Chapter 1: The Sword King

Chapter 1: The Sword King

"How pitiful, terminal stomach cancer and not a single caregiver by his side."

"But he's so handsome, even movie stars can't compare..."

"Hehe, looks like the young miss is smitten!"

"Hahaha..."

The laughter of the ward rounds nurse faded away, and the room fell back into a deathly stillness.

Chu Ci's eyes were tightly closed as he lay silently on the bed, seemingly lifeless.

Most of his face was concealed by an oxygen mask, revealing gaunt cheeks that had sunken in, and a complexion so pale it was almost translucent. Yet, the outline of his delicate and handsome features could still be discerned from his brows and eyes.

He was merely biding his time.

The doctors had long predicted that he wouldn't survive past three months, yet he had clung to life for half a year. Now, he was nearing the end of his candle. Perhaps tonight would mark his final hour, or maybe tomorrow night he would embark on a journey to another world? Death had already raised its scythe, ready to strike at any moment.

Yet, that breath still hung in the air, waiting for someone, wasn't it?

Could it be that subconsciously, there was still someone he hadn't bid farewell to?

Chu Ci slightly opened his eyes, his beautiful irises resembling a still pond, gazing quietly at the sky outside the window.

The rainy season was approaching, the sky filled with dense layers of dark clouds, casting a gloomy and damp atmosphere.

The ward nurse left with laughter and chatter along the corridor. Suddenly, a commotion came from the stairs as a few men, fully armed in camouflage uniforms, rushed up and headed straight for the ward.

Nurses shrieked, and a few doctors tried in vain to stop them but failed. The leader, an exceptionally tall man with an extremely terrifying expression, pushed aside the vice president and asked coldly, "Where's Room 538?"

Quivering with fear, the vice president stammered, "Y-You, which department are you from?"

The man sneered, not bothering to respond.

Just as the vice president was in a panic, a doctor rushed over and whispered something in his ear. He immediately shuddered and his gaze toward the man changed: "S-Sec-ond Young Master Han? R-Really? We haven't received any call from higher-ups, and for the moment... Room 538 is right here! Right here! I'll lead you there!" As he spoke, he gestured to the doctor to hurry and take the nurses away.

In an instant, all unrelated people on the corridor retreated. Hearing the commotion, a few family members of patients in nearby rooms poked their heads out, but upon seeing the intimidating scene, they wisely withdrew and closed their doors tightly. The vice president smiled nervously, leading Second Young Master Han to a firmly shut hospital room door. "It's right here."

Second Young Master Han fixated on the door, his expression indiscernible. After several seconds, he abruptly kicked it with great force. The door slammed against the wall and bounced back, only to be forcefully kicked open by the man, who then strolled nonchalantly into the hospital room.

The sound of the door being kicked could have awoken the dead. On the bed, Chu Ci slowly turned his head and stared motionlessly at the man. After a moment, a faint, enigmatic smile appeared on his face: "…It's been a long time, Han Yue."

Despite his extreme weakness, his body almost unrecognizably thin, his voice remained unchanged from memory.

Han Yue stood by the bedside, looking down at him with an intense gaze that seemed to carve Chu Ci's pitiful state into his mind.

"…Chu Ci, you've finally come to this."

Each word was squeezed out between Han Yue's teeth, known only to himself how much effort and strength it took to utter that sentence.

Chu Ci casually averted his gaze, "Everyone is destined to die, I'm merely taking that step ahead of you."

"Everyone is destined to die," Han Yue repeated in a low voice, followed by a mocking laugh, "Yes, that's why I came specially to send you off. ——Where's the knife?"

One of his subordinates, head bowed, handed over a twenty-centimeter military dagger with both hands.

Han Yue took the knife and threw it casually in front of Chu Ci, "Look, I even brought your beloved knife especially for you. Am I not treating you well?"

Chu Ci gazed at the knife silently for a while, his eyes as gentle as a maiden looking at her first love. This knife was very different from an ordinary dagger; there was no guard on the hilt, but instead, it was covered with extremely rough particles to increase friction. The scabbard had no leather straps or clasps; with just a slight push, the blade could be swiftly drawn.

