Eli opened his eyes to a world of unfurling blooms, color pouring like a spring tide across the earth.

He glanced around, sighed, then smiled up at the empty sky, voice light as drifting petals. “Old Bir, I’ve come so many times. I’ve walked the Sea of Myriad Blossoms end to end. Got anything new?”

Birand’s figure surfaced beside him like a reflection in clear water. He laughed, warm as morning sun. “Well then, my later self, you dare mock your own inner world.”

Eli shrugged, shoulders loose like a willow in wind. “Can’t help it. I don’t love flowers the way you do.”

Birand sat by him, hands folding calm as river stones. He paused, then asked softly, “Tell me, each time you’ve come, did you notice what changed?”

Eli let out a breath, heavy as mist. “The flowers. There are more, right?”

Birand nodded, smile slight as moonlight on a pond. “Yes. Do you know what that means?”

Eli studied him, doubt flickering like a moth. “Isn’t it simple? You’re stronger, so your world gets richer.”

Birand laughed, a low roll like distant thunder. In Eli’s puzzled gaze, he plucked a bloom, motion gentle as a breeze. “By the point you found me here, my memory sits just past breaking into the Sacred Rank.”

He turned, eyes clear as a winter sky. “Do you think, at that stage, I could already have an inner world?”

Eli froze, thoughts tumbling like falling leaves. The words fit, but this could be feedback from your final strength, couldn’t it?

Otherwise, what are these living flowers and breathing grasses?

If it isn’t an inner world, what else do you call it?

Eli frowned, a crease like a shadowed ridge. He picked a flower too and brought it close, scent light as a cool spring.

It carried a clean, faint fragrance, not a lush perfume that smothered like overripe fruit.

Birand watched him keep silent, then let his flower fall like a snowflake. He rose, hands clasped behind his back, posture straight as a pine. “Every bouquet, every tuft of grass, stands for a large living creature I personally killed in reality.”

Eli fell quiet, still as a stone by the road.

Birand glanced over with a small smile. “What’s wrong? Tongue tied?”

“Just confirming.” Eli’s voice came low, like wind before rain. “You’re not joking?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Birand’s helpless shake of the head slid away like ripples.

Not believing yourself—what kind of game is that?

Eli looked down at the flower, then swept the little world with his gaze, quick as a falcon’s pass.

His composure wavered, a ripple under glass. “Even in wartime, you didn’t personally step in that often. It shouldn’t be this many.”

He narrowed his eyes, counting blooms like stars.

Sunlight bathed them bright as noon, yet the petals seemed to drink a chill. A quiet frost crept along the colors.

“Ah. Demons, beasts—every kind has died under my hand. Humans most of all, up to this memory.” Birand’s smile cut thin, self-mocking as a blade’s reflection.

“Can you tell me why?” Eli asked, voice steady as a long road.

“Sometimes your own people give you the worst headaches.” Birand’s tone cooled, a shadow under bamboo. “Traitors, betrayals, schemes in the dark. I won’t say more.”

“So you killed so many, all villains through your eyes?” Eli’s doubt hung like a cloudbank.

“No.” Birand’s words dragged, heavy as wet earth. “It’s not that simple. When you finish merging my memories, you’ll know. Why let me pour fog into your ears?”

“Fine. What do I do now?” Eli shrugged, as if tossing a pebble into a stream.

Birand watched that careless face and hesitated, a pause like held breath. “Later self. I need to warn you. If my memories merge perfectly, your current personality might—”

“Heh.” Eli cut him off, a smile sharp as flint. “No need. Once I find the truth I want, I’ll stop chasing your memories.”

Birand laughed, a bright arc like sunlight off steel. “Interesting.”

“Surprised you’re not mocking me.” Eli tilted his head, a crow under the eaves.

“Huh? Why would I mock you?” Birand looked baffled, clear as clear water.

“I said I’d stop your grand plan to your face. Shouldn’t you bluster a bit?” Eli asked, half-grin, half challenge.

“Oh? You want me to snap, rage, and throw my weight around?” Birand chuckled, voice easy as drifting smoke.

“Isn’t that the script?” Eli deadpanned.

Birand watched his serious look, silent as dusk. Then he burst out laughing. “Tell me, later self. If I did all that, would it help?”

“Uh—” Eli blinked, then slapped his forehead like a drum. “Damn, you might actually have a point!”

Birand ignored the clowning, shaking his head lightly, a reed in wind. “Since you said it, I’ll answer.”

