nashuaworldcup Chapter 400 Who Looks Like a Ghost? (Page 12)
Chapter 400 Who Looks Like a Ghost? (Page 12)
The headquarters of the Great Xia Night Watchmen.
"Boom boom boom——"
The heavy knocking echoed through the corridor in the dead of night, and the Yazi statue on the door knocker gleamed coldly in the moonlight.
"Enter."
A deep, authoritative voice came from inside the door.
Wu Xiangnan took a deep breath and pushed open the door carved with the Great Xia Dragon and Sparrow pattern.
Inside the office, the lights were on, illuminating the battle maps covering the walls.
Ye Fan was hunched over his desk, his red cloak trailing on the ground, his vermilion pen sketching on a blood-stained intelligence report.
Hearing the door open, he looked up, his chiseled face appearing particularly deep under the light.
"Commander Ye, you wanted to see me?" Wu Xiangnan stood at attention and saluted, his knuckles unconsciously rubbing the hilt of his sword at his waist.
Ye Fan put down the vermilion brush, the gold thread on his cloak flowing with the movement: "There is indeed something."
As he stood up, the Great Xia Dragon Sparrow Sword hanging on the wall emitted a clear and melodious ringing sound.
When those sparkling eyes looked directly at him, Wu Xiangnan seemed to see again the figure who stood with his sword amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood.
I want you to go to Japan.
pat-
Wu Xiangnan's tactical glove suddenly came undone.
Memories flood back like a tide—
Takamagahara in a downpour...
His teammate was pierced through the chest by Susanoo's Totsuka Blade...
The blood of the Blue Rain team members mingled with the rainwater...
In the end, only he, dragging a broken sword, crawled out of the mist...
Ye Fan gently placed her hand on his shoulder, the warmth of which seemed to pierce his soul: "This time, it's time for us to settle our accounts."
Suddenly, a holographic projection lit up the office, displaying the dynamics of the various divine kingdoms shrouded in mist:
Egypt's solar boat is under restoration...
The night sky surrounded Mount Olympus...
And then there are the sword-scarred ruins of Asgard...
“Zhou Ping’s sword has already made the gods restless.” Ye Fan’s fingertip traced the projection, stopping at the location of the Japanese archipelago. “So they are going to unite.”
The projection suddenly switched to a 3D model of Takamagahara, with hundreds of red dots flashing in the circle of people.
“We need you to find the entrance to the Takamagahara human sphere.” Ye Fan’s voice was like tempered steel. “We need to destroy the foundation of their faith before the final assault.”
The blood-red projection was reflected in Wu Xiangnan's pupils, and the rain patterns on the scabbard began to glow.
He slowly raised his head, the grief in his eyes transforming into a chilling killing intent:
“Wu Xiangnan of the Blue Rain Squad requests to rejoin the team.”
Thunder roared outside the window, and a sudden downpour began.
...
Hokkaido, Japan.
Lin Qiye crushed a frozen, withered branch under his foot and looked up at the silhouette disappearing into the darkness in the distance.
Under the moonlight, a solitary Japanese-style cottage stands crookedly on the edge of a cliff, its bronze wind chimes hanging from the eaves covered in ice crystals, silently swaying in the wind.
"Is this the... knife repairman you were talking about?" Lin Qiye asked.
"It's certainly remote." Zhang Yun, dressed in black, exhaled white breath that condensed into frost in the night.
Haruki Amamiya unsheathed the [Rain Collapse] sword, the rain patterns on its scabbard leaving winding trails of water in the snow: "He's used to being with swords..."
Then he went up and knocked on the door.
The door to the cabin suddenly creaked open.
A pale, zombie-like face peeked out from the crack in the door, its eyes sunken deep.
His gaze swept over the chaotic crowd, finally settling on Haruki Amamiya's sword, his cracked lips twitching into a chilling smile:
"It's you?" The voice sounded like rusty gears grinding together. "I thought it was a parade of a hundred demons..."
Lin Qiye's lips twitched: "Now, who looks like a ghost?"
