Rivers of the Night

Theron blazed by the Patriarch as the latter looked down at his body. It was only the faintest white mark, the blade skidding across him as though a line of chalk rather than a weapon that had reaped countless lives by this point.

However, it hit the Patriarch's mind as though a bomb had gone off.

Had he just… suffered such an attack… from a Silver Mancer? If he hadn't dodged the black dagger and it was allowed to cut him as well, would he have come out so unscathed?

If it had been just a little bit longer, just a little bit faster…

A subtle hint of fear grew in the Patriarch's heart.

He spun around, fast, and just as expected, Theron was already coming.

Seriousness marred the Patriarch's expression and he flipped over a palm, a whip of deathly black taking shape, writhing and lengthening in the currents.

Theron saw the weapon, but it was almost as though he looked right through it, like the Patriarch hadn't just summoned it at all.

Sharp and focused, he outright dismissed the "seriousness" of an Ascending Cloud Realm expert.

He raised his blades again, his body speeding forward, and the instant he saw the slightest flicker in the Patriarch's wrist, he struck out with his dagger three times.

Chi. Chi. Chi.

The first strike was carried forward near the very end of the whip. Theron was still over 50 meters away, and yet his strike landed near the Patriarch's wrist.

There was a change in the Patriarch's expression once again as he felt his whip nearly severed in two.

How could Theron display such sharpness from so far—?!

The realization hit Patriarch Nightingale like a meteor from the skies. Theron had seen through the parts of his whip he was protecting the least. And…

Theron's expression was incredibly pale, as though he had just used a Spell far beyond his means.

That was because this time, Theron wasn't just borrowing the momentum of the currents, he was borrowing the momentum of the Treading Cloud level blade in his hand, and applying it to a current that was already near Patriarch Nightingale.

Theron's limit right now was Gold Mancy Mana, and he had only grasped the technique to Proficient Mastery. Doing what he had just done took almost all the Mana he had in him, and there was no Water Mana in the surroundings to take advantage of to replenish that at all.

But he didn't seem to care in the slightest, levying a second and third strike right after.

Sharp. Fast. Relentless. It was like even entering a Mana Deprived state wasn't enough to cause the slightest fluctuation in his expression. Or had he entered a Mana Deprived state at all?

Suddenly, Patriarch Nightingale wasn't sure, and he was forced to pour more Mana into protecting his whip from being torn apart by the next coming strikes, only for him to realize that this was the wrong move.

This time, Theron wasn't trying to sever his whip. That was never the goal.

The next two strikes reversed the flow of momentum Theron was using. Rather than borrowing the strength of his dagger to attack at a distance, he borrowed the strength of the Mana currents to accelerate the strength of the blade in his hand.

This was the true Howling Shadow Blade and the legacy of the dagger the unnamed cultivator had left behind.

Both strikes fused into one and perfectly landed on the tip of the whip, sending it flying out and to the side.

The wrist the Patriarch twisted to compensate, but the break in his whip caused his strength to be distributed unevenly.

Theron closed in the distance, entering the Patriarch's range.

Maybe another Silver Mancer would have felt fear when they saw such a powerful cultivator suddenly becoming serious enough to bring out a weapon, but all Theron saw was another thing to take advantage of.

In these harsh currents, maybe the weapon that was the most difficult to control was a long-ranged one, followed swiftly by a medium-ranged whip like this one.

The Patriarch's gaze turned malevolent. At this point, continuously trying to catch Theron alive was going to cause him to lose his life.

'Die.'

He struck out with his free palm, his power blazing.

The sudden change to killing intent was like a violent jolt of lightning to Theron's mind. Danger warning signs blared continuously, and yet, his reaction was much the same.

Stoic. Unmoved. Unbothered.

He didn't blink a single time, and his pupils hardly constricted in anything other than focus.

A blaze of violet shook in his eyes.

BANG!

The Patriarch's palm found Theron's chest, but at the same instant, Theron borrowed the momentum of a current, turning a lot of his forward push into a reversal. This ebbed some of the edge on the Patriarch's attack, but all this did was save his life.

His ribcage still shattered to pieces, his heart nearly turning to pulp.

But those eyes. Those eyes seemed to haunt the Patriarch, staying no less dull and cold.

A blade flashed by.

The Patriarch sighed a breath of relief. He had already dodged the dagger before. He knew exactly how long it was. It wouldn't—

Chi.

The Patriarch's neck was sliced in two. His head tilted back under the push of a strong current, his neck snapping back and barely hanging on with broken bone and flesh as though he was opening a second mouth.

Shock filled the Patriarch's eyes.

What just…

Theron was sent flying back.

Success.

That was what it looked like.

The fog on the blade made its exact length only obvious to him. Back when the Patriarch dodged, Theron had purposely twisted his wrist at the last moment, missing on purpose to make the Patriarch think the blade was shorter than it was for this moment.

However, before Theron could even celebrate, a strong surge of Life Mana seemed to come from the Patriarch, his neck sealing closed with a golden light as the manifestation of the Centennial Blooming Lotus appeared behind him.

Theron's gaze sharpened.

He had actually made it his Echo. Theron hadn't even known that such a thing was possible.

The Patriarch was well and truly infuriated now. He looked down at his hand, covered in blood. Even the raging Dark Mana couldn't seem to wipe it all away.

He had lived so long without coming so close to death. And yet… this child… this child had…

"I'm going to kill you. I'm going to kill you."

The low, rage-fueled voice of the Patriarch echoed through the air, vibrating with menace. And yet, Theron wasn't moving at all.

At some unknown point, the hand Theron had once held his father's short sword in had instead become a beautiful pair of shimmering silver scissors.

They seemed one size too big, and yet not large to the point of being comical. Somehow they just felt like… more, without being too much.

"So it is you," Theron said calmly.

It was the first time either of them had spoken to one another. One's words seemed obviously laced with murderous intent, and yet the truth was that both of them were no less steeped in blood.

"Thank you for bringing it to me," Theron finished.

Chi.

The Patriarch's body froze, the Echo behind him shattering to pieces.

Right before Theron's eyes, he began to rapidly age.

"No! NO!"