Mirror Dream Tree V.4.219

Below on the ground, Han Futong’s eyes narrow as the air thickens with danger.

Thousands of raven cries rge into one deafening chorus. The sound is jagged, sharp enough to pierce through bone and marrow. It vibrates inside his skull, making his vision blur for a mont. Even as a Blood Seal Realm warrior, he feels the pressure pressing against his chest.

His horse panics beneath him.

Han Futong tightens his grip on the reins. Though old, he still retains strength far beyond that of a mortal. Muscles in his arms strain as he forces the animal to steady, boots pressing firmly into the stirrups.

He wonders briefly if he should flee.

But the thought collapses imdiately.

How can I run faster than sothing that flies?

There is nowhere to escape.

His only hope now rests in the man suspended above the battlefield.

He glances around.

The militia riders are inching backwards, their mounts stepping away nervously, discipline unravelling under the oppressive aura. Fear is visible in their eyes.

In contrast, the Duan Family guards remain unmoved.

Their expressions are calm.

Unwavering.

Confidence radiates from them as if their master’s victory is already assured.

Han Futong swallows.

Above, black flas ignite across thousands of ravens. They spiral through the sky, converging into a single monstrous shape.

The transford shaman is gone.

In its place,

A colossal raven.

Fully ford.

Its wings span wide enough to eclipse the sun. Black fire courses through its feathers like veins of molten shadow. Its aura surges violently, stabilising at Outer Qi Realm yet carrying a weight far heavier than ordinary cultivation.

Fu Zeye struggles upright on one leg, qi sealing the severed stump of his thigh. His face is pale from blood loss. He searches desperately for sothing to lean against.

Then he sees it clearly.

Recognition dawns.

Horror follows.

His balance fails, and he collapses backwards into the dirt.

“The totem…” he whispers hoarsely.

This is the terror northern tribes unleash upon Wein Province.

The shaman’s body has been possessed by the Raven Totem itself.

Faith condensed into flesh.

Worship forged into power.

In the sa realm, a totem is nearly invincible.

Fu Zeye knows this truth.

In every major war, multiple warriors of equal realm must unite to suppress a totem. Alone, no one can stand against it.

And now,

Governor Duan faces it alone.

The massive raven shrieks.

Its wings flare, black flas erupting outward.

It rears back in the sky and slams its wings downward.

Blades of death-fire qi rain toward rin like falling cots.

The air hisses as the dark flas slice through space.

rin draws his sword.

Its surface gleams faintly in the darkened sky.

He lifts it calmly.

With a single motion, he sends out sword light qi.

The beam rises upward and then fractures.

It splits into thousands of slender threads mid-air.

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A portion of them collide directly with the descending death-fire blades, detonating upon impact and shattering the black flas into dissipating sparks.

The rest,

Do not vanish.

They hang in the sky.

Like suspended ice crystals.

Sharp.

Still.

Nearly invisible against the storm of darkness.

The raven screeches again and unleashes another wave of black flas.

rin responds with more sword light qi.

Again and again.

Each strike divides into countless fragnts.

So intercept the raven’s attacks.

Others remain floating silently in the air.

Gradually,

The battlefield above fills with suspended sword qi crystals.

Hidden within the chaos.

The raven’s assault intensifies.

Flas slash downward relentlessly.

rin deflects, counters, and releases more fragnts.

Below, Han Futong’s breathing grows shallow.

He does not understand what rin is doing.

But the sky is filling with sothing.

The raven pauses.

Its black eyes narrow.

It senses the futility of brute assault.

It stops flapping its wings.

Then,

It opens its beak wide.

Death qi gathers.

Dense.

Condensed.

A sphere of annihilation forms within its throat, compressing into a single devastating blast.

At that exact mont,

rin’s sword shines.

A subtle signal.

In a fraction of a second, the thousands of suspended sword qi crystals tremble.

Then,

They move.

They converge.

From all directions.

Threads of light streak across the sky, weaving together into a single colossal blade.

A sword ford entirely of condensed qi.

Before the raven can release its gathered death qi,

rin swings.

The motion is simple.

Unhurried.

Yet absolute.

The massive sword qi blade follows the arc of his strike.

It descends.

And divides the sky.

The raven’s eyes widen.

It attempts to counter.

Too late.

The blade cleaves through its body cleanly.

From crown to tail.

For a brief heartbeat, the massive raven hangs motionless in the air, split perfectly in two.

Then,

Black flas flicker erratically.

Its form disintegrates.

Ash scatters into the wind.

The shrieks cease.

The darkened sky brightens gradually as the remaining ravens scatter and dissolve.

rin lowers his sword.

Golden wings still shining behind him.

Below,

Silence reigns.

And the totem is gone.

