Unease pricked like winter needles as cracks spiderwebbed across the Worldgate; Xiyue’s calamity-scent seeped through like storm rain, and my seal buckled like a dam.

How long has it been since I felt strain? The thought rang like a cracked bell—Xiyue’s gone all-in, her Origin Artifact blazing at full flare.

At our level, steel or empty hands feel the same; but an Origin Artifact is a different beast stalking the field.

Take Xiyue: her grasp of the Primordial Source lags behind mine, yet with that Origin Artifact she grinds the gap flat like a millstone.

If Shattered Light sat in my palm, sealing the Worldgate would be child’s play—done in a few breaths, like snuffing a candle. Should I recall Shattered Light from the Servant? Tempting as a shortcut, but dull as lukewarm tea.

While I idled on such thoughts, FrostyLily Dream’s Source aura thinned like mist at dawn; she was skirting her limit.

No wonder—she’s far weaker than Xiyue, and without an Origin Artifact, even a gate between them is paper against a burning storm.

Reluctance tugged at me; I cast Origin Sword Qi around her like a glass dome, and her breath steadied like a candle sheltered from wind.

Phew... saved. Thanks, sis.

Relief loosened her shoulders; she wiped sweat from her brow, eyes fixed on the Worldgate’s hundreds, thousands of cracks like scars on stone. Sis, this won’t end well. The gate will open sooner or later. Call Shattered Light back! Only that can seal it for good.

No rush. The storm hasn’t hit that hard yet.

Pride held the reins, and I shook my head. Unless I’m cornered, I won’t recall Shattered Light; it feels like conceding the duel to Xiyue.

Call it confidence or hubris; forcing me to fetch Shattered Light leaves the taste of ash. And that bitter taste—defeat—is what I loathe.

I flicked the Origin Sword like lightning, drove it into the gate’s heart-crack, and pinned its growth like a nail in wood.

No more strolling; time to pour everything in like tipping a whole jar of flame.

I let the Primordial Source surge like a tide, condensing into countless Origin Swords bristling across the land; into each blade I etched Sword Intent at its peak—World Will.

The Source thickened like molten resin and spread fast; heaven and earth paused, frozen mid-breath.

This Source is suffocating... and you aren’t even in Sword Spirit form. I used to dream of sparring that form of yours; now it feels like frost-dust crumbling under sunlight.

She murmured, the blow dulling her eyes like rain on glass; at last, she saw the shape of reality.

Resolve settled in, then I took FrostyLily Dream by the wrist and swept us away like wind.

Origin Sword: Seal.

Origin Swords tore the void like a flock of comets and flooded toward the Worldgate; in a blink, the cracks were stitched tight, filling and knitting like wounds under warm hands. The blades sunk into the door melted into radiant Source light, a waterfall of brilliance that covered the whole gate, the finishing seal settling in an instant.

Yet the tale refused a neat ending; the Worldgate still shuddered like a beast’s flank. Xiyue didn’t quit—she hammered harder, beats ringing like iron on anvil.

This seal will hold ten days at most; it’s a reed against a river, not a true dam.

Irritation rippled through me like sand in a shoe; this trivial mess gnaws at my time to enjoy life. For a clean fix, there are only two paths—

Make Xiyue give up coming back, or use Shattered Light as the array’s heart to lock the Worldgate.

The first is a shaky bridge; the second is worse. No one burns their Origin Artifact as a seal’s keystone—you’d lose it forever, even if the gate stayed quiet as a sleeping lake.

It’s a trade that smells of blood for coin; better to bend Xiyue toward surrender.

As expected of you, sis—Worldgate sealed at last. I can finally breathe easy, like spring air after snow.

Don’t celebrate yet. This seal lasts ten days, give or take—at least under this storm.

Then what do we do? Is there no clean cure?

Unless Xiyue herself abandons invading this world, there’s no answer. She’s set like iron, playing a war of attrition, grinding patience like stones.

The thought of camping here to wear her down made my temples throb like drums.

Forget it. FrostyLily Dream, reinforce the seal a few times; I’ll slip into the Inner World and check the field.

Mm. Got it. Safe travels, sis. She nodded, weight in her gaze like stone.

I stirred the world’s admin rights like turning a key and walked straight through the Worldgate.

The Inner World greeted me with a storm of Source-laced strikes, a rain of iron beads pelting my face. Honestly, couldn’t the welcome be gentler?

I swept the attacks aside like dust with a flick, and at last I understood why Xiyue claws at the Prime Realm—the air here is thin and sour.

Resources, elemental density, even air quality sit at a fifth of the Prime Realm; its span matches the Central Continent at best, like a bowl beside an ocean.

Yet its development outstrips the Prime Realm; every facet pushed to the limit, strings stretched taut until they sing. In short, it’s hit its ceiling; to grow, it must invade a vaster sky.

The Prime Realm is the obvious prey. If Xiyue cracks the Worldgate, the Prime Realm won’t hold—this gap is a canyon. Law Realm alone counts near five hundred, several times our number.

Origin Realm stands at eighteen. Picture it: if the gate opens and I stay my hand, the Prime Realm falls within ten years, like a city dissolving under relentless rain.

Taking it all in, I grudged Xiyue some respect; she shaped a wasteland into a city of iron.

No Sword Spirit form, no Origin Artifact—bold of you, Xinuo, to walk in here alone!

Her voice rode in on a violet-black arc of Origin Sword Qi; I burned an Origin Sword to slag to block it, then answered her coolly. Why wouldn’t I? Do you truly think you can keep me here, Xiyue?

Of course not. If you want to leave, no one can stop you—not even me.

Then there’s nothing to worry about.

...