Chapter Sixty-Seven: Wang Jian's Sanity Slips Away

Chapter Sixty-Seven: Wang Jian Loses Sanity Points

As soon as Yunyang descended from the sky, Sumali beckoned him over, signaling with a wave. Yunyang, obliging and deferential, walked straight up to Sumali.

“What’s your name?” Sumali stared at Yunyang for quite a while, but couldn’t recall who this male angel was, so he had no choice but to ask.

“Yunyang,” Yunyang responded truthfully.

“Yunyang? Hm, good name.” Sumali repeated the name, searched his memory, and realized he didn’t know this angel, but it didn’t matter—as long as the other knew him, that was enough.

“And you are?” Yunyang, unwilling to die nameless by the sword, asked in return.

“You don’t know who I am?” Sumali bristled at the question. Was this kid from some forgotten corner, not knowing the first general under King Hua Ye himself?

But after a moment’s thought—after all, twenty thousand years had passed—he supposed the kid might just be young. If he didn’t recognize Sumali, so be it.

Sumali sat back in the car and gestured for Yunyang to get in.

“When did you come to Earth Star? How is King Hua Ye?” Sumali started the car and floored it to 180 miles per hour, eyes fixed on the road, not turning his head as he asked.

But this time, before Yunyang could answer, a longsword thrust from the side, piercing Sumali’s heart.

Realizing something was wrong, Sumali drew his silver-bladed dagger, but before he could retaliate, his body began to split apart.

As he was about to be severed in two, Sumali turned his head toward Yunyang, blood-soaked, and at the same time, the silver-bladed dagger flew straight for Yunyang’s chest.

With no one controlling the car, it veered off into the wasteland, and a sports car of indeterminate value was totaled on the spot.

After a while, a figure with a dagger embedded in his chest crawled out of the smoking wreck and collapsed on the ground.

The figure trembled—that was pure fright. That scene had truly been terrifying. Could you imagine someone, split nearly in two and covered in blood, turning their head to stab you one last time?

About ten minutes later, Yunyang shook off the shock of having nearly lost his sanity, glanced at the dagger in his chest—it hurt like hell, but he didn’t dare pull it out for fear of bleeding to death.

He had his genetic engine scan his body and found the dagger was two millimeters short of piercing his heart.

The genetic engine advised removing it. With nothing else to say, Yunyang gripped the hilt, steeled himself, and pulled it out in one go.

“Ahhh, that hurts like hell!”

Seeing the blood pouring from the wound, Yunyang started to panic. Ignoring the pain, he tore his shirt into strips and wrapped his chest.

After bandaging himself and retrieving the dagger from the ground, he abandoned thoughts of heading to Tianhe City and teleported straight to the North Star, rushing to the battlefield hospital.

Yunyang had hoped to just get a few stitches, but the doctor took one look and sent him straight to the operating table.

Ordinarily, that wouldn’t have mattered, but the doctor insisted that Yunyang, being a super soldier, made it impossible for the anesthetist to calculate the right dosage—so to avoid waste, they simply skipped anesthesia altogether.

Was that even a human way to speak? With Yunyang’s short temper (and fear of pain), he immediately refused, bolted out of the field hospital, and left several doctors chasing fruitlessly after him.

Having made his great escape, Yunyang considered that the angels might be able to heal his wound and promptly contacted Azhu.

Just after entering Heavenly Blade Seven, Yunyang saw Azhu flying toward him, and was unexpectedly moved. He hadn’t thought Azhu would come to greet him—she was truly kind to him.

“Hero, is that wound from a silver blade? Did you fight the Queen?”

Azhu approached, gazing at the wound on Yunyang’s chest, which was still bleeding openly. She instantly recognized it as having been inflicted by a silver blade.

“How could that be? I met a male angel and took him out in passing,” Yunyang replied casually, but Azhu, being an angel herself, knew how dangerous silver blades were. She sensed the battle must have been intense, but since Yunyang didn’t want to talk about it, she tactfully dropped the subject.

“Hero, that wasn’t a male angel—it was a scum-angel,” Azhu said abruptly, remembering something.

“Is there a difference?”

“Of course there is. Not everyone with wings is an angel.”

Azhu’s serious and unquestionable tone was endearing. Seeing her so earnest, Yunyang didn’t argue, simply smiled.

“Scum-angel it is. From now on, they’re scum-angels.”

“They always were.”

Chatting as they went, Azhu led Yunyang into a room equipped with a medical pod and motioned for him to get in.

Looking at the futuristic medical pod, Yunyang thought it resembled a high-end X-ray machine.