"come in!"
The wooden door creaked as it fell into disrepair, and the group stepped inside.
The sweltering heat carried the scents of rust and charcoal, and the outline of the workshop gradually became clear under the glow of the furnace fire.
In the 30-square-meter space, the floor is covered with tatami mats that have been scorched by sparks.
The central forging furnace was burning brightly, its orange-red flames licking the cast iron furnace walls and casting a crimson glow on the bronze kettle hanging above.
Bundles of raw tamahagane were piled up in the corner, and next to them were hammers and chisels scattered on the blacksmith's table, each one polished to a shine.
"This is Yoshiki Kohara, the ninth master of the Calamity Sword," Haruki Amamiya introduced softly.
The old man straightened up from the shadows, the firelight illuminating his deeply furrowed face.
Her gray hair was casually tied back with an iron hairpin, and her apron was covered with burn marks.
He picked up the copper kettle and poured a cup of coarse tea for each person; the tea soup shimmered with an amber light in the rough earthenware cups.
"What brings you here so late?" The old man's voice was hoarse, like sandpaper being rubbed.
Lin Qiye took out the broken knife wrapped in white cloth from his bosom.
When the cloth was unfolded, a gleaming blade lay quietly in the moonlight, its broken edge gleaming with a faint, cold light.
The blue rope knots wrapped around the hilt have turned black, but the original, carefully woven patterns are still visible.
"I want to get my knife repaired."
Yoshiki Kohara took the broken sword with his calloused hands, his fingertips gently gliding over the blade.
He walked under the lamp, took out his monocle from his pocket, put it in his eye socket, and carefully examined the knife marks.
“The finest tamahagane steel, folded and forged thirteen times…” His finger paused on the hilt. “A special ‘moon-reflecting’ quenching method was used here. A fine sword!”
The old man suddenly coughed violently and took out a handkerchief from his sleeve to cover his mouth.
After the blood had calmed down, the handkerchief was stained with dark red blood.
He casually put away the handkerchief and placed the broken knife on the blacksmith's table.
Yoshiki Furuhara's fingers gently caressed the worn areas on the hilt of the sword, his rough fingertips feeling every tiny mark:
"The owner of this knife cherished it very much." He raised his cloudy eyes, pointing to the almost worn-down grooves, "He wiped it three times every time he drew it, and oiled it on the first day of each month..."
Lin Qiye's pupils suddenly contracted: "How did you know?"
“He’s a professional in this area!” Haruki Amamiya crossed his arms and smiled slightly. “Senior Kohara is a master who can deduce the owner’s knife-using habits just by looking at the wear and tear on a knife.”
Yoshiki Kohara didn't reply. He simply placed the broken sword on the blacksmith's table and took out several pieces of bluish-green tamahagane from a wooden box beside him.
He weighed it in his hand, nodded, and said, "Give me a few days and I can fix it."
Haruki Amamiya suddenly leaned closer, a sly glint in his eyes: "How about we give it a sword spirit while we're at it?"
"Snapped!"
The old man nearly smashed his own foot with the hammer in his hand.
He looked up abruptly, and ash from his wrinkles fell in a flurry.
"Are you kidding me?" His eyes widened, and his voice suddenly rose. "Where would I get a sword spirit? Sword spirits are rare! You think they're as easy as cabbages!"
He angrily pointed to the crack in the broken knife:
"Moreover, this sword itself has spatial attributes, and only a spatial-type sword spirit can match it!" The withered fingers tapped the air twice sharply. "You think you can find one so easily?"
"Hey, I have some!"
Zhang Yun's voice suddenly interrupted.
The entire workshop fell silent instantly.
Everyone turned their heads in unison, staring at Zhang Yun as if he were a ghost.
A spark crackled from the stove, illuminating Zhang Yun's roguish grin.
Yoshiki Kohara's jaw nearly dropped to the floor: "You... what did you say?"
Zhang Yun flipped his wrist, and a semi-transparent glass bottle appeared in his palm.
Moonlight shone through the bottle, illuminating the silvery-white mist flowing within.
