The Driftdream Loch’s surface shimmered with an eerie calm as if the haunted estate itself held its breath, waiting to unleash its next horror. Donovan Valdez and Lordi Payne stood rigid, each facing one of the sword’s twin blades, their spooky crimson eyes glinting with predatory intent.
The air thickened with the weight of infernal presence, the devil sword’s gaze burning into them like embers pressed against flesh. Kneeling side by side, Donovan and Lordi remained still—outwardly composed, though their veins ran cold with unspoken terror.
Then, in perfect, chilling harmony, their voices intertwined—not as argument, but as declaration.
"The Senior Brother Hanz in the Ancestral Shrine is the real Krogh Hanz."
"The Senior Brother Hanz at the Ancient Stone Well is the real Krogh Hanz."
Donovan’s voice firm, laced with conviction born of his encounter in the gray-white void of the main hall in Ancestral Shrine.
Lordi’s tone equally resolute, his eyes narrowing as he met Donovan’s murderous gaze with unveiled hostility. The air crackled with tension, the sword’s oppressive aura amplifying their rivalry. The words hung between them, a dissonant truth. No hesitation, no rebuttal—only the quiet horror of mutual certainty. Each man had seen, had known, beyond doubt. And yet, one of them had to be wrong.
Donovan’s fingers curled inward, slow and deliberate, tendons tightening like drawn wire. Then—pop! One knuckle cracked, sharp as a breaking twig. Then another. And another. Crrk—Crrk—Crrk! A staccato rhythm of tension, each snap a muted but overwhelming murder intent against the young man beisde him. His jaw was set, his breath steady, but the sound betrayed the storm beneath—the coiled restraint of a man one breath away from violence.
The Mister First Dominator continued, his voice measured and assured. "I encountered Senior Brother Krogh Hanz within the Ancestral Shrine. His bearing carried the unmistakable grace of a Holy Sect elite—every gesture, every word, honed through years of discipline and transcendent wisdom. Appearances may be mimicked, auras forged in deceit... but such poise? Such effortless command? That is the indelible mark of Krogh Hanz himself." His tone left no room for doubt, his expression solemn and unwavering.
Hearing Donovan’s words, Lordi remained unfazed, his lips curving into a faint, knowing smile.
"This unworthy junior had the privilege of witnessing the true charisma of the legendary Krogh Hanz in the Frigid Sanctum beneath the Ancient Stone Well. A man of few words, yet his very presence is like a blade forged by centuries of devotion—unyielding, razor-sharp, unmistakable to those who understand the sword path. Such purity of sword will, such singular dedication to Dao cultivation... these cannot be replicated by imposters."
His gaze turned pointed, voice laced with quiet steel as he addressed Donovan. "You claim to have met a ’Krogh Hanz’ draped in the grace of a Holy Sect elite? Hmph! That is mere performance. Any skilled deceiver could mimic such theatrics in a matter of days." A dismissive scoff. "But the aura of a true sword cultivator—the mighty will to cut down all obstacles, the unparalleled lethality honed through relentless discipline—that is beyond imitation. The one you met? A fraud."
Every word carried the weight of conviction, his defiance not as a challenge, but as an irrefutable truth.
Donovan’s dark brows drew together like a gathering storm, his mouth curving into a cruel sneer that promised violence. When he spoke, his voice was a blade’s whisper—cold, sharp, and lethal.
"You?" He barked a derisive laugh. "A fucking Seventh Layer Qi Refinement ant, waving around a rot scrap of bone, dares lecture me on the Sword Will? On the Dao Purity of a true Sword Path Senior?" His fingers flexed at his side, itching to crush the young man’s skull with a thundering fierce blow. "The Ju-On could deceive your mind with a whisper, you blind, arrogant worm. You wouldn’t know true sword will if it carved its name onto your fucking moron skull."
Lordi did not flinch. His lips twisted into a blade-thin smile, edged with icy disdain, while his gaze burned with a quiet, mocking fire.
