Chapter Nineteen: The Prophecy

The same shape, the same size, the same prism constructed from countless tiny rhombuses—if not for the difference in color, Liu Tian would have wondered if he had somehow misplaced the prism he always kept close to him.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, where exactly I’d seen the thing you obtained back then,” Tiandao placed the prism on the table. “But perhaps it’s age and forgetfulness; it wasn’t until your senior brother Bai Cinan came that I suddenly recalled it and brought the prism out.”

Obeying Tiandao, Liu Tian took the prism he had carefully stashed in his sock and set it on the table.

“You really do carry it with you everywhere…” Tiandao paused, somewhat surprised that Liu Tian still kept it tucked away by his foot, then placed his own prism atop Liu Tian’s.

The moment Tiandao placed it, both prisms emitted a faint glow—not strong, but just enough that neither of them could see clearly. Then, in a fleeting instant, only a single prism remained on the table, its size unchanged but now interwoven with gold and silver.

“What’s this?” Liu Tian, surprised by this unexpected function, looked up at Tiandao for an explanation.

“I found this thing more than twenty years ago when exploring some ruins. Since then, I’d tossed it aside and forgotten about it. If you hadn’t mentioned the prism could help you grow stronger, and if Cinan hadn’t come to ask about it, I might never have remembered I still had it,” Tiandao explained.

“Senior brother Cinan wants it too? What does he want with it?” Liu Tian quickly caught on to the key figure and pressed for details.

“It’s not for him, but for Blue Dream Corporation,” Tiandao paused, then continued in one breath, “Apparently, Blue Dream got hold of a prophecy—a prophecy from the Lost Empire.”

“A prophecy? The Lost Empire had such things?” Liu Tian was intrigued. “I thought they were all about technology—so they dabbled in the occult too? Did they really ascend through psychic power?”

Tiandao didn’t quite understand Liu Tian’s words, but upholding his dignity as a teacher, he didn’t pursue it and instead recited the prophecy. “The original text was in the language of the Lost Empire. Much of it is said to be so worn it’s illegible, but piecing together the fragments, it seems to suggest that when the scattered ‘Maze Prisms’ of the world are fused into one, the gate to divinity will open once again.”

“So it’s called the Maze Prism? The gate to divinity? That does sound mystical. And Blue Dream actually takes this interpretation seriously?”

Tiandao had made it perfectly clear, so Liu Tian didn’t misunderstand. As they spoke, he picked up the prism, and as expected, absorbed another bit of source energy. He also distinctly sensed that the previously steady warm flow had now doubled. By this new calculation, what used to take thirty days to gain now only required fifteen.

“If it weren’t so, why would Cinan come all this way to ask about it? Moreover, I hear that the Tianwu practitioners are also collecting these,” Tiandao went on, “But I’m not fond of Blue Dream, nor do I like Mingyue, that mystical fellow. So I won’t give this to Cinan or Mingyue. If you can use it, take it with you.”

“Are you sure that’s alright?” Liu Tian flattened the prism in his hand and peeled it off again. “Senior brother Cinan might need it too.”

“I said it’s yours, so it’s yours. Don’t fuss,” Tiandao frowned, lifting his tea and tapping the cup gently. “Remember—don’t let anyone else see it. Otherwise, Blue Dream will surely come up with all sorts of crazy ideas.”

“Alright, alright.” Seeing Tiandao serve tea—a clear sign to leave—Liu Tian didn’t linger. He tucked the prism back under his foot and turned to head home.

“Wait.” Seeing Liu Tian’s departing figure, Tiandao suddenly remembered something and called him back. “The prism has a special property: if you flatten it and press it against your skin, unless you consciously try to remove it, it won’t fall off no matter what. So stop keeping it under your foot; you’re not a kid anymore, aren’t you bothered by the smell?”

“There’s a trick to it? Why didn’t you say so earlier, Master…”

…

“A prophecy, huh.” The information overload today was staggering. Though Liu Tian hadn’t shown it in front of Tiandao, he was never one to stop thinking.

Even after washing up and lying in bed, he was still mulling over the day’s revelations—inner strength, external techniques, secret martial arts, Tianwu, Mowu, a master and senior brother who’d both been first in the world, and the Maze Prism which could open the gate to divinity and manifest abilities according to one’s will.

The avalanche of information left Liu Tian uncertain. In the end, he touched the prism pressed against his heart and made up his mind—let fate take its course!

Whatever Tianwu or Mowu, whatever prophecy or ascension—so long as the Maze Prism was this useful, he’d take every one he could get his hands on before they were exhausted, no matter who else wanted them.

Still, once I break through as a martial artist, maybe I should try cultivating a second external technique. If it works, I’ll learn as many as I can. If I’m supposed to be cheating the system, I can’t lose to Tianwu or Mowu, can I?

And even though Master says external techniques need medicinal herbs and hard work, with my talent, surely hard work alone will suffice.

With these thoughts, Liu Tian turned off the lamp and closed his eyes.

Yet there was one thing he never asked Tiandao—from the beginning to the end—whether the Mantis was a subordinate sent by Bai Cinan, and whether Tiandao knew or had anticipated it.

Just as Tiandao had never questioned Liu Tian’s sudden, extraordinary progress overnight—accepting it as if it were the natural order, continuing to teach him the Decapitation Path as if nothing were amiss.

Though they trusted each other, both harbored secrets. How long could the two of them continue on this path?

…

In the Morningstar Alliance, the man who called himself the Holy King of the Bright Moon woke from a nightmare.

It was not the first time he had been startled awake like this.

Theoretically, having reached the limits of psychic power and broken through as a martial artist through secret techniques, the Holy King of the Bright Moon should have been immune to nightmares.

Yet for ten years now, the Holy King had been trapped in the same recurring dream.

A world drowned by cataclysmic waves, ravaged by a massive white shark, obliterated by terrifying auroras—until finally, all of humanity was shrouded in blue, bound in chains, burdened beyond measure, stripped of hope and future, left with nothing but fervent prayers.

And every time that world appeared before his eyes, the Holy King of the Bright Moon understood—it was a world devoid of hope, of future, a world of pale terror.

It was a prophetic dream, bestowed by the heavens upon the mightiest Tianwu to ever live!

Save humanity!

This was the divine mandate granted to him by the heavens!

For the past ten years, trying to prevent that future from coming to pass, the Holy King had searched the seas for the colossal white shark, hoping to destroy it before it could grow, to eradicate that world in its infancy—yet he had found nothing.

As time wore on, that dream became ever more vivid, and the Holy King knew the end was drawing near. No matter how anxious he became, there was nothing he could do.

All he could do was pray—pray that luck would lead him to the great white shark, pray that heaven would grant him, its chosen one, a clearer sign.

And on this day, the sign arrived—the dream, unchanged for so long, began to shift once more.

A prism floating in midair, a demon howling with laughter, a world awash in blood, a cataclysmic aurora. But this time, humanity no longer bore those heavy chains.

The Holy King of the Bright Moon knew this was a future altered by his efforts.

Yet in this new future, where scarcely one in a hundred survived, where law and morality had vanished—was it truly better than that pale, hopeless world?

The Holy King of the Bright Moon was lost…