Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Illusory Realm of Lost Space

After the Bloodsworn Alliance Master departed, chaos erupted within the woman’s family. The elder responsible for guarding the archives was slain, and several secret martial arts techniques were stolen. News of this incident quickly reached the leadership of Heaven’s Gate. A full investigation ensued, and suspicion ultimately settled on the missing Bloodsworn Alliance Master. Yet, despite their exhaustive search across all the territories under their control, he was nowhere to be found. This infuriated many, who concluded that the Bloodsworn Alliance Master had already left this realm and returned to the Chifeng Continent. There were calls to send people after him, to capture and execute him without mercy.

But these suggestions were firmly rejected. Since Heaven’s Gate had entered this world, a strict edict had been imposed: no one from Heaven’s Gate was ever to leave for the Chifeng Continent—unless the appointed day arrived. As for the Bloodsworn Alliance Master’s actions, Heaven’s Gate did not believe he could truly escape. The day was not far off when the ancient decree would be shattered, allowing their return to Chifeng. When that time came, the Bloodsworn Alliance Master, regardless of his hidden resources or strength, would be powerless before Heaven’s Gate. Thus, the matter was temporarily set aside and soon forgotten, pushed to the background until the coming of the Sacred Day—that would be the day of the Bloodsworn Alliance Master’s doom.

Returning at last to the Chifeng Continent after years of exile, the Bloodsworn Alliance Master felt an even heavier burden on his heart. This land held his most precious memories with her—their sweet words of love, their vows to grow old together. Yet all of it had been buried by another world, lost beyond recovery. He burned for revenge, and his target was all of Heaven’s Gate. He needed strength, power, an organization of his own to rival Heaven’s Gate. Only then could he hope to stand against them.

So began the rise of the Bloodsworn Alliance on the Chifeng Continent. Now, the organization had spread across more than half the continent. Though still weak, their accomplishments in just a few decades were a testament to the Bloodsworn Alliance Master’s remarkable talent and martial prowess.

Darknight was among the most loyal and formidable followers he had nurtured over the years, valued highly by the master. He had even taught Darknight the secret martial arts stolen from Heaven’s Gate, making him one of his most capable aides. This time, he sent Darknight into the Ancient Realm to search for the Azure Sea Divine Spring, a treasure so precious that only Darknight could be entrusted with the task.

“So, what do you think? Isn’t the space within the Azure Sea Celestial Domain rather fragile? Otherwise, with your current cultivation, how could you cause it to collapse?” The mysterious masked man stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his tone amiable yet laced with a hint of amusement.

Darknight’s cold gaze fixed on the enigmatic figure, his voice equally frigid. “Since you’re from that place, there’s no need for more words. If you want to kill me, let’s see if you can overcome my Whaleblack blade.”

The mysterious man’s eyes held Darknight’s as well, then he glanced at the slender, jet-black blade in Darknight’s hand. He laughed heartily and said, “Defeating or killing you poses little challenge for me. What truly interests me is your talent—you’ve actually refined the Void-Burial Nine-Thousand Strikes to over two hundred!”

“Hmph… It’s a simple technique, not worth the effort. Seems Heaven’s Gate has no true talent to boast of,” Darknight retorted, his words dripping with sarcasm.

The mysterious man appeared a little surprised by this, then extended his right hand. With a flash of light, a thin, silver-white sword, delicate as a cicada’s wing, appeared in his grasp. The moment it emerged, an uncanny aura enveloped him; even the surrounding space subtly warped, as if he alone existed in this world.

Darknight’s pupils contracted in shock, the change in the man’s aura pressing down on him like a mountain.

The mysterious man seemed to admire the sword as one would a work of art. Holding it in his right hand, he flicked the narrow spine with his left. The blade vibrated, sending forth a clear, melodious ring.

He caressed the sword’s surface and spoke in a detached, leisurely tone. “Both of us have mastered the Void-Burial Nine-Thousand Strikes. Today, let us decide who is truly worthy to wield it.”

As his words fell, the silver-white sword trembled, spinning out afterimages that traced a dreamlike arc, instantly sketching a bestial figure in the air. Its slender outline radiated nothing but razor-sharpness, devoid of any overt aggression.

The tip of the sword pointed at Darknight. “Three hundred strikes. In the end, you will fall,” he declared, his words ringing with finality as the space within a hundred meters froze solid.