"Ah... come on, Senior Brother Valdez," he said, his voice smooth as a honed dagger. "Must you still waste breath on the ’grace’ of holy Sect elites? Grace? Discipline? Bullshit. Look plainly before you—do we share the same bearing? No. By your reasoning, if ’demeanor’ was all it took, every preening peacock in the Outer Sect could claim to be an elite. But we both know the truth."
He leaned in, the weight of his words deliberate, unyielding. "Funny, though. You stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the likes of Ju-On, conspiring to seize Senior Brother Krogh Hanz’s Soulbound Spirit Sword. Do not dress treachery in virtue."
Donovan’s face darkened, his spirit energy erupting around him like a storm of razors. The air itself trembled under the weight of his killing intent, the ground cracking beneath his boots as his fury manifested in visible waves. "You treacherous little shitstain!"
The muscular man’s hand shot forward, fingers clamping around Lordi’s throat with bone-crushing force, slamming him into the nearest boulder with enough power to shatter stone. Dust and debris exploded around them as Donovan leaned in, his breath hot with rage. "I ought to rip out your fucking tongue and feed it to the Ju-On for that lie! You’ve been crawling in the Ju-On’s shadow this whole time, haven’t you? Whispering poison, sabotaging the brotherhood and camaraderie between me and Krogh Hanz—all so you could steal his spirit sword for yourself!"
Lordi’s lips split into a bloody grin, his teeth stained crimson from the force of the blow. "Ohhh, struck a nerve, did I?" He wheezed out a laugh, even as Donovan’s grip tightened. "Tell me, Senior Brother—how does it feel? Knowing every FellowDao you ever called ’brother’ died with your knife in their back?"
Donovan’s eyes burned with murderous fire. "You fucking dare—"
"I dare!" Lordi roared, his own spirit energy flaring in defiance. A pulse of azure blue flame erupted from his body, breaking Donovan’s hold and sending him skidding back.
"Brotherhood? Camaraderie?" His voice was sharp, controlled, devoid of curses but no less cutting than a sword. "How many of your so-called ’battle brothers’ have you buried, Senior Brother? How many loyal sect comrades drew their last breath with your dagger in their back? Or did you think no one would notice the trail of corpses you left behind?"
"You think you’re clever, you spineless worm?" Donovan’s snarl was venomous, his fist glowing viciously with a metallic hiss. The bone knuckles gleamed with lethal promise, poised to crack the yong man’s face open from a single blow. "You want to talk about betrayal? FUCK! Your Thorn Squad were the Ju-On’s fucking lapdogs from the start. It’s you playing the righteous sect comrades while murdering my squad brothers in the dark." His knuckles whitened with force. "But I’ll make sure you scream the truth before I smash your brain."
Lordi wiped the blood from his mouth, his own bone blade unsheathed in a single fluid motion. The steel caught the light, cold and unyielding. "Your hypocrisy would be amusing if it weren’t so pathetic." His voice remained steady, a contrast to Donovan’s seething rage. "You killed Carl Murphy right in front of me. Do you even remember his face? Or were his screams just another footnote in your bloody legacy?" He shifted into a ready stance, his smirk turned feral. "Come then, you sanctimonious bastard. Let’s see if your petty fist is as solid as your lies. Or are you afraid I’ll expose what really happened to your precious ’comrades"
The Sword of Red Run trembled violently as Lordi and Donovan’s taunts clashed, its twin blades twisting in agitation.
"Liar!" Lordi shouted.
"No, YOU’RE the Fucking LIAR!"
The crimson eyes of the cursed weapon darted back and forth, its childlike but psycho mind struggling to follow the accusations flying between them. Its voice began to warble, rising in pitch—not with anger, but with the frantic frustration of a toddler on the verge of a tantrum.
"Enough! Stoooop! Fuuuuck!" it shrieked, blades rattling like teeth chattering. "You’re both being meeean! I can’t tell! I can’t tell who’s lying!"
The air grew heavy. The Sword’s glow darkened to a smoldering crimson.
When it spoke again, its voice was no longer that of a petulant child, but something far older, far colder—the voice of the evil that birthed it.
A blade lifted, pointing at Lordi’s throat.
"If I can’t tell the liar... I’ll just kill one of you at random."
The other blade swung toward Donovan.
"And YOU will learn to speak more carefully next life!"