Two swordsmen once dueled by the pale river where the spider ships plied. One of them holds a bone sword and the other holds a bamboo sword. The royal executioners were ordered to remove the traveler's head, so they displayed their greatest skills on each other. The executioner, dripping with immortal blood, swings the blade of death like a wild dance, but the bamboo pole in the traveler's hand has not yet picked the green leaves. He watched the arc of the crescent moon smiling ferociously.
A duel like no other in the world. Given that the identities of the two swordsmen are so unique, it can be said that this is a duel that will never be repeated again. Although no caring spectator could have been alive at the moment it happened. But flowing water doesn't miss anything. Even the water marveled at the battle as their silhouettes were reflected in the pearly waves of the pale river. So the reflection is preserved forever, and whenever a suitable guest arrives, the river will show this wonderful performance to show its welcome.
Look what happened here. said the whitebeard training master. Ah, this rare battle, only one person can decide whether it happens or not - but it happens anyway. I think the pain of losing a child is really unbearable. Behold, here the power of destruction and the power of continuance collide, though each sends but one representative. As someone closely related to both sides, you can probably recognize where they come from. Isn't this amazing? Behold, the race chosen by the Shadow in the first place, the last of the race of pure blood. I guess the biting mist and the scars on the water are his doing. Think of his wind-like pace and ghostly skills. His deadly curse resting on the blade. But in my opinion, his opponent is even more respectable.
The Master stepped onto the surface of the pale river. His bare and skinny feet were covered with black wavy patterns and were soon immersed in the foaming waves of pearl bubbles. But he did not continue to sink, but stayed on the river surface, examining certain details with great interest. The river leading to the Sea of Nightmares welcomed him, so kindly and tenderly, just like a mother welcoming a wanderer who has not returned for many years. He went on to say:
The fact that a stranger could establish himself here was enough to make the girls in the woods furious. They are not generous in this regard, after all, the lesson from the past lies in the throne room. How did the traveler fight off the executioner and stop the most insane tyrant? A hero's journey. A journey of salvation. I've seen similar stories in many places. But a hero like this is still valuable. How young and yet so humble and restrained he was! Except for that decisive sword strike, he did not boast about his actions at all, which is a rare quality in the greatest men. He was almost perfect, not bad at all, and anyone who saw this would understand why he was chosen, despite his unsuitable origins.
The master praised the figure of the unknown hero. He couldn't comment in more detail. Above the running water, the executioner's playful slender beard is clearly visible, but the traveler's face is blurred. The viewer can know what kind of facial features and expression he has, but the impression is completely fragmented and cannot form any whole, just like a few pieces of gravel scattered on the Gobi. People saw his face and immediately forgot about it. A young looking male, there was nothing else they could say. However, for those who live in this land, weird things are commonplace. They were not alarmed or surprised, but treated him with great caution, trying in various subtle ways to find out which girl he was sent by and what kind of errand he was doing for her. Such people will not live long, and people will whisper in places where insects, snakes, birds and livestock cannot hear.
When the river returned to calm, the Whitebeard Master Trainer returned to the shore and joined his companions. They got here via a shortcut and didn't take much time. But they couldn't stay too long, lest their guardians become suspicious.
What do you think of this fight? Whitebeard's training master asked. Have you ever seen this young man use his original martial arts elsewhere? That seems unlikely. Once he has completed his final mission, this skill will be of no use to him. He must abandon all violence and aggression and maintain the eternal tranquility in order to fulfill the great responsibility he is destined for. But is that really the right way? No, there is no need to rush to answer this question. You should look to the other side first. Pay more attention to the older swordsman. You may not encounter him, but if there is another opponent blessed by the shadow, you will understand how sneaky and difficult they are. Are you sure? Defeat such an opponent?
The master looked at his companions with amusement. His eyes filled with love and wisdom reflected bright red gauze as bright as fire. When the mist on the river closed quietly, the orphan of the mountain man nodded coldly to him.
Ah, the white-bearded training master looked at him and said, you are as proud as your mother's sister, and I think you will be as good at dealing with desperate situations as she is.
That could be a veiled warning. Because as both of them knew, what the Whitebeard Training Master was referring to was a failed attempt. It would be inappropriate to take this example as a compliment; at least, in the land where he was taught, the mountain people would evaluate him in exactly the opposite manner. But it doesn't matter now, they are far away from that land. In the land where nightmares originate, all rules are temporarily thrown out the window. This is a dangerous game, but it is also full of freedom and fun. They cruised back and forth over the densely intertwined channels of the pale river like a spider web. More than just watching the memories of the past, associated with the unknown hero's final adventure, there was a secret comfort in the illogical adventure itself.
She's done this too, said Master Whitebeard. In fact, I guess they both probably did. A pair of wonderful twins whose fates are always entangled, even after one of them dies.
That's probably a lie. There is no rule that guarantees that the Whitebeard Master Trainer will never lie. He could pretend that he knew the sisters well and thus gain the attention and trust of the mountain people. That could also be about finding excuses and support for these forbidden secret journeys. When the requiem song of the Horror came from behind the river mist, they floated quietly over the head of the boatman driving the spider boat. Hazy bodies formed in the mist, and some remaining nameless spirits wandered around them, whispering to them in dreamy voices: Even numbers? Odd number? Even numbers? Odd number?
Boatmen occasionally hear such sounds. They pretended not to hear, because the nameless spirits asked about the number of all of them. No matter the answer was odd or even, they would be dragged into the bottomless pale river by the hands of the mist. However, in this country, they are already considered to be particularly easy to deal with. The boatmen just have to turn a blind eye and listen but not hear.
The Whitebeard training master did not forget to tell him this trick. Always follow this simple principle, the old man said standing in the mist. Just as your hometown insists, when the answer comes to you, you only need to "close your eyes". What's so difficult about this? "Inaction" is the path you have chosen. No matter how many times, you can always achieve this wish accurately.
The old man's voice was so emotionless. An honest but unglamorous suggestion. Then he looked at the face right in front of him. A blurry face composed of white mist and sadness.
"Even numbers," he said.
The hands of the mist stretched out one after another, dragging him into the depths of the river filled with nightmares.