With one hand holding the scabbard and the other gripping the hilt, Chu Ci exerted all his strength, his knuckles turning a sickly white. It was only when his palm ached that he slowly drew the knife out of its sheath, illuminating the dim hospital room with a blinding flash of snow-white light.

The blade was slightly longer than a dagger, around seventeen or eighteen centimeters, and thicker too, with a maximum thickness of half a centimeter. The tip was curved steeply, designed for instant killing in rapid combat; the curve followed the direction of the arm, maximizing the range of the slash.

An expert would immediately recognize this as a custom-made combat knife crafted by master swordsmith Paul Chen for the elite US Navy SEALs, with fewer than two hundred in existence worldwide, and only a tiny fraction circulating among civilians. Its exceptional stabbing capabilities earned it the prestigious title of "Assassin's Blade" within the weapons industry.

Due to its deadly nature, the mold was destroyed immediately after production, ensuring no new copies were ever made. These scarce hundred "Assassin's Blades" were priceless, legendary military knives.

Han Yue had witnessed the blade's sharpness firsthand – it could pierce through a half-inch thick solid wooden board effortlessly, and glide through dozens of sheets of paper with a mere swipe. In the past, Chu Ci had severed an adult man's cervical spine with a single upward slash, and the remaining momentum was enough to penetrate another person's chest, slicing through two ribs before emerging from the spine!

The brutality, the breathtaking elegance, and brilliance of that strike had stunned everyone as if they had witnessed a ghost in broad daylight.

"Chu Ci, look, being executed in broad daylight on the execution ground doesn't suit you. We've spent a few years together, whether genuine or fake, there's still some affection between us. So, I'll give you the chance to take your own life today. What do you think?"

Chu Ci smiled faintly, propping himself up on the bed with great effort and slowness, "Since you're trying to play the good guy, how can I not appreciate your kindness?"

He took a deep breath and leaned back against the headboard. He was already emaciated to the extreme, his face so pale it was alarming, not a hint of color on his lips. His hair seemed to have grown, the ends covering his ears, with a few strands of bangs brushing against his forehead. Yet, his eyes remained as cold and bright as he remembered.

Han Yue stared at him with a cold gaze. He had thought that all that remained in his heart was hatred, the desire to rip this person's flesh from their bones and devour them piece by piece. But seeing Chu Ci on the verge of death, he felt a piercing pain in his heart, wishing to die alongside him.

"Han Yue," Chu Ci asked with a smile, "I'm about to die, you should be happy, why do you look like you want to cry?"

Han Yue closed his eyes briefly, reopening them to reveal sarcasm, "Many people would likely be happy if you died, how could anyone shed a tear for you?"

"…That's true." Chu Ci sighed and nodded, "I wouldn't want any of you to shed a tear either, it would only dirty my path through reincarnation."

In an instant, Han Yue clenched his fists, veins bulging on the back of his hands, a terrifying sight.

Chu Ci gently stroked the blade, his movements tender, as if bidding farewell to an old friend. A faint warmth emanated from his hand, causing a thin layer of white mist to rise from the blade, dissipating in an instant.

"Han Yue, do you still remember the question you asked me when I left back then?"

Han Yue stood silently, nodding after a moment, "Yes, I asked if, amidst all the killing you've done in your life, you ever loved someone."

Chu Ci slowly raised his hand, aligning the tip of the blade with his heart. He looked up at Han Yue with a smile, "Now I can give you an answer, and that is—no, I haven't. In my twenty-odd years as Chu Ci, I have never loved anyone."

For an instant, Han Yue seemed to freeze entirely, his gaze fixed intently on Chu Ci without uttering a word or making a move, displaying no reaction at all.

A hint of a deeper smile appeared on Chu Ci's face, as if tinged with an indescribable apology. At that moment, he inhaled softly and abruptly drove the knife into his own heart – a sharp tearing sound echoed.

Blood splattered through the air, stretching that moment into an eternity. The vivid redness of blood before their eyes was so intense, as if carrying a scorching heat that could sear one's vision.

The pain was excruciating, stirring an irresistible urge to weep.

...Yet not a single tear could be shed.