The mist seemed to possess a spirit, sometimes transforming into a leaping dragon, sometimes dispersing into a flowing river of stars, and as the bottle gently swayed, it emitted a clear and melodious dragon's roar.
This is a little trinket that I casually condensed from Kunlun Ruins.
He flicked the bottle with his finger, and the silver mist immediately crashed excitedly against the bottle wall, stirring up a miniature storm inside. "Is it qualified to be a sword spirit?"
"Dang Cang——"
Yoshiki Furuhara's monocle hit the anvil.
The old man's withered, trembling hands accepted the glass bottle. In the glow of the stove fire, the faint outlines of dragon scales appeared in the silvery mist.
“A spatial attribute... dragon soul?!” He whirled around, his apron strap knocking over a teacup. “You call this ‘just something’?!”
The withered fingers almost poked Zhang Yun's nose through.
Zhang Yun touched his nose: "Is it that hard to deal with?"
Before he finished speaking, the silver mist in the bottle suddenly condensed into a heart shape and gave him a thumbs up.
Looking at the fawning dragon soul, Lin Qiye suddenly felt that Zhan Bai had been wronged.
"Senior..." Haruki Amamiya's shoulders trembled as he tried to suppress a laugh, "Can we start working now?"
Yoshiki Kohara suddenly rushed towards the shrine.
Only then did everyone notice that on the altar covered with knife marks was a yellowed old photograph—in the photograph, a young-looking swordsmith was standing side by side with an old man wearing a sword.
“Teacher…” He lit three incense sticks and inserted them into the ashes of the incense burner. Amidst the swirling smoke, he revealed an almost devout expression. “The opportunity you spoke of… your disciple has arrived.”
When he turned around, his hunched back straightened up by a third.
"Snapped!"
Yoshiki Furuhara ripped off his patched apron, revealing his lean upper body.
"Find any room you like and rest." The old man walked towards the forge without turning his head, his withered fingers brushing over the various hammers and chisels on the display shelf. "Come back in half a month to collect the Calamity Blade!"
Haruki Amamiya glanced at the sky outside and shook his head, saying:
“No need, we’ll come back to pick it up in half a month.” He patted the slightly trembling [Yubeng] at his waist, the rain patterns on the scabbard glistening with moisture. “There are still some things to take care of.”
Zhang Yun, dressed in black, carried the God-Slaying Spear, the blood dragon pattern on the tip of the spear faintly visible in the morning light: "Old man, don't let Qi Ye's little dragon get too thin."
Lin Qiye: "..."
The silver mist inside the glass bottle suddenly expanded like a bristling frizz, banging against the bottle wall in protest.
Yoshiki Kohara snorted and dragged a dusty iron box from the corner of the wall.
The moment the lid of the box was opened, the temperature in the entire room plummeted—inside were eight neatly arranged knife blanks of various shapes, each radiating a chilling aura.
"I'm forging a knife..." He took out a pitch-black whetstone, its surface still bearing traces of dried blood. "It's not your place to interfere."
Lin Qiye suddenly stopped the eager Jialan and bowed solemnly to the old man: "I'm entrusting this to you."
On the mountain path, the five figures gradually disappeared into the distance.
The first clang of a hammer came from behind, startling all the birds flying across the mountain.
...
Mist, Japan.
Thick gray fog churned on the sea surface, like countless entangled vengeful spirits.
Wu Xiangnan tapped her fingertip lightly on the detector screen, and the red dot that flickered on and off like a heartbeat.
"Electromagnetic interference 87%, biological signals 13%..." He frowned, wiping the water droplets from the dashboard. "Is it mysterious? Or..."
Wow——!
A three-meter-high wave suddenly crashed against the bow of the boat.
Amidst the splashing waves, a snow-white figure emerged, bathed in moonlight.
The blond man stood on the crest of a wave, his pure white knight's uniform spotless, and the scabbard of his Western sword at his waist was inlaid with seven gems of different colors.
When he landed on the deck, even the swirling fog seemed to give way.