Story Reader / Festival Event Story / Shape of Thunder / Story
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(This is... the main hall!)
The familiar incense fills her senses. Lotus lanterns flicker in and out of the shadows, and thin spirals of smoke curl upward. Laughter and cursing drift by in bursts, loud and unruly.
You—who are you fighting for, and against whom do you raise your blade?
If you seek redemption, why... not bow?
Feeble, feeble, feeble!
You can't even handle this small amount of training? And you're a Construct? Well, you're not that special after all.
How unstoppable I used to be...
Alas, I must not violate the sacred precept against wrath.
Even for a Construct, training and swinging a sword for more than a dozen hours is grueling. The physical strain is tough, but it's the sudden mental exhaustion that's the real villain.
The swordsmanship master zeroes in on each trainee's weaknesses and pushes them to their mental limits. Attendance at these brutal sessions keeps dropping. Is it a test, curiosity, or genuine seriousness? Only the master knows.
Lucia steadies her shaking body with her chipped katana. The other soldiers who train with her lie on the ground. They hear the biting sarcasm but offer no response.
Oh... looks like you're the only one with any backbone left.
What's your name?
(Cough...)
I am...▄▆▃▅▂.
(No, I am...?)
So, what are you fighting for, and against whom do you raise your blade?
Well...
Lucia straightens her posture, tightens her grip on the blade, and slashes forward with unwavering resolve.
...
Suddenly, the scene brightens. The blade vanishes from her hand, leaving her unsure who she is about to strike. Snow finches, startled by her presence, burst into the clear blue sky.
Don't just stand there—come over here and talk.
...
You already figured it out, didn't you?
Call me "Master". I know you've been watching me during morning lessons and chanting. The evening bell has rung a few times now. I may be old, but I'm not blind.
The abbot kicks aside the Corrupted remains, slides his sword back into its scabbard with a swift reversed motion, then tucks one hand behind his back and continues up the mountain at his own pace, his voice echoing through the air.
I'm not so old that I'd forget the face of a disciple I once taught.
...
She emerges from the shadows, resigned, and follows him at a distance. He's as inscrutable as ever—her concealment was so perfect that not even birds or beasts would've noticed anything amiss.
Besides, she's already...
Forget it. You don't need to call me that. If you have something to say, ask now.
I want more power.
Plenty of people come to this monastery in search of power, but you're not one of them.
...
How can a mortal body possibly stand against the Corrupted?
...
In all matters of this world, ask yourself first if it's truly something you want; only then should you consider whether it's achievable.
...
Is it because of this sword?
At those words, the abbot stops and turns around. He raises the sword in his hand, studying it with quiet affection.
In the past, when sculptors carved Buddhist statues, they would bow three times for every stroke of the blade.
I'm not fighting any Corrupted. Every strike I make lands on myself.
Every strike... lands on oneself.
The abbot swiftly draws the sword, flicking his sleeve so that crimson petals from the roadside swirl into the air.
O Cold Mountain, your heart is filled with illusions. O Cold Mountain, you're still bound by earthly chains. O Cold Mountain, you can't bear to let go!
The old man doesn't even look up. He regains his balance and begins ascending the dark stone steps, one deliberate step at a time.
Three strikes scatter leaves across the ground. From the shadows, crystalline droplets flick off the sword and shoot toward Alpha, who barely dodges with a swift sidestep.
Arrival kindles life's flame; departure echoes oblivion. Though weary of birth and death, we guard this fragile world.
In this hellish world, every time one wakes up, don't they still feel the terrifying weight of reality bearing down on them?
Alpha doesn't understand. The old man, noticing her confusion, just smiles and shakes his head.
If some people head for the light, then there must be others who step into the shadows.
Humans are fragile; they can't make it all the way to the end.
There's no need to cling so tightly. The flesh naturally fades away—when we savor life's celebrations, we must also taste the sting of its end.
You clearly have what it takes to adapt, right?
Hahaha! I've lived this life in perfect harmony, so there's nothing left binding me here.
You could reach an even higher place.
Consciousness moves ahead of the flesh, traveling beyond what we can predict—and maybe that makes it all the more dangerous.
...
I stand by myself, and this monastery belongs to no one. If you're here to train, then as before, feel free to continue at your own pace.
...Understood.
She steps into the monastery's empty main hall. The soft glow of oil lamps on all sides and the subtle aroma of burning incense gradually envelop her.
She has committed the abbot's sword technique to memory, but a persistent static still buzzes in her ears, twisting around her like tangled vines.
Is this really the right path?
Doesn't she want more power?
She swings the sword; she sheathes the sword.
Fall here... right now.
Embrace the destiny that awaits you.
She crouches, shifts half a step back, and draws her sword again.
Power... You must push yourself further, free of any dead weight.
Defeat is coming! You won't stand a chance.
You need to be purer, more focused, and beyond yourself!
Slash—!
In an instant, the phantom vanishes. At the far end of the brightly lit corridor stands the abbot, with the treasured blade in its white scabbard hanging from the raised platform.
A bell tolls from deep within the tower, sending wave after wave of pale gold ripples through the air.
Raise that sword!
The Five Declines of Man—once resplendent crowns now wither. No joy in this mundane life, and this flesh-and-bone form shares the same fate.
No need to remember, no need to look back. When the moment arrives, let this sword bear witness to the road you take.
The abbot's silhouette fades away, revealing her and her loved ones gathered around the dinner table, laughing and chatting.
Among the countless lights, just one shining for her is enough. What she once longed for is nothing more than this simple, everyday life.
Her family, she protects them with her own hands.
But can that human really see it through to the very end?
She promised to stay by this person's side forever...
Yet the one beside the person there now isn't her...
As memories blur and blend together, without that suffering, eons of existence would be nothing but fleeting bubbles.
The heart's stirrings shape the world, and the sky shifts in response. Rain pours in torrents; thunder and lightning strike.
Every fragment of me that forms you isn't truly who I am.
...
You slowly choose to fade away, refusing to leave behind any tangled bonds in this world.
...
Abandon your identity, merge with the sword.
It's judgment, it's questioning, it's self-reflection. As if she was at the bottom of this cramped vessel, drifting weightlessly.
Don't blink. Don't wipe out every trace that once existed.
Alpha!
In a roiling sea of suffering, where every last light flickers and dies.
A faint resonance rises from deep within, and that voice calls out above the swirl of her chaotic M.I.N.D.
Every choice has its consequences, every branching path matters—and none of it is for anyone else.
Although regrets linger, the bonds forged drive one forward, and worries shape the fabric of change.
Ha...
I begin my journey here, and I refuse to look back with regret.
...!
Alpha grits her teeth and lunges with all her might. The sword materializes at her side, unleashing a defiant howl the instant she draws it. A bolt of lightning flashes overhead, flooding the area with daylight.
She found Luna back.
She rejected the Filtering.
She accepted herself.
She sliced through the cage.
She can't help but feel drawn to the one behind that voice...
By choosing this path, I become who I truly am.
<color=#ff4e4eff>What—are—you—fighting—for? Against—whom—do—you—raise—your—blade?</color>
This clumsy imitation ends now.
I have only one answer...
Alpha curls her lips into a cold smirk. A flicker of thought ignites, and her body instantly follows her mind's command.
That is to continue down this path. Even there's no redemption ahead.
If anyone tries to stop me...
—Be it a god or Buddha, I'll cut you down just the same!
Lightning crackles along the cables, trailing smoke. The headless gilded clay statue slams into the ground and crumbles to dust.
