was dazed a moment, sighed, made a salute to the Old Tathagata, lifted him up, laid him upon the Flood Dragon King Deity, and walked on.
"Young Master, why does that white-browed monk not move at all, so that you must carry him?
" Xue Hu'er asked curiously, looking back. Shen Mu shook his head. "He perished together with that deity.
" Xue Hu'er was stunned.
Before long, Shen Mu saw the Old Daoist Lord.
This old Daoist held a sword sign with one hand and carried his sword on his back with the other, a figure of Daoist bone and immortal bearing; his head was raised toward the deity that leaned half its body out from the cliff ahead, and a smile hung upon his face.
Divine light shot from Shen Mu's eyes, and he saw that the deity's brow had been pierced by a sword — the wound was very fine, hard to notice.
He looked at the Old Daoist Lord: his body was in tatters, wounded everywhere, and the wounds no longer bled. Xue Hu'er asked, "Is the old Daoist still alive?
" Shen Mu shook his head, went up, and lifted the Old Daoist Lord in his arms, saying softly, "His blood has run dry.
That last sword of his must have been his primordial spirit turned into a blade, thrust into the deity's brow.
He made his primordial spirit the sword, and his primordial spirit became the Dao; when that sword was thrust, the power of the move burst forth, and his primordial spirit burst with it, and as the power of the move was spent, the primordial spirit scattered away.
" Those whose ways differ take no counsel together; though the way of the Nether Demon Sect differed from that of the Daoist gate, Shen Mu still held this Old Daoist Lord in deep respect.
Xue Hu'er grew solemn, straightened her clothes, and made a reverent salute to the Old Daoist Lord.
"A hero in his twilight years, his bold heart still fierce.
My respects!
" Seeing this, the flood dragons all rose on their hind legs and saluted the Old Daoist Lord with clasped claws.
"Maha!
" They went on, and saw a great serpent lying upon the ground: it was Liu Xian.
The stone statues from the other world grew fewer, yet the air of slaughter thickened, and Shen Mu's eye twitched, dreading to see the corpses of the Lame Old Man and Grandmother Zhu.