I Am Loaded With Passive Skills

Chapter 3739: Chapter 1811: Seeking the Path (Part 2)

The Great Path of Will can resist the Memory Great Path, although it is unable to withstand the crushing force of memory at the moment, it’s not easy for Teleport to delete his own memory.

When he, Jin Ren, dies, and his true self is born once more, or when he frees himself from the Qianshi Emperor Realm and returns to his true self.

Everything that happens here, the true self will be aware of completely.

At that time, without needing to ponder oneself, believe that the true self will obtain a precise answer.

"But that’s a matter for a month later."

Teleport, like a worm in Jin Ren’s stomach, seemed truly able to read his thoughts, actually responded to his heart’s voice.

He shook his head, expressing regret, and asked once more:

"What do you think? My proposal."

Jin Ren did not respond, nor could he respond, he could only scream miserably.

Teleport could only sigh, jumping back onto the old turtle’s back, supporting himself on the turtle’s back, gazing at the stars in the sky:

"Then obediently stay here for a month."

"A month later, life or death, departure or stay, let’s see my mood."

...

Wailing!

The Yin wind accompanied him, sword cognition rampant.

Lord Bazhun’an, clad in a white long robe, danced fiercely with the wind atop the desolate mountain peak, gazing calmly towards the north.

To the north of the Central Yuan world lies the Sacred Mountain Gui Zhe, the Ghost Buddha.

In places rarely seen, he could witness demi-saint level ghost spirits quietly dying across the Ghost Buddha Realm.

Each time a ghost spirit dissipated, strands of residual consciousness gathered at the vermillion mark between the Ghost Buddha’s brows.

That is a familiar aura.

His old rival, Hua Changdeng.

Several days flew by in a flash, the Aura of the God of Death atop the Ghost Buddha grew increasingly apparent, sword will became more intense.

The aura belonging to Hua Changdeng seeped from the vermillion, nearly filling the entire body of the Ghost Buddha.

Just like his body from half a year ago, filled inside with the boundless sword energy of Hua Changdeng.

"Half a day."

Lord Bazhun’an silently murmured, lowering his gaze to his hands, counting one to ten on his fingers.

Against the daylight, he curled up his previous eight fingers, leaving only the two freshly regrown thumbs, lifting them for careful inspection.

If outsiders were present, they would see at dusk, Lord Bazhun’an giving a double thumbs up towards the Ghost Buddha and Gui Zhe Ruins from afar.

"Returned."

Lord Bazhun’an softly murmured, his thoughts slightly turbulent.

He has spread sword cognition here for nearly half a year.

In six months, he gradually lost sight, hearing, smell, taste...

Until his five senses and six senses vanished, all Seven Emotions and Six Desires disappeared, then exceeded extremes and returned to norm, everything gone, lost yet recovered.

Lord Bazhun’an returned to Lord Bazhun’an.

No more crisscrossing sword energy inside him, replaced by newly refined sword tendons and bones.

The scar on his neck vanished, eight fingers returned to ten, as if reviving the exuberance from thirty years ago overnight.

The reality is indeed so.

Lord Bazhun’an’s hair no longer has silver strands, his muddy yellow eyes returned to pure black and white, like he became thirty years younger.

Yet, the sense of weathered experience remains.

Standing on the desolate mountain like a stone from ancient times till now, enduring wind and rain yet remaining steadfast, though slightly changed externally by moss.

Yet no one peeled away the moss from his exterior.

He carried the self that traversed north and south for thirty years, silently waiting in this mountain, awaiting Hua Changdeng’s arrival.

He only has himself left.

The numerous swords that once accompanied him, drifted away, broke off, no longer by his sides.

He has not just himself.

Standing atop the desolate mountain, the surrounding area is barren with only the mountain, only the land receiving relentless sword cognition ravaging power within a hundred feet.

Looking outward, one can see faraway mountains connected by a line of mulberry trees, faintly reflecting orange-red under the setting sun.

The mountain remains, the water remains.

This land remains, the Great Path remains, inexhaustible, inexhaustible, like the sword like myself, awaiting to knock upon the Heavenly Gate.

"Lord Bazhun’an."

Within the mulberry grove, several figures swiftly swept forward.

Lord Bazhun’an lowered his hands praised for the Ghost Buddha, turned to look, it was Elder Mei, Elder Yang, and someone with whom he had briefly met twice...

That unremarkable person, truly had no memorable points.

At this moment, he carried Xu Xiaoshou, seated with eyes closed on his shoulder, path energy surged around him, apparently having an insight.

"Secular Sword Path?"

Lord Bazhun’an showed amazement in his eyes, spoke the secret.

Li Fugui followed the two elders here, his heart turbulent and hard to endure.

In half a year, he had only met Lord Bazhun’an twice, both times Lord Shou was practicing sword, and he had important matters to report.

Just business.

Thus, Li Fugui never exchanged a single sentence with the legendary Eighth Sword Deity, the first-in-command saint servant.

Yet, Li Fugui has admired this person for long.

Earlier while working in the Flower Pavilion, Lord Bazhun’an was already a legend, a prominent figure both Pavilion Masters Bai Yezi and Hong could not forget.

The massive Flower Pavilion, commanding presence at Half-Moon Bay, its intelligence network covering throughout the Southern Region of the Land of Sin.

Essentially, it was merely an extension of the Saint Servants, working for Lord Bazhun’an.

Now facing the inquiring gaze of the first-in-command saint servant.

What Li Fugui felt was not just the terrifying oppression of the renowned Eighth Sword Deity, but also a true pain as if his face was being sharply cut.

Lord Bazhun’an, was like a sword.

The sword standing on the mountain peak, a hundred feet barren, neighboring ones shed blood, cannot be directly looked at, cannot be contended against.

Yet in an instant, that terrifying pressure disappeared like smoke.

Lord Bazhun’an, was just Lord Bazhun’an.

He was so plain as though a mortal, no trace of sword will around him, no hint of spiritual source within, so frail that Li Fugui felt with a slap, the saint servant would collapse, the Eighth Sword Deity’s body severed.

What am I thinking... Li Fugui, panicked, hurriedly controlled his thoughts, reported: