Chapter Seventy-Six: The Resentment of the Chronicles, Sword Pointed at the Kingdom of Kou

After putting away the spirit stone, I was about to leave when my divine sense caught a trace of an unusual aura within the shattered remnants of the demonic heart. It was an energy fluctuation of the same origin as the demonic heart, yet it brimmed with intense slaughter and deep-seated resentment, its direction pointing far across the eastern sea.

With a wave of my hand, a fragment of the demonic heart tainted by this aura flew into my grasp. Closing my eyes, I sent my spirit into it, tracing it to its source.

In an instant, countless chaotic images flooded my mind.

I saw, more than a century ago, a short, fierce-eyed warrior from the Bandit Nation, wielding an eerie long blade, rampaging across the land of China. That blade seemed almost alive, greedily devouring the blood and grievances of the dead.

I saw, too, that this warrior had once struck a deal with the demonic sect of the era, exchanging a wisp of “blade soul” stripped from his demonic sword for a rapid cultivation technique. That wisp of blade soul was ultimately fused into the progenitor’s demonic heart, becoming a part of it.

The demon blade—Muramasa.

My eyes flew open, a chilling flash of murderous intent flickering within them.

I recalled, from the history books at Xinhua Bookstore, those accounts soaked in blood and tears. I had never forgotten. The Bandit Nation invaded our China, oppressed our people, burning, killing, and looting, committing every atrocity imaginable. Three hundred thousand wrongful souls beneath the walls of Nanjing, the monstrous crimes of Unit 731—each deed too numerous to record!

I had thought that such mundane hatreds and national enmities had been dulled by my years of cultivation. Yet, when this trace of aura, so intimately tied to that history, appeared before me, I realized that some things are etched into the bones and soul—never to be erased.

A killing intent unlike any I had ever known boiled within me.

When I dealt with the Tang Clan, I repaid enmity with virtue, for the sake of legacy.

With the demonic sect, I established order, for the sake of law.

But this time—it was different.

“Father, what’s wrong?” Yi Yi asked, sensing the terrifying change in my aura—a mixture of grief, icy fury, and boundless intent to kill that even made her heart quiver.

I took a deep breath, suppressing the surging emotions, and looked steadily at her, enunciating each word: “Yi Yi, our next destination is the Bandit Nation.”

“There, we will find clues to the fifth spirit stone.”

“And there are some debts—blood debts—that as Chinese people, we must settle!”

Bandit Nation, Sanju County, Iga City.

This was the famed homeland of the ninja, birthplace and headquarters of the Iga style.

Night had fallen like ink; a sliver of moon hung in the sky, casting a cold, pale light.

Two figures, as silent as phantoms, appeared outside the heavily guarded, ancient manor housing the Iga headquarters.

It was Yi Yi and me.

We had not arrived by any conventional means, but had torn through space itself, crossing the Eastern Sea.

“Father, the cultivators here are strange,” Yi Yi’s spiritual sense swept through the manor. “They’re like shadows, hidden in every corner, their aura secretive, full of murderous intent.”

“They call themselves ninja,” I replied coldly, my voice devoid of all emotion. “A pack of rats lurking in the gutters, masters of ambush, assassination, and… raising their blades against our Chinese people.”

My divine sense had already enveloped the entire manor.

I “saw” in the depths below, a secret training ground, where hundreds of ninja endured brutal training.

I also “saw” in their hidden chambers, they venerated bloodstained trophies—armor of generals from dynasties past, porcelain from the Ming era, even scrolls recording the so-called “achievements” their ancestors wrought on Chinese soil.

Each one—a piece of evidence.

Each page—written in blood.

“Yi Yi,” I turned to her, “what follows will be bloody. But remember, those we kill are not people. They are executioners paying the price for a sea of blood debts.”

Yi Yi nodded solemnly, cold fire burning in her eyes. “I understand, Father!”

I said nothing more. Raising my hand toward the manor, I gently clenched my fist.

“Tonight, I’ll sever your so-called ‘Way of the Ninja’ forever.”

“Domain: Sword Prison!”

Hummm—

In an instant, with the Iga manor at its center, the space for miles around was sealed. Countless golden sword auras, condensed from Nascent Soul power, appeared out of thin air—densely packed, numbering in the thousands, filling every corner, forming an inescapable prison of blades.

Within the manor, all the ninja felt the overwhelming pressure of death, searing into their very souls.

“Enemy attack!!”

The shrill alarm barely sounded.

I tightened my fist.

“