Silver Dragon Skyward Chapter Five: The Ten Spirits! The Soul Pact

The Black Python glanced at Luo Chen’s body lying on the yellow sands, then landed atop the carriage, grinning wickedly at Zhao Xingyu, even licking his teeth with the tip of his tongue. “Well, what now? The person you wanted to protect is already dead—or to be precise, one of them is dead. My offer remains: if you join my Black Serpent Mercenary Corps, I’ll let you have the little girl in the carriage for your own enjoyment.”

Zhao Xingyu did not reply, but stared fixedly at the Black Python. Perhaps the outcome of this bloody game had already been decided the moment he lost the fight. Glancing at Luo Chen’s lifeless body, Zhao Xingyu’s face wavered with hesitation. But the Black Python seemed unwilling to give him much time to consider; he immediately gathered his spiritual power, conjuring a vague, enormous hand that reached toward the carriage.

Panic flashed across Zhao Xingyu’s face. “Stop! If you spare her, I’ll agree to your terms.”

His words were filled with helplessness. He glanced once more at Luo Chen’s body, feeling that this was the only thing he could do. Having failed to save Luo Chen, he was ashamed before this brother he’d only known for a few days. If he could at least save Luo Xiaoya, perhaps it would be some small consolation.

Moonlight bathed them as a gentle breeze stirred Zhao Xingyu’s long hair and the air was thick with the scent of blood, weighing heavily on the hearts of the knights under his command. Just as all thought that the carnage had reached its end, the smell of blood and death was suddenly replaced by an invisible, overwhelming killing intent that suffused the air. It seemed to come from nowhere.

In the space of a single breath, this bone-chilling aura blanketed the surrounding hundred miles. Both Zhao Xingyu and the Black Python paled in alarm, their eyes darting about in fear.

The Black Python noticed Zhao Xingyu’s gaze locked intently on him, and a chill crept into his heart. His sight drifted to Luo Chen, lying unmoving on the ground.

At that moment, waves of invisible force rippled from Luo Chen’s body, causing the surrounding sand to swirl and rise. Before everyone’s eyes, Luo Chen slowly lifted from the ground until he hovered above them all.

Under the cold silver moon, Luo Chen’s face was ashen, his aura still lifeless. Yet the killing intent that had flooded the land now converged upon him, and his body moved like a puppet. His eyes, once closed, opened slowly—two beams of white light shot forth, replacing his pupils entirely.

Zhao Xingyu and the knights around him recoiled in terror. The aura emanating from Luo Chen was utterly unlike what it had been days before. In truth, the Luo Chen standing in the air seemed no longer to be Luo Chen at all.

He was someone else entirely. Zhao Xingyu watched in fear as Luo Chen slowly turned those strange white eyes upon him, and in that instant, a freezing, murderous pressure rendered him immobile, as if that killing intent could see straight through to his soul.

For all his years on the battlefield, Zhao Xingyu had never encountered such pure, unadulterated murderous intent. Cold sweat broke out on his pale face, but the sensation lasted only a couple of heartbeats before it vanished.

Regaining his composure, he saw that Luo Chen’s gaze was fixed on the Black Python, whose cocky arrogance had dissolved into disbelief and terror. He stumbled backward half a step.

“Wh—what are you?” the Black Python stammered, his voice trembling with fear that seemed to come from his very soul. Before he could finish, Luo Chen’s figure flickered and vanished. In the next moment, the Black Python stared in horror as Luo Chen appeared before him, a single hand clamped tight around his throat.

The scene mirrored the day the Black Python had treated Luo Chen so cruelly. But now, beyond the terror twisting his face, the Black Python found himself utterly powerless to resist. He stared into Luo Chen’s glowing white eyes, seeing in them an endless void.

Before him now stood a death god, without emotion, presiding over the fates of all. “What… are… you…?” he managed to gasp out.

But before the Black Python could finish, and before anyone could respond, Luo Chen vanished once again, taking the Black Python with him. A heartbeat later, a flash of cold light tore through the air, and a figure plummeted toward the heart of the battlefield.

Boom.

Sand exploded in all directions, the shockwave flinging knights and mercenaries alike several meters away. All eyes turned in astonishment toward the swirling dust at the center. After a few breaths, the dust settled, and Luo Chen’s figure slowly appeared in the air, looking down upon them like a god surveying the world, all beneath him mere ants.