He lay down as instructed, and as the machine started, a small device swept over his wound several times. He felt a drain on his internal energy, but the injury rapidly healed.

Afterward, Yunyang stared at the device, amazed by its black-tech wonders, wondering if ordinary people could use it. If they could, countless lives could be saved.

But when Yunyang asked Azhu, she replied that any life form incapable of channeling dark energy couldn’t use the device. She explained the principle, but Yunyang didn’t understand—only the gist.

Just then, Zhixin arrived, curious as to why Yunyang needed the medical pod.

Azhu explained, and Zhixin gave Yunyang a sidelong glance—he hadn’t expected Yunyang to encounter a scum-angel on Earth.

Yunyang recalled that the one he killed called himself Sumali and decided to ask Zhixin whether she knew the name or if there was a bounty.

He produced the confiscated dagger for them to see and asked, “Do you two know Sumali? The scum-angel I killed claimed to be Sumali—looked rather flamboyant.”

Azhu shook her head, but Zhixin fell into deep thought before retrieving, from her long-buried memory, information about Sumali.

She concluded that it had been a mistake made by her mentor, the Heavenly Base King He Xi, and that Yunyang had now erased that error.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely to Yunyang, then added, “By the way, Queen Keisha forbade the export of silver-blade weapons. They’re extremely rare in the known universe, so use it sparingly. In your Earth terms, ‘a treasure invites trouble.’”

Yunyang glanced in surprise at the dagger, not expecting it to be a rare weapon. It must be quite useful.

Zhixin’s mention that Keisha banned the export of silver-blade weapons meant all such weapons were in Keisha’s hands. Yunyang wondered if he could get a few himself.

But he quickly realized he was overthinking it. After all, Keisha’s arsenal was probably in Angel Yan’s hands now, and Keisha wouldn’t break her own rules for a mere acquaintance.

After his treatment, Yunyang didn’t leave; instead, he remained on Heavenly Blade Seven, practicing the dagger techniques he had learned from Sumali, seeking to use dark energy for precise control. He hoped to master it to the point of sending it flying like a sword.

Just imagining it felt heroic—though it was a dagger, not a sword, making him more an assassin than a swordsman.

To fulfill his dream of becoming a sword immortal, Yunyang even consulted Zhixin about whether changing the dagger’s appearance would affect its properties.

After receiving a definite answer, Yunyang happily began his transformation project, striving for his sword immortal dream.

Thanks to Yunyang’s persistent efforts, a silver-white, eight-faceted Han sword (scaled-down version) finally appeared in his hands.

Since he only had enough material for a dagger, it couldn’t be a full three-foot blade. Yunyang even considered skipping the hilt entirely, since he wouldn’t be wielding it by hand anyway.

But once crafted, he found it looked too ugly—just a plain blade, lacking any elegance, not fit for his future sword immortal persona.

So, after much consideration, he settled on the scaled-down Han sword, which looked like a collectible figure but packed a real punch—especially after Yunyang’s enhancements.

The sword was now even more responsive to dark energy, moving with ease and able to perform unexpected maneuvers mid-air.

Unless absolutely necessary, Yunyang decided he would avoid using the King’s Sword, as it was too terrifying—always leaving things bloody, placing too much pressure on the wielder.

The flying sword, though, was another matter. With remote control, he could attack from afar—out of sight, out of mind.

While Yunyang was playing with his flying sword, Ge Xiaolun contacted him, urging him to return for an operations meeting.

Yunyang had little interest in the meeting—he didn’t understand strategy anyway, and preferred to just follow orders. Right now, mastering the flying sword was his top priority.

Next time on the battlefield, he wouldn’t wear black armor. He’d don a white robe like his enemies, cosplaying as a sword immortal, making the Gluttons flee before him.

Reluctant but not refusing, Yunyang continued playing with his sword, making it dance around his fingers.

Azhu watched him, shaking her head in resignation.

Hero really hadn’t taken Zhixin’s advice to heart, but it didn’t matter. Their current adversary wouldn’t recognize the weapon anyway—silver blades were too advanced for the Gluttons.

Following Ge Xiaolun’s coordinates, Yunyang arrived in the mountains, where he saw a huge metal gate. As he wondered what could be inside, Ge Xiaolun flew over and said,

“Yangzi, what are you doing here? Come with me.”

Without waiting for Yunyang’s reply, Ge Xiaolun pulled him toward a smaller gate—which still, compared to the mountain-top main gate, was substantial.

This gate led to a four-lane road, wide enough for armored vehicles to come and go without the slightest congestion.