Nightmare’s Call

A moment later, Lin Sheng sat in the kitchen, carefully examining the black sword that he had severed off the rotten swordsman’s arm.

At the length of an arm and width of a palm, the black sword had a smooth glass-like coating on its surface. Its hilt had a black crossguard, and just like the silver sword earlier, it was a cross-shaped sword. On the blade near the grip was the mark of a vertical eye identical to the one on the silver sword.

“It looks like Ravel’s the rotten swordsman.” Lin Sheng could make out the identity of the swordsman once he saw the fragmented memories in his mind’s eye.

“The most unbelievable thing is that I can absorb his memories!” He reached for the hilt of the black sword and gently lifted the sword.

The black sword was a tad heavier—about one and a half times—than the previous silver sword. Waving the sword in his hand, Lin Sheng found it surprisingly handy. With that sense of familiarity, he planted his feet on the floor as energy began to rise from his legs to his waist, then to the shoulders and arms. With the aid of this new strength, he accurately thrust the sword forward in a straight line, leaving behind a black trail along with a faint airburst.

“What just happened?” Lin Sheng was startled. The smooth thrusting move was completely instinctual without any hesitation as if he had practiced the move many times before.

After a pause, Lin Sheng waved the sword again to try out other moves. The other moves did not feel the same as the thrust earlier, no matter how many times he tried. So, he may as well just practice the thrusting move.

His repeated practice of the move produced airbursts in the kitchen. Lin Sheng found the move absolutely awesome.

“Wait a minute! This seems similar to the move that the rotten swordsman used before.” It was this very move that killed Lin Sheng the last time, and he had only begun to notice the familiarity as he practiced it.

He stabbed the sword forward again. As simple as it may have seemed, the basic move became more potent than it appeared with limb and body coordination.

“The attack point is the same—the heart on the left side of the chest.” Recalling the fragmented memories that he had seen, Lin Sheng could vaguely deduce that they were the last memories of the rotten swordsman.

“There’s nothing wrong with acquiring the rotten swordsman’s fragmented memories. After all, anything can happen in dreams.” Once he calmed down, Lin Sheng began to enjoy his newfound strength.

Taking the black sword and leaving the kitchen, Lin Sheng went to examine the body of the rotten swordsman in the hall and made sure that everything was all right. After that, he grabbed the body by its clothes to drag and toss it outside through the doorway. He then closed the door and snapped the latches on.

Since there was no water in the manor, Lin Sheng wiped the black blood off his hands, using the curtain as a rag. Then he returned to the study room and sat down, wanting to continue his memorization of the swordsmanship notes. Very quickly, Lin Sheng was surprised to find that he could understand some of the words in the handbook. With the combination of context and illustrations, he could roughly make out the meaning.

“This must be the result of acquiring Ravel’s memory!” Lin Sheng was overjoyed. He could not believe that killing a monster in his dream had given him such an advantage.

He quickly scanned the Handbook of Swordsmanship and finished it in its entirety. Just as he had expected, content on the swordsmanship was only a tiny part of the handbook. Only a few pages with illustrations mentioned Ravel’s famous sword technique: Furious Blow.

Lin Sheng gave it a quick read in combination with the previous and latter pages.

“Furious Blow isn’t so much Ravel’s famous sword technique but a kind of conventional long sword technique. It’s just that Ravel really mastered it so it became famous.”

He flipped the pages, his eyes scanning the text. “Unlike what the book title suggests, most parts of the book talk about Ravel’s travels, battles, experiences, and stuff like that; nothing more than blowing his own horn.”

Shaking his head, Lin Sheng put the book down. After he acquired some of Ravel’s memories, he could recognize quite a number of new words when he reread the books, which he had difficulty understanding earlier.

Lin Sheng stood up, scanned the bookshelf, and quickly found another book that he could read. This book was different from the other large books; its cover was blank, there was content only in the first half of the book, and the writing was all scribbled.

“It looks like a notepad.” Lin Sheng began to carefully read the text at the top of the first page.

The sky has turned dark again. Dunn comes again.

He is leaving to seek help, but things have become irreparable. Leaving will only bring a more horrible outcome.

As the subsequent line was illegible, Lin Sheng simply turned to the next page.

The nights are getting longer, and the winds colder. Dunn has left. My last best friend, I wish you a safe journey.

Lin Sheng found it surprisingly easy to read since the text was written in simple language. So, he continued to browse through the pages.

I am old, and my physical strength has declined dramatically. Polly has also grown up. She struck down my sword for the first time today. I am very pleased.

Many chickens and ducks have gone missing from the manor lately. I do not know if they are dead or something else.

The wind is freezing…

I hope everything can go back to the beginning.

Except for the parts that he could not understand, Lin Sheng found page after page of the author’s daily life—they were bits and pieces about Ravel and his granddaughter, Polly. But Ravel’s words contained a faint sense of despair and depression as if some grave danger was looming in the world outside.

Lin Sheng kept flipping and soon found these on the last few legible pages:

Did something also happen to Blackfeather City’s patrol troop? Even the last shield has… It is hopeless now. It looks like I will have to go to Lhasabelle and get my new sword. The old sword can no longer hold up.

With the protection of my armor, Polly will be all right. She will be able to make it out safely.

Lin Sheng knitted his brows together as at that point, the text got blurry. But he had learned a few essential things.

First, there was probably a place called Blackfeather City.

Second, the place where Ravel went to collect his sword was called Lhasabelle. It was likely a place for buying and selling weapons. Perhaps he could find some protective gear there.

After spending a week in the club, Lin Sheng was no longer totally clueless about such weapons. He had learned online that a full set of body armor was absolutely vital for improving survival in the cold weapon era.

‘Blackfeather City… Lhasabelle…’ Lin Sheng repeated the names in his mind, feeling that his dream was getting as real as it was interesting. He could not wait to find out what happened to Blackfeather City and why Ravel, a Class II swordsman, had turned into a rotten monster.