Портал для путешествия по бесчисленным мирам
Автор:Аноним
Категории:другие
Глава первая: Луч фонарика открывает врата во все миры Ранним утром солнечные лучи лились в комнату через окно. Комната была наполнена клубами дыма, а в воздухе пахло горелыми волосами. Ню Би сидела в углу, все еще потрясенная. 'Черт возьми, какой же он мошенник! Это было опасно!' Сп
Seven Nights of Snow
Part I: Prologue
=== ...
I've traveled thousands of miles to say goodbye to you.
On the first and last snowy nights
—Epigraph
=== ...
The snow started falling at some unknown time.
So vast, it was as if a swarm of butterflies had silently descended from the cold gray clouds, passing through the boundless fir forest, sweeping across the land. In the blink of an eye, the desolate wilderness had turned a pale white.
By the time they caught their breath, the snow had already covered the sword's edge.
Red snow fell onto the pure black sword. The stench of blood made his stomach, which hadn't eaten for two days and one night, cramp. To be honest, for someone who always avoided getting his hands dirty, the number of people he had killed this time was... a bit too many.
Huo Zhanbai was breathing heavily, but he dared not move his body at all. His arm was stiff, maintaining the posture after he thrust out his sword.
It was an extremely brutal stalemate: his sword pierced his opponent's chest, pinning him to the dark fir tree behind him. At the same time, the assassin wearing the white jade mask's sword also pierced his body, passing through his right rib and reaching his lung—after such a fatal blow, both men reached their physical limits, panting heavily.
If either side makes the slightest move, the outcome will be mutual destruction.
The wasteland was deathly silent for a moment.
The snow continued to fall, endlessly, the massive fir trees standing like cold tombstones pointing towards the sky. He and the silver-clad assassin faced off silently in the forest, maintaining the eerie posture from their final strike, their swords still embedded in each other's bodies.
Huo Zhanbai breathed carefully, feeling his expanding lungs almost touching the cold sword.
He struggled to maintain his balance and sanity, refusing to fall before his opponent. The chest pierced by his own sword was heaving rapidly, and the eyes behind the white jade mask were slowly dimming.
It seems that the other side has also reached its limit.
Despite the opponent's repeated attempts to advance, the sword that had pierced Huo Zhanbai's right ribs became stuck in the ribcage, finally losing its momentum before piercing his lung. The masked head suddenly tilted slightly to one side and fell silently down.
Huo Zhanbai silently let out a breath—after all, they still won!
In that frigid snowfield, if the stalemate continued, both sides would probably freeze to death. He stared intently at the white jade mask just inches away, and very slowly shifted his body weight backward, allowing the other's sword to slowly leave his lungs.
Only a small amount of blood flowed out.
In such frigid weather, the blood was frozen solid on the wound as soon as it gushed out.
It took him the time it takes to drink a cup of tea to move that half-foot distance. After completely stepping back, he pressed his right rib with his backhand—in this snowfield sniping, fighting alone against the twelve Silver Wings, even Huo Qi Gongzi, who was known as the number one swordsman in the Central Plains, had suffered thirteen serious injuries.
But this should be the last one, right?
If we don't hurry to Medicine Master Valley, I'm afraid we won't be able to hold on.
The moment the sword was drawn, the silver-clad assassin, who had fought him to the death for nearly a hundred rounds, lost his support and slowly fell against the fir tree, leaving a trail of blood on the trunk behind him.
"Crack!" The mask covering his face cracked the moment he fell into the snow.
Huo Zhanbai was startled and took a step back, instinctively gripping the sword hilt tightly as he examined the man closely. His anger had indeed dissipated; even snow falling on his face wouldn't melt.
"Sigh, so young, yet already out here risking his life..." He sighed, the tip of his sword darting out like a serpent, already slicing through the other man's inner and outer garments. The blade swept from top to bottom, deftly examining everything the man carried.
However, the wind whistled through the gaps in the tattered clothes, its sound hollow and echoing as it continued to drift away.
There was nothing there.
Huo Zhanbai was startled, and suddenly felt a sharp pain in all the wounds all over his body, making it almost impossible for him to stand up.
How could this be? This is the last of the Twelve Silver Wings. After the great battle in the Qilian Mountains, the treasure was eventually taken away by this group. He followed this clue to investigate, hoping to catch the mantis stalking the cicada unaware of the oriole behind. This person should be the leader of this group. If the treasure is not on him, where could it be?
Huo Zhanbai couldn't help but frown, kneeling on one knee on the snow, and stubbornly bent down to search again.
Without obtaining this last ingredient, the necessary pills would certainly not be made, and Mo'er's health was visibly declining day by day. He had spent eight years traveling far and wide to finally gather the other ingredients; how could he allow all his efforts to be in vain at the last moment?
He buried his head in his work, searching. He was so close that when he looked up, he saw the eyes—the deceased's eyes were not completely closed, with a cold, sharp, empty, and ambiguous expression, staring straight at the sky, the whites of the eyes peeking out a slit tinged with an eerie pale blue.
That faint blue hue was almost invisible unless compared to the surrounding white snow.
With just one glance, Huo Zhanbai's heart skipped a beat. He felt an invisible force rising up, binding his body from the inside out. That sudden sense of disorientation made it almost impossible for him to hold his sword.
No! Absolutely not!
Instinctively, Huo Zhanbai tried to get up and retreat, to draw his sword, to seal off his defenses—but he couldn't do anything at all. His body seemed to have been struck in an instant; he couldn't move an inch, not even his eyes.
What's going on? This feeling... what is it all about?!
His body and gaze were firmly "nailed" there by an invisible force, unable to move.
Then, he saw those pale blue eyes, which had been "dead," start to move.
Those eyes merely shifted slightly before opening, meeting his gaze directly. They were so clear and pure, yet unfathomably deep; a single glance sent a chill down his spine, as if swords and spears had pierced his skin.
"Oh no!" he cried out inwardly, but he couldn't look away and could only remain kneeling in the snow, bent over.
Compared to the eerie whites of his eyes, the man's pupils were a normal color. Black, only extremely dark, as dark as ink that couldn't be dissolved or night that couldn't be cut through. Yet, these pupils, reflected on the whites of his eyes, created countless indescribable, eerie colors. The moment those iridescent, glassy eyes opened, his entire body seemed to be under a spell, unable to move.
In that instant, Huo Zhanbai recalled the legends of various secret techniques he had heard in the martial arts world, and a chill suddenly ran through him—