---------

Han Futong lifts a cup of tea to his lips and takes a slow sip, moistening his parched throat and steadying his racing heart.

He has witnessed battles between Outer Qi Realm cultivators before—but always from a distance, during warti campaigns. Never this close. Never so personal. When the Raven Totem descended, and the death-fire qi fell like rain, he had truly felt his vitality draining away. Even recalling the sharp brilliance of the sword light qi makes his fingers tighten slightly around the cup.

He exhales deeply and raises his gaze toward the Third Young Master of the Xiao Family.

The Third Young Master wears simple civilian clothing, dust clinging to the fabric, long hair tied neatly in a bun. Yet even in such ordinary attire, his bearing cannot be concealed. He sits straight, composed, calm—a man accustod to command.

Seated beside him are two others.

One appears scholarly—thin-faced, eyes sharp and calculating. The other is a warrior, leaning back with eyes closed, silent and observant.

The Third Young Master speaks lightly.

“Did the Raven Tribe manage to reveal our new beloved governor’s true strength?”

Han Futong clicks his tongue softly.

“Third Young Master, you would do well to cancel your cooperation with the Raven Tribe.”

The scholar—Gu Fei—tilts his head.

“What happened?” he asks.

Han Futong gives a dry laugh.

“What did not happen?”

He proceeds to recount the battle in full detail—the Raven Tribe’s ambush, the resurrection of the shaman through the totem, and how Governor Duan struck the Raven Totem down in a single decisive blow.

When he finishes, silence fills the room.

Gu Fei’s brows knit tightly.

“To defeat a totem… alone?” he murmurs, disbelief clear in his voice.

He looks sharply at Han Futong.

“Do you understand the consequences of lying?”

Han Futong snorts.

“Why would I fabricate such a story? You may confirm it with Fu Zeye.”

Gu Fei’s expression remains sceptical.

“Fu Zeye lost a leg. Now he is desperate to remain on the governor’s good side. Exaggerating the governor’s strength would not be beyond him.”

A flicker of anger crosses Han Futong’s face.

His expression shifts subtly—like a mask adjusting.

“I am not Han Futong,” he says flatly. “Why would I seek favour from the governor?”

The warrior who had been silent—Su Wenzhu—opens his eyes.

His gaze is calm.

“The Face Changer is not lying,” he says evenly.

Han Futong—now revealed as the Face Changer—and Gu Fei both turn toward him.

The Third Young Master gestures lightly.

“Explain.”

Su Wenzhu folds his hands before him.

“The Sword Dao is divided into five realms,” he begins. “The first realm is Sword Force. At this level, a warrior or refiner can project force through the blade—enough to cleave mortal tal.”

He continues calmly.

“The second realm is Sword Qi… the third is Sword Qi Light… the fourth is Sword Light Differentiation.”

He pauses briefly to allow them to absorb the progression.

“If what the Face Changer says is true,” Su Wenzhu continues, “then the Marquis has reached the fourth realm.”

Gu Fei’s face tightens.

“Fourth realm…”

Su Wenzhu nods.

“At that level, one can divide sword qi into countless fragnts and control them at will. Below the Soul Awakening Realm, defeating such a swordsman without equivalent Dao comprehension is exceedingly difficult.”

The room falls silent again.

The Third Young Master speaks after a mont.

“And the fifth realm?”

Su Wenzhu answers without hesitation.

“The fifth realm is Sword Spirit. At that stage, one can strike an opponent from a thousand miles away. It also greatly increases the probability of advancing into the Soul Awakening Realm.”

The weight of those words settles heavily.

The Face Changer now fully understands the danger he faces if exposed before such a man.

He pushes his chair back and stands.

“Third Young Master, my task here is complete. I will take my leave.”

The Third Young Master lifts a hand slightly.

“I have one final assignnt before you depart.”

The Face Changer stiffens.

“I will not go anywhere near the governor,” he says imdiately.

He assus the worst—that he is being ordered to assassinate Duan rin.

But having witnessed—or at least heard of—the governor’s strength and sword realm, he knows such a task would be suicide.

The Third Young Master shakes his head faintly.

“It is not an assassination.”

"... Of the governor."

He glances at Gu Fei.

Gu Fei reaches into his sleeve and withdraws a folded sheet of paper.

“There are three nas,” he says, handing it over.

The Face Changer scans the list quickly.

Relief flashes briefly across his features.

“You want them dead.”

The Third Young Master nods once.

“Tomorrow, I expect mourning cries from their residences.”

The Face Changer inclines his head.

Without another word, he exits the private chamber of the Willow Pavilion.

Inside, Gu Fei leans closer to the Third Young Master.

They begin discussing their next plan regarding the governor.

The ga is not over.

It has rely changed.