His tone turned solemn, deep as a bell. “I can’t guess what future me wants. But out of mercy, hear this. The truth won’t always be kind to you. Its price may be your life.”

Eli lifted his shoulders, a shrug like falling rain. “Relax. I get it. Another fragment of you already said that. I can handle myself.”

Birand sighed, resigned as a weary traveler. “Let’s hope.” He waved, and flowers and grass parted, opening a road like a green river. He looked at the silent Eli. “Whether to accept this memory is your choice.”

Eli arched a brow, confidence bright as a torch. “Of course I accept.”

Birand smiled, then paused, a thought striking like a sparrow. “Later self, tell me—why don’t you have a trace of sword intent?”

Eli blinked, confusion flaring like a firefly. “What?”

“The realm of the sword,” Birand said after a beat, naming it like a distant peak.

Eli shrugged, dry as old bark. “Because I don’t use a damn sword.”

“..................”

“What? Is that illegal now?” Eli put his hands on his hips, a grin loose as summer.

Birand sighed, breath thin as thread. “No. It’s just—if you were a swordsman, you’d accept that sword essence easier. Without it, after the merge, your body may be riddled with wounds.”

Eli opened his mouth, words scattering like startled birds.

He shrugged again, stubborn as a stone bull. “Doesn’t matter. Come on. I’m Sacred Rank too, even if I haven’t found my special power. This body’s tough as iron.”

.................................................................

“Yo, back already?” Zero looked at Eli sprawled on the ground, blood slick as paint at his lips, and grinned like a cat. “Well, well—our pious monk. What happened, get wrecked from the inside?”

Eli couldn’t help it—he lifted his eyes, and a vast killing intent surged like a winter river toward Zero.

It wasn’t on purpose. It just wouldn’t stay caged.

Zero flicked it aside with a casual pat, as if dusting snow from a sleeve. He strolled to Eli, laid a gentle palm on his head, and the killing aura blew out like a candle. Zero smiled, light as dawn. “Kid. So—sword, or magic wand?”

Eli gasped hard, breath sawing like a saw through wood. “What do you think? Sword!”

“Hahaha, good, good.” Zero laughed, bright as sparks.

That dream was a turning point. Zero watched Eli pant, excitement curling like smoke in his chest.

He counted the time, voice drifting with a strange cadence, words Eli couldn’t place. “If I remember right, this is the exact moment when everything diverged.”

Once that dream appeared, the one in the heavens had truly fallen asleep. Only then could the Hero and the Demon King’s wills touch for a heartbeat, like two stars crossing.

Seeing Eli struggle for breath, Zero’s lips lifted, joy quick as a flash. “As expected. I didn’t miscalculate.”

If he’s had that dream, then the plan can begin.

Eli kept panting, chest tight as a drum. Zero had pressed the killing intent down, but one stray thought and the cold tide might rise again.

Birand’s way of killing was simple and bloody—if you dared offend him, he’d start at the crown and cleave you clean in two.

I thought it would end fast.

Turns out that memory is Birand’s step-by-step climb, understanding the sword while cutting, sharpening intent with each fallen life, like whetstone and rain.

If not for a reason, Eli would believe the man slaughtered by the fieldful to temper sword intent and killing will, piling corpses like hills.

“How about it, want to learn the sword from me?” Zero smiled, easy as sunshine through leaves.

Eli drew breath and asked, puzzled as mist, “How do you know it’s useful? How do you know it’s tied to me?”

Zero shook his head, then pulled a badge and robe from the air, loot taken off some unlucky soul—the New Era Sect’s seal glinted like ice.

If I want him to trust me, I might have to borrow this messy banner.

(Somewhere, Albert—stripped and sealed by Zero in a pool—sneezed, a bubble popping. “Achoo! … No way! Can a Sacred Rank catch a cold?”)

Eli gave a bitter smile, crooked as a broken twig. “New Era Sect? Damn. That sect has a monster like you?”

Zero smiled without confirming, his silence smooth as lacquer.

Eli rolled his eyes, leaned against a tree, and shut them, exhaustion heavy as rain-soaked cloth.

Zero handed him a bottle of water. Eli ignored it. Zero softened his voice, coaxing like warm wind. “Relax, kid. Take me as your master. This killing intent, you’ll leash it like a hound. Imagine—casting a skill, then suddenly darting in for one clean slash. How binding, how comic, how real.”

Eli looked at Zero, half laugh, half groan, then tipped his head back and howled at the sky, voice ragged as a torn flag. “Fine. Do whatever you want.”