He raised a finger toward the sky, and in a single breath, the starlight above seemed to gather at his command. Countless points of light formed above his head, growing in number until they resembled countless white blades, each aimed at the battlefield below—there were thousands.

Zhao Xingyu’s amazement turned to panic. “Everyone, retreat immediately—now!”

The knights obeyed at once, pulling back in haste. Zhao Xingyu gazed at the thousands of silver blades now suspended above the field and understood that Luo Chen was no longer the brother with whom he had once shared drinks.

Each blade carried a murderous intent capable of destroying every living thing beneath it in an instant. In the center of the battlefield, the mercenaries helped their weakened leader, the Black Python, to his feet from a crater in the ground. The Black Python stared blankly up at Luo Chen, his voice low and shaking.

“May I ask who you truly are? Today’s events were my fault. I am willing to die if you will spare my dozens of followers.”

Zhao Xingyu heard this and let out a cold laugh. He never imagined the Black Python, who had always treated his men as expendable, could possess such loyalty. But before he could ponder it further, a terrified cry rang out.

Thousands of blades fell from the sky. Luo Chen, who had not spoken until now, fixed his white gaze upon those below. A girl’s icy voice rang in everyone’s ears:

“You are not worthy to know my name. There is only one end for those who harm him: death!”

With those words, the blades crashed to earth, sending sand flying dozens of meters into the air. Amid the yellow clouds, screams rang out.

Zhao Xingyu, though a battle-hardened veteran, had never heard such a soul-wrenching wail of despair and shivered in fear. Glancing up at Luo Chen, he recalled the cold, girlish voice—clearly spoken from Luo Chen’s mouth, yet younger than even Luo Xiaoya. Suddenly, Luo Chen’s gaze locked onto him again, startling him into stillness.

“If a single word of tonight’s events is revealed, I will see to it your soul suffers a thousand years of thunderous torment.”

As the words faded, a killing intent once more swept through every soul present, and all choked on their breath. The warning was plain. Then the pressure vanished.

Luo Chen’s form slowly descended to the ground, the white light in his eyes fading as he closed them and collapsed beside the carriage. For a moment, all stood rooted in place, unsure what to do.

Zhao Xingyu knelt beside Luo Chen, feeling the faintest trace of breath on his lips. Ignoring his own wounds, he hurriedly scooped up Luo Chen, rushing to the carriage in three unsteady steps.

Inside, he found Luo Xiaoya curled in a corner, hands clamped over her mouth, her young face streaked with tears and pale with terror, her frightened eyes wide.

Without delay, Zhao Xingyu laid Luo Chen on the bed and took a pill from his robe, placing it in Luo Chen’s mouth. Then he turned to Xiaoya, who shied away, whispering in fear, “Go away, don’t come near me!”

She shrank further into the corner. Zhao Xingyu quickly grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently. “Xiaoya, it’s me—Brother Xingyu!”

At last she recognized him, staring at Zhao Xingyu and then at Luo Chen on the bed. Tears welled up again. Zhao Xingyu released her shoulders, gently wiping away her tears. “Xiaoya, listen to me. Your brother is fine—he’s just exhausted his spiritual power…”

Before he could finish, Luo Xiaoya leapt up and ran to Luo Chen’s side, clutching his hand and sobbing. “Brother, wake up! Please open your eyes and look at Xiaoya, won’t you?”

Zhao Xingyu turned away, heart aching at their grief, and spoke softly, “Xiaoya, promise me—you must take good care of your brother. He should wake up in a few days.”

With that, he stepped out of the carriage. Hearing the crying behind him, Zhao Xingyu looked over his men, then strode toward the battlefield.

The ground was littered with corpses, but what shocked Zhao Xingyu most was that the Black Python and his dozens of men stared lifelessly at the sky, devoid of any sign of life—yet their bodies bore no wounds.

The knights who had not escaped the falling blades now slowly rose, unharmed. Only then did Zhao Xingyu understand: the blades had destroyed souls, leaving bodies untouched. The knights had been spared; only the Black Python’s group had been targeted.

