章 345: An Ice Flower VI
Was I nervous about what I was about to do?
Yes. Beyond nervous. My heartbeat thundered in my ears like the drums of war, but I forced it down, burying it beneath the steady resolve I'd honed over years of trials. This wasn't just for me—it was for Mount Hua Sect. For Seraphina. For humanity.
There was no room for hesitation.
I stepped forward, each movement deliberate as Mo Zenith's presence loomed over me, a palpable force that seemed to weigh down the very air around us. The pressure was suffocating, a manifestation of his Radiant-rank strength. For most below the Wall, it would have been crushing, forcing them to their knees in abject surrender.
But I was beyond that now.
I had not yet scaled the Wall, but my strength stood above it. And if Mo Zenith expected me to falter, he would be sorely disappointed.
"What kind of deal?" he asked, his voice sharp and cold as a blade drawn in anger. His silver gaze pinned me in place, a test of my will as much as his words were a challenge to my courage.
I drew a breath, steadying myself. The moment stretched unbearably, but finally, I spoke. "I will elevate the Grade 6 art of Mount Hua Sect by creating a fifth movement."
The world seemed to twist and bend around me, the weight of my audacity crashing down like a tidal wave. The very air bristled with latent power, and for a moment, it felt as though reality itself held its breath.
Then it came—a sword. A massive, phantom blade that descended from the heavens, sharp and merciless, a projection of Mo Zenith's killing intent. It was not just a threat but a judgment, honed by countless battles and tempered in the crucible of his experience. The sword's edge bore down on me, a promise of death should I falter.
Luna stirred within me, her presence flickering like a flame sensing danger. She nearly emerged, her instinct to protect me overwhelming. But I held her back, refusing to show weakness. This was my battle, my stand.
I did not move. Sweat beaded on my brow and trickled down my cheek, but I remained still, my face impassive. The phantom sword struck, crashing into me with the weight of worlds—but it did not break me. I stood, unyielding, as his killing intent coiled around me, testing, probing, searching for a crack in my resolve.
And then it was gone, dissipating as swiftly as it had come.
Mo Zenith's lips curled into a sardonic smile, his eyes narrowing. "How daring, boy," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Do you think that just because my daughter likes you, I won't kill you?"
His words carried the weight of a King, a ruler in his own right. Despite everything, I could not deny the truth of his power. In this moment, I was still far from his level. If he wished, he could end me with a light punch, my boldness nothing more than an insult to his station.
But I met his gaze with unwavering determination. This wasn't about pride, nor was it about defiance. It was necessity—an act born of desperation and hope.
"Currently, I am too weak to even hope to accomplish something like this," I admitted, my voice steady despite the weight of my confession. Honesty was not a weakness here; it was a blade I wielded with precision. "But in the future, I will be the strongest. Not just the Paragon of humanity in this generation—no. I will be the strongest in the history of this world."
Mo Zenith's eyes widened, the faintest flicker of surprise breaking through his usually impenetrable facade. He had not expected such boldness, such conviction, but I had long since learned that the truth, spoken plainly, could strike with more force than even the sharpest sword.
"So bet on my talent," I said, my gaze unwavering. "Bet that I will ascend to those towering heights. Use me to elevate the Violet Mist Divine Art to a level it has never seen before."
Mo regarded me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, his silence as heavy as the evening mist around us. Finally, he spoke. "What do you want in return?"
I paused, considering his words. The temptation to demand something grand, something fitting of this monumental promise, was strong. But I knew what mattered most.
"Tell your daughter you love her," I said.
His reaction was subtle, a twitch of his brow, a tightening of his jaw, but in Mo Zenith's language, it was as if I had struck him. "…She already knows that," he said, his voice edged with defensiveness.
"No, she doesn't," I replied, shaking my head. "Seraphina loves you, but she thinks you hate her. Change her mind. Spend time with her. Show her love. Praise her. Be the father she needs, not the ruler she fears."
Mo's lips parted as if to retort, but no words came. For all his power, all his mastery, he stood there, momentarily disarmed. His shoulders, so often squared with the weight of his kingly duty, seemed to sag under the enormity of my words.
"That is all you want?" he asked at last, his voice unsteady, cracking like the surface of an ancient glacier. It was not a question born of disbelief but of something deeper—a tremor of vulnerability rarely shown by a man of his stature. I could see it in his eyes. He wanted to ask me what I meant, to deny that Seraphina didn't already know the depth of his love. But his pride, his duty, held him back.
"No," I said quietly. "Pay more attention to the sect."
Mo's brows furrowed, the steel in his gaze returning. "You dare lecture me on how to run Mount Hua?"
"I do," I said, meeting his glare with calm defiance. "Stop chasing the Martial King's shadow. You cannot measure the worth of Mount Hua by the distance between its blossoms and his sword. Instead, trust me. I will swear it on my mana, if needed: I will take the plum blossoms of Mount Hua and make them bloom brighter than his swordsmanship ever could."
The silence that followed was deafening. Mo's presence loomed like a storm, but I stood firm, my words resonating in the charged air between us. This was not a mere negotiation—it was a turning point, not only for me but for Mount Hua and for him.
At last, Mo Zenith nodded, a gesture as reluctant as it was resolute. "You are either a fool or the most audacious genius I've ever met," he said. His voice carried no malice, only a grudging respect.
"Perhaps both," I replied, a faint smile tugging at the corner of my lips.
For a moment, Mo said nothing, his gaze distant, his thoughts unreadable. Then he turned, the faintest sigh escaping him as he walked away, his steps slow and deliberate. He did not say whether he agreed to my terms, but I knew the seed had been planted.
As the mist thickened around me, I stood alone, my resolve unshaken. This was only the beginning. The road ahead would be treacherous, but the path was clear.
And I would walk it, no matter the cost.
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