Instead, Long Chen held a different sword. Ancient, black as night, with a simple crossguard and worn grip. But the blade itself seemed to absorb light, drinking in the dim illumination of the battlefield.
And inscribed at the base of the blade, where it met the guard, was a single word in characters that burned with red light:
杀 (Slaughter)
The moment Long Chen's eyes focused on that word, something changed inside him.
Heat bloomed in his chest. Not painful, but intense. His heartbeat accelerated, pounding faster and faster. His vision sharpened, every detail of the charging army becoming crystal clear.
And his eyes began to turn red.
Not the whites turning crimson like Yan Shou's. But red patterns spreading outward from his pupils like cracks in glass, like blood vessels bursting and spreading across his irises.
[Warning: Narrative Overwrite in Progress.]
