Chapter Seventy-One: The Transformation of the Amethyst Spirit

There was no anticipated explosion, no intense collision; the Holy Light Cross Slash unleashed with full force by the three Round Table knights collided with the origin of fire as if sinking into the sea, leaving not the slightest ripple. Percival and the others coughed up blood, faces pale as paper, unable to accept such an outcome, staring at Cold Flame in disbelief.

As though he had done something utterly ordinary, Cold Flame waved his hand carelessly and took up the floating purple sword once more. The moment his hand touched the sword, a strange, powerful, soul-captivating purple light erupted without warning. At first, Cold Flame was stunned, then delighted. He understood what had happened: Ziling, she had awakened.

The blade quivered as if something joyous had occurred, its trembling intensifying. Amidst the gentle humming, a brilliant purple light burst forth, forming a three-meter-wide pillar of light centered on the sword, soaring skyward as though piercing the heavens, its momentum surging dramatically.

Everyone present was dumbfounded, the oppressive force pinning them to the ground so that they could only barely prostrate themselves. Gazing in terror at the radiant purple sword, they wondered what kind of treasure it could be.

The grandeur, the crackling explosions—at that moment, the purple sword seemed charged with millions, tens of millions of volts, arcing energy in every direction. But this was not electricity; it was pure power.

※※※ Feather ※※※ Emperor ※※※

Far away in the Vatican, inside a cathedral, an elderly man in splendid robes suddenly opened his eyes and stared for a long time at the scepter in his hand, then chanted softly, “Almighty Lord, please tell your devoted servant, what is happening here? Amen!”

When the chant ended, the scepter flew into the air of its own accord, tracing several characters before returning to his hand.

On seeing this, the elderly man’s expression changed dramatically, filled with incredulous astonishment. He composed himself, pondering deeply, and then spoke in a hoarse but resonant voice: “Hesed—”

Soon, a middle-aged man in cardinal’s red entered, dignified and compassionate, his steps steady. He was none other than a cardinal of the Holy See.

The highest authority in the Vatican was the Pope, followed by the ten cardinals, then numerous bishops in white, as well as many combat personnel—Holy Knights, recluses, and so on. The organization formed a pyramid: the higher the rank, the fewer the number and the greater the power.

This cardinal was naturally one of the Church’s upper echelon, and his strength was not to be underestimated.

Hesed approached the elder. “Your Holiness, what business do you have with Hesed?”

“Did you sense the powerful aura just now?” The Pope’s expression shifted as he asked with a smile.

“Yes, Your Holiness, I felt it,” Hesed replied honestly, then showed anxiety. “Lord, what kind of pressure was that? Your Holiness, do you know what it is?”

The aura of the purple sword was so overwhelming that even the mighty ones in distant Vatican sensed it without fail. Hesed was deeply shocked, unable to imagine what person or thing could create such commotion.

“Indeed,” the Pope sighed, “what could have caused such a stir?” Pausing, his expression grew grave. “After sensing that powerful force, I prayed to God as His messenger for guidance, but the result was unbelievable.”

“What was the result?” Hesed was not an impatient man, but now he was unable to contain himself, asking urgently.

“There was no result.”

“No result?” Hesed’s eyes widened. Whenever something was unknown, praying for guidance usually brought answers. This was the first time he had received nothing.

“Yes, no result. God gave no instructions, the scepter traced only blank, illogical characters,” the Pope said gravely, clearly troubled.

“But Hesed, you need not worry too much. The source of the power is near Britain, where King Arthur stands guard. When all is settled, we can ask Arthur about it,” the Pope reassured Hesed. “Nevertheless, the Church cannot sit idly—we must be vigilant.” He continued, “Order the cathedrals and bishops around the world to be alert. We do not know what is happening, but it is always wise to be prepared.”

Hesed agreed and was about to leave to make arrangements when the Pope’s aged voice sounded again, “And have the Holy Knights ready as well.”

Hesed paused, then withdrew. His heart was unsettled; was the situation dire enough to mobilize the Holy Knights? He knew well that the Holy Knights were the Church’s defensive force, not to be deployed except in extreme circumstances. They were fanatics in their devotion, willing to lay down their lives for God. Their strength came from trials of life and death, trained from childhood—none could be underestimated.

Of course, the Church’s power extended beyond the Holy Knights, who were merely the Vatican’s defense. Nevertheless, Hesed was deeply alarmed.

※※※ Feather ※※※ Emperor ※※※

Meanwhile, far to the east, towering mountains pierced the clouds, shrouded in mist, evoking a realm of gods and immortals. The landscape was vast, valleys deep, spanning a thousand miles. On a mountain enveloped in clouds, pavilions and towers stood in clusters, glazed gold tiles gleaming—a thousand-mile stretch of ancient, mysterious architecture.

Through the ages, time flowed, yet this mysterious domain remained untouched. Suddenly, heavenly light broke the tranquility—the cloud layers above began to gather and churn, a golden radiance ready to burst forth.

Soon, the heavy clouds could no longer withstand the pressure, and with a thunderous crash, golden light poured down, casting a golden curtain across the sky.

It was not over yet. As the golden veil bathed the earth, another anomaly appeared high above; with a blinding speed, a rainbow pillar of light shot straight down. The thunderous roar lasted a long while, shaking the earth, its tremors lingering.

Purple smoke curled, filling the room with incense. An old man suddenly opened his eyes, sitting motionless like a statue, blending entirely with nature—thick brows, frosted hair, bearing the vicissitudes of a thousand years, his face gentle and kind. He swiftly calculated with his fingers, then murmured calmly, “Heaven’s secrets are chaotic, unknowable and unpredictable; a wondrous treasure has emerged, born of fate, bringing fortune and calamity to the world. Ultimately, who can say if it is blessing or harm?” He then fell silent, returning to meditation.

In a cave, deep and still, a burly man suddenly unfurled a flag, its gray-blue light shining out. “Ninefold Nether Flag, go!” he roared, then controlled the flag as it spun…

※※※ Feather ※※※ Emperor ※※※

Within the sea of consciousness, endless, all was white.

“Ziling, you’re awake?” Cold Flame asked excitedly.

“Yes…I’ve awakened.” As the voice sounded, Cold Flame’s vision was dazzled for a moment, then to his surprise he saw a playful, adorable girl standing before him.

Her long, pale purple hair reached below her shoulders; her face was delicate and gentle, her nose playful, her small ears nimble—a perfect combination. Yes, Cold Flame understood: Ziling had taken human form, and this cute girl before him was Ziling. What he found hard to accept was that she looked exactly like him in his Lingyu form.

“Ziling, why did you take my appearance?” he asked, puzzled.

“Is it pretty?” Ziling spun gracefully in place, showing off her beauty. Cold Flame realized he was entranced by her, even if only for an instant—the fact was undeniable.

“It is beautiful, but it feels a bit strange,” he admitted. How could it not? After all, she now looked just like him.

Ziling laughed, “I can’t help it. Even I think your female form is the most perfect. My heart seeks perfection, so when I transformed, I became you. Not infringing, right?” she added playfully.

Cold Flame could only shrug helplessly, “Whatever you like. If you’re happy, so be it.” Then, as if remembering something, he asked, “Have you unlocked a seal now?”

Hearing his question, Ziling replied with pride, “Of course. I’ve unlocked one seal, my power has grown much stronger—equivalent to a top-tier artifact. Without the boost, how else could I take human form?”

Cold Flame was truly happy for Ziling, and also for himself, now possessing a stronger weapon.

Returning from the sea of consciousness, Cold Flame looked out over the fearful crowd—both vampires and Round Table knights.

He reached out to grasp the floating purple sword. The moment he touched it, a blinding purple light flashed, and the sword vanished into his body with a “whoosh.”

Like a mighty figure disdainful of the ages, overlooking the earth, Cold Flame now seemed utterly unreachable. Even the knights who had challenged him began to feel inferior, doubting whether they could really defeat him.

The fear flickered only briefly through their minds before being swiftly suppressed. Who were they? Knights of the Round Table, loyal to King Arthur! Loyalty, courage, and honor were their creed.

With a roar, Percival was the first to react, and the other knights quickly came to their senses, their fighting spirit rekindled.

Alas—Cold Flame shook his head. This was not the result he wanted.

With a flick of both hands, a fierce wind swept toward the knights like a raging tide. They braced themselves, as if facing a great enemy, focusing their attention, hoping that together they could withstand Cold Flame’s attack.

“God said: Let there be light, and there was light!” The twelve knights chanted in unison, busy with their weapons—swords raised, spears poised, cups held high. “God said: The opposite of light is darkness, and there was darkness!” Golden light flared, an imposing display. “God said: Let light and darkness be separated, and there was ‘day’ and ‘night’!” They shouted with all their strength, and the gold light surged, the ground sank into a five-meter-deep pit, cracks spreading far and wide.

“A worm shaking a tree!” Cold Flame sneered, abruptly increasing his power. The knights felt the pressure redouble; in truth, resisting his wind was like trying to block a chariot with their arms—utterly futile.

“Pfft,” “Pfft,” “Pfft”… Each spat blood, faces pale and dispirited, their earlier resolve gone, hearts filled with terror.

Cold Flame considered whether to act further, when a sudden inspiration flashed in his mind. He addressed the vampires: “New guests have arrived. These knights are yours—let me go meet our visitor.”

With that, not waiting for the vampires to respond, Cold Flame’s figure flickered and vanished before their eyes.

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Friendly recommendation for transformation novels: Blue Transformation, Gamil World, Soul Possession, Twin Fates, Elegy, The Lost Key.

Fantasy and time travel: Anime China (highly recommended, completed), New Anime China (ongoing, infinitely exciting!), Dreaming Back to ’97 (completed, quite thrilling!).

Also, please help promote this book—thank you!