“Who’s there—who, exactly?!”

I shout, my voice slicing the dark like a snapped bowstring, and I flood my senses with Sword Intent like lantern light sweeping a storm-torn shore.

Nothing answers—only emptiness, cold as a well at midnight—and panic beads on my skin like rain on stone.

“Who is it? Go on, take a guess.”

The voice drifts in, sweet and hollow, like a flute played over an empty field.

“What?!”

Shock spikes through me like frost through a reed mat, and I whip around at full speed, the Shattered Light Sword flashing like dawn on ice.

Clang!

Steel rings, a bell struck under a moonless sky, and a shadow streaks past my eyes like a black comet crossing clouded night.

The forest is too dark; vision is mud-thick, and I catch only a shape like a rabbit lit by blood-red eyes, cold as winter stars.

Whoosh!

The shadow bounds into nearby grass, rustle rustle, like wind combing autumn leaves, and dread settles on my shoulders like wet cloth.

What is happening? A ghost, really? The word crawls like mist through my thoughts, and fear swells, tight as a drum skin before the strike.

I’m still running on scraps—only fruit in my belly, thin fuel as pale as candle wax—and the unknown circles me like a wolf in fog.

“Oh my, quick reflexes. Let’s hope you keep dodging.”

The voice purrs, silk over empty bone, and the air feels like a stage with no curtains.

Whoosh!

The shadow bursts from the grass again, straight at me—faster by several folds, like an arrow loosed from a god-bent bow.

“Damn it! What even are you?!”

My body lags, heavy as mud after rain, but I grit my teeth and block, steel sparking like flint under a storm.

In the mirror-flash of Shattered Light, I finally see it true: a white rabbit, wolf-sized, eyes red as embers, teeth like polished blades.

Its aura crawls over my skin like a cold tide; cute has fled this thing like birds from a burning tree, and I curse in my head.

This time I’m ready; I will strike back, and I will seize the reins of this fight like hands closing on a horse’s black mane.

I gather Sword Aura, the breath of steel like wind in pine, and I pivot, spine coiling like a serpent around a branch.

“Sword Qi Storm!”

I roar, and a towering tornado of Sword Aura unfurls from me, a golden dragon ascending, pulling the rabbit into its whirling throat.

Got you!

Relief flares like sunrise over frost, but the rabbit explodes forward, twice, thrice as fast—near teleportation—slipping the storm like rain through fingers.

“Wuu!”

It keens, a blade on glass, and my vortex only tears off one leg, a severed branch tumbling, while the beast vanishes into the dark.

“So cruel!”

The voice rings, honeyed yet hollow, drifting like bells over fog: “Such a cute rabbit, and you hit that hard? How awful. You need a proper lesson.”

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! …

Grass erupts, and a swarm of rabbits floods out like a tide of pale bodies, a hundred at least, packing the ground like hail.

If it were only numbers, it’d be rain, not a deluge—but every rabbit carries early Sacred Realm weight and moves like lightning through bamboo.

If they rush together, I’ll be drowned like a leaf in a river… and yes, they rush, a white wave crashing in perfect silence.

“Hold it!”

My tornado of Sword Aura is thinning like starlight before dawn, and I pour more power in, straining the Sword Qi Storm’s lifespan like a frayed rope.

But this won’t last; these rabbits feel like constructs, not life—magic-sculpted foam—no matter how many I cut, the next wave fills the gap like sand.

It’s like fighting illusions in a painted world, every strike a splash in water, and my stamina is already a candle guttering in wind.

I can’t keep this up; I need the puppeteer—the hand behind the fur—to end this farce like snapping a zither string.

I split my mind, one hand feeding Sword Aura to the storm like rice to a fire, and the other driving Sword Intent out like a hunting hawk.

Moments drip past like rain off eaves…

Southwest—fifteen meters—behind a thick tree, a ripple in the tapestry, close as a whisper at my neck.

I unleash all the storm’s power at once, the vortex detonating like thunder in a crowded valley, and rabbits scatter like seeds on wind.

I sight the spot and hurl several blades of Sword Aura, streaks of silver like falling meteors cutting night.

Boom!!

The great tree cleaves clean, trunk smoking like a smoldered wick, and thick smoke boils up, a black curtain over the stage.

“Gulp.”

I swallow, throat dry as old paper, praying that strike hit home; that was my last coal of strength, and running would be a prayer without a shrine.

Seconds pass; smoke thins like torn silk, and the forest shows its bones.

“You’re sharp. You found Ruyu’s position.”

The sweet, hollow voice floats like a reed-song. “Sadly, that was where Ruyu stood minutes ago. Now Ruyu’s behind you. Don’t turn around—turn and you die.”

“...”

I can feel a presence at my back, heavy as a hand on a drum, and the same airy voice chimes, soft as rain on tiles.

What do I do? They reached my back without a ripple—stronger than me, a hawk over a rabbit—and my strength is ash, my stomach a hollow gourd.

Which leaves one choice: run.

Humiliating as a crab scuttling backward, but a dead stand is just a leaf meeting flame.

I whisper speed-boosting augment sword arts into my limbs, wind stitching into muscle, and I bolt forward like a fox breaking brush.

“Oh? Fleeing?”

Contempt threads the voice, sharp as chili on the tongue. “A Mizumi Clan scion, fleeing mid-battle—shameful.”

“...”

They’re right. If I run now, my head will never lift, like a willow whipped by endless rain; I stop, feet rooting like stakes.

“Not running?”

“Mm.”

I turn, slow as turning a millstone, and—

“Hey! I said don’t turn!”

I face only emptiness—no footprints but the wind—and the figure vanishes at my pivot like dew under sunlight.

Damn it. Hidden again.

While frustration pricks like nettles, the rabbit swarm closes in, a storm of fur under red eyes.

“Bold, not bolting. Fine. Attack!”

The command cracks like a whip, and the rabbits lunge at a speed barely visible, a blizzard of bodies, teeth like snow-bright knives.

“...”

I smile, bitter as tea brewed too long, and I accept the price; there’s only one move—the kind that leaves the body a fallen kite afterward.

I shake my head, draw a long breath like cooling iron, and toss the Shattered Light Sword into the air like a star thrown skyward.

“Sword Domain!”

Buzz-buzz!

Clear sword-song ripples through the void like bells across a river, and the whole scene shifts—world blooming into a kingdom of blades.

Sky, ground, and every side fills with swords shaped by Sword Aura, an orchard of steel, and the Enchanted Forest turns gold like noon poured from a bowl.

“Hoo—”

Energy and Sword Aura in the Sword Domain run pure as spring water and full as a mountain lake; it won’t restore my stamina, but it will let me blaze for a while.