He recalled the girl who had called herself “Your Highness” from within Luo Chen. She had not meant to kill everyone—before the blades fell, she had locked onto the souls of the Black Python’s men alone. Such power would be beyond even the mightiest of Void Reachers. This realization filled Zhao Xingyu with a new and profound dread.

His expression darkened as he remembered her final warning: if a single word leaked out, their souls would suffer endless punishment. Surveying the desolation, he announced sternly, “Pass it on: if you wish to live, not a single word of tonight must be spoken. Any who disobey: death!”

The moon sank in silence, and the desert returned to its lonely stillness. By dawn, after a night of clearing the field, only bloodstains remained. In the distance, a dozen new mounds rose from the sand. Nine of them bore silver spears at their fore.

Not far off, Zhao Xingyu and all the knights watched the golden light rising from the horizon. When the nine mounds were fully bathed in sunlight, Zhao Xingyu said nothing, but led his horse forward. No one spoke. The sound of their silver armor faded into the distance, vanishing at last into the horizon—leaving behind only the lonely nine mounds and the nine coldly gleaming spears. As Zhao Xingyu had said: “A thousand miles of yellow sand bury loyal bones—none have ever returned.”

For the next five days, Zhao Xingyu did not allow the company to stop for rest. At last, a thin line of green appeared on the horizon—the edge of the desert: the Spirit Beast Mountains.

Luo Chen did not know how much time had passed. His slumbering consciousness gradually awoke, and he found himself in an endless white space. As he looked around, a little girl’s voice sounded from nowhere.

“Master, you’re finally awake.”

Curious, Luo Chen looked up to see a white ball of light descending from above. The light was so dazzling he could not look directly at it, and when it faded, he found before him a girl no bigger than a newborn baby, dressed in a blue dress with flowing black hair and big, bright eyes staring straight at him. Before he could ask who she was, the girl spoke first.

“Master, you’ve slept for five days now.”

Her childish voice left Luo Chen somewhat bewildered. He glanced at the little girl before him, then around at the white space. “Where is this? And why do you call me ‘Master’?”

The girl circled him once in flight, then replied, “This is your spiritual space, Master. As for me, I am called Shi Ling.”

Luo Chen recalled what the old village chief had once told him: practitioners possessed two independent spaces—the spiritual space and the meridian array space. The spiritual space housed one’s arts and spirit tools; the meridian array space contained contracted battle spirits.

“Spiritual space? Are you a spirit tool? But why are you in my spiritual space?”

Shi Ling tapped her chin with a tiny hand and thought for a moment. “I’m not sure why I exist inside you, Master. I only vaguely remember something from a long time ago. I was asleep until just now, when a voice told me you were in danger. But Master, you’re so weak, I had to burn away most of my power to control your body forcibly. It wasn’t easy, but at least I managed to kill those men who attacked you, though it left your consciousness in a deep sleep.”

As Shi Ling pouted, Luo Chen couldn’t help but smile—she was simply too cute, and he found himself liking her in spite of himself. But then the end of her explanation sobered him.

“Shi Ling, did you say you… killed someone?”

Seeing Luo Chen’s alarm, Shi Ling perched on his shoulder and replied, “Yes, the fierce man who put you in danger—I lost control a bit, since it was my first time taking over your body, and I accidentally killed all those fierce men.”

Luo Chen’s heart tightened. He grabbed Shi Ling and brought her before his face. “All of them? What about Brother Xingyu and Xiaoya?”

Shi Ling, annoyed at being grabbed, wriggled free and glared at him. “That I don’t know, but I didn’t hurt anyone in silver clothes or the girl in the carriage.”

Relieved, Luo Chen watched as Shi Ling turned her back in a huff. He couldn’t help but be curious—who would have thought such a terrifying being dwelled within him? Yet he had never sensed her presence before. The thought gave him pause: a being cute and delicate in appearance, yet powerful enough to destroy a Heaven Spirit-level foe, resided within his frail mortal shell. If Shi Ling ever chose to consume his soul and take his body, he would have no means to resist.

Lost in thought, Luo Chen suddenly noticed Shi Ling turning to stare straight at him. “Master, don’t think I can’t guess what you’re imagining. We share a soul contract now—our souls are linked. If I ever tried to take your body and kill your soul, I’d destroy myself as well. I’m not that foolish.”