I Am Loaded with Passive Skills-Chapter 3204 - 1629: Reminiscing the Majestic Sky Flow Hua, Now I am Like a Sword Flying Flower
Chapter 3204: Chapter 1629: Reminiscing the Majestic Sky Flow Hua, Now I am Like a Sword Flying Flower
Night swallowed the last trace of twilight on the horizon.
Opening its eyes in the night, the forest beast about to commence its hunt let out ferocious roars in the distance.
The Storyteller stood guard vigilantly, looking at his brother who was sitting cross-legged on the ground, and scolded:
“You are concealing your sword!”
“It doesn’t matter, I’m just slightly flexing my muscles.”
Bazhun’an finished speaking, closed his eyes, and his aura totally disappeared, blending into the surroundings like any of the ordinary large rocks in this mountain forest.
“What exactly did Kui Leihan tell you!”
The storyteller grew anxious, “Even if they are important, they’re not more important than yourself. After concealing your sword for so many years, how can you break your discipline for them?”
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The only response was the stillness of the mountain forest, and the barely perceptible footsteps of beasts drawing nearer.
“Is Xu Xiaoshou more important, or are you more important?” The storyteller stopped himself from kicking his brother over, disrupting his current state.
The latter still did not respond.
“Will it harm you?”
His tone became gentle, as he squatted down next to Bazhun’an, “If something happens to you, I won’t be able to explain it to Big Sister Yue.”
Preaching to deaf ears.
The Storyteller’s brows jumped repeatedly in frustration, unable to contain himself any longer, thirty years of pent-up grievances erupted:
“Fine, fine, fine!”
“You all think you’re smart, and we mortals are burdens!”
“None of you speak up, if you do speak, it’s not understandable. If it is understood, it’s not achievable, and if it can’t be done, it’s better not to ask, right?”
“This is how you are! Wen Ting is like this too! All of us from the higher void are useless, only you sword cultivators are high above in the clouds… no one even bothers to protect you anymore!”
He rose abruptly, about to jump off the cliff, wanting to leave Bazhun’an to starve alone in this forest.
No, no need to die that slowly.
He would soon be devoured by wild beasts.
“Sigh.”
Bazhun’an sighed lightly, forced to break his meditation state, and opened his eyes to say: “Come back.”
“Eh.”
The Storyteller rolled back, lying next to his brother, propping his cheek with his hands, his eyes twinkling, “Tell me, hurry tell me!”
“Sealing the sword is not the same as concealing the sword, they are not so absolute. Only those obsessed with sword cultivation think that when concealing the sword, one must never unsheathe their sword… Didn’t I also unsheathe my sword in the Eighth Palace?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I won’t get hurt.”
“Uh-huh.”
“…”
“What else?”
When the Storyteller saw that he had paused after a few words, he immediately became anxious, “How can the Eighth Palace and the God Executioner’s Ruins be comparable? You now need to traverse the stars, to another plane!”
Bazhun’an shook his head slightly and did not say much more, picking up a pebble and flicking it powerfully between his index and middle finger.
The Storyteller’s gaze quickly followed.
“Plonk.”
The pebble traced a not-so-elegant arc, weakly falling a few yards away, rolling several times before stopping in front of a large rock.
“Understand?”
Bazhun’an assumed his explanation was perfectly clear, and immediately closed his eyes to meditate again.
What, what, what…
The Storyteller widened his eyes, a trio of wisps of smoke rising from his head, wracking his brain but unable to fathom what his brother was trying to express.
“What godly nonsense are you playing at!”
“Can’t you just speak plainly!”
He fiercely pulled apart Bazhun’an’s eyelids, nearly gouging out the two bewildered eyeballs.
“Tempering.” Eighth resignedly spoke, stopping the Storyteller’s violent actions.
“What about tempering?”
“Cao Yihan said, the last step in blacksmithing is not to hold the sword embryo in front of the enemy for direct combat, but a process of tempering and condensation.”
So, Ran Ming ruins are that last basin of tempering water, do you have to go there to complete the “Condensation”?
But water is everywhere, why choose the basin at Ran Ming ruins?
Oh, got it, surely this basin has the best effect.
The Storyteller did have some brains to interpret that, pondered for a moment, and looking at the distant pebble, pointed out the final confusion: “What does this have to do with the pebble?”
“Seal the sword until old, only then shall I become a Saint.”
“I am here, I go there with intention to temper, finishing the last process of this sword, then I can sheathe the sword, fully prepared.”
Prepare?
Preparing for whom?
The Storyteller’s expression tensed, he was extremely capable of grasping the critical points of life and death, “Are you going to fight with Hua… him?”
Bazhun’an: “A battle is inevitable.”
The Storyteller fell silent; he was not unoptimistic about his brother, but still believed that the time was not right.
Sword Deity Hua always seemed one step ahead.
Thus, Hua continuously took the lead.
Sword Deity Hua then sealed as a Holy Emperor, obtaining the highest level of power and resources from the five great aristocratic families of the Holy Emperor, no longer measured simply as “Sword Holy Emperor”…
Mentioning Sword Deity Hua, the Storyteller felt nothing but fear, powerlessness, a perfect profile of innate talent plus resource background and unparalleled mental fortitude—if only Bazhun’an’s surname were that of the five great aristocratic families.
During the same period, Senior Rao Yaoyao, who began sword cultivation just three days after Hua Changdeng, spent thirty years trying to catch up.
Ultimately, the gap didn’t just remain; one was in the sky, the other on the earth.
In comparison, Bazhun’an.
Concealed the sword for thirty years and fell behind by thirty years, seeming unreachable…
To speak frankly, outsiders might still remember “Eighth Sword Immortal” in his magnificent state.
But the Storyteller had long forgotten the spirited look of his brother from those days. In his mind these years, only the trivialities of life remained.
Like needing a walking stick when going out, needing support when flying, catching a cold in strong winds, and occasionally coughing up blood…
To say something unpleasant.
By the sickbed long bedridden, there is no filial son.
After years of not seeing each other, encountering a brother in such a state, anyone could show a bit of concern.
But truly, because of that one bow to the vast sky and earth back then, he meticulously cared for such a debilitated person for over thirty years, even willing to give up his own flourishing future…