Darknight suddenly felt himself gripped by an overwhelming force, as if mired in thick glue. Even blinking became sluggish, as if time itself had slowed. In the next instant, his vision went black; ribbons of dusky spatial energy coiled around him, their binding force so powerful he felt his blood might burst from his veins.

Startled, he cried out, “Illusory Space, Phantom Reality!” Immediately, a flare of dark light erupted from his body, shielding him from the crushing pressure. He transformed into a streak of darkness and darted a hundred meters away.

He repeated this escape several times, yet each time found himself still trapped in the same black void, surrounded by dim gray currents. Though Shadowstep could temporarily reduce the spatial restraints, it consumed vast amounts of his vital energy. If he could not break free soon, he would be ground down to nothing, reduced to the most primal particles by the collapsing space.

“This is my own creation, born from the original technique. Today marks its first use. To die within it is no disgrace for you. When you perish, death itself will accompany you.” The masked man’s tone was calm but proud, clearly pleased with his self-made technique and with Darknight’s entrapment.

Darknight snorted coldly, offering no reply as he focused on finding a way out. Suddenly, a streak of silver-white sword light appeared at his side, the keen blade slashing at his waist.

In a flash, Whaleblack swept to parry—yet the silver sword was merely an illusion, insubstantial. A chill stabbed from behind. Shocked, Darknight again transformed into a shadow and evaded.

The silver sword thrust at him the moment he reappeared, aiming for his face. Darknight was deeply alarmed. The opponent’s technique could cross spatial barriers, trapping him in a collapsed dimension. Yet, while spatial collapse was usually fleeting, this man could keep the space from healing, a terrifying power indeed.

With no other option, Darknight kept using Shadowstep to dodge the relentless attacks. But as time wore on, he noticed something was off. Though the space remained unhealed and continued to bind his movements, he could not sense the edge of the broken dimension, nor understand how the masked man could attack him at will. This was a grave problem.

With each dodge, his vital energy rapidly depleted; he would not last much longer. He began carefully observing the direction and aura of each sword’s appearance.

In time, he discerned the truth—the attacking silver sword was an illusion, incapable of inflicting real harm. Realizing this, he ceased using Shadowstep and stopped dodging, letting the sword slash through him. As expected, the blade dissipated upon contact, leaving not so much as a tear in his clothing.

The word “illusion” echoed in his mind. Suddenly, clarity struck—this was not true spatial collapse. It was likely the effect of a spatial artifact, creating a false reality to trap him, draining his energy until he was helpless—prey for the taking.

“Impressive! You saw through it so quickly. Just as you guessed, the space here hasn’t truly collapsed. In fact, even the spatial rifts you created before were mere illusions!” The mysterious man’s words were astonishing. He paused a moment to gauge Darknight’s reaction before continuing, “Though this is not the great world of Chifeng, the spatial barriers here are far too firm for either of us to break. Everything you saw, every effect of your technique, was pure illusion.”

“That’s impossible!” Darknight exclaimed in shock. He could accept that the other’s attacks were illusory, but that even his own techniques were conjured illusions defied belief.

“I know it’s hard for you to accept, but the truth is right before you. The sword in my hand is called Phantomspace, a high-grade spiritual artifact. It was forged by a divine master from Phantomspace Stone and a shard of true space itself, imbued with several spatial illusion arrays. Its wielder can deploy them at will.”

Darknight’s heart sank at the explanation. He, once a kingly assassin famed across the continent, had been utterly outplayed. He had always toyed with others, but today, he was the one being toyed with.

It was the bitterest irony. But recalling his master’s instructions, he found a measure of comfort. Though defeated today, he would have a chance for revenge someday. If he failed his master’s mission, not even dying a hundred times would suffice for atonement.

Composing himself, Darknight asked, “I have no complaints about losing to you today, but could you tell me the name of this technique? Let me die knowing.”

After a moment, the masked man replied, “Phantomspace Labyrinth.”

“The name fits,” Darknight nodded. “But I swear, one day I will reclaim my honor.” As he spoke, a surge of black light burst from him, flooding the space and dispersing the gray currents entirely.

Whaleblack in his grasp radiated a dark halo, enveloping him as sword and body fused into one, forming a sword as tall as a man.

Martial Edge, Chapter Sixty-Nine: Phantomspace Labyrinth—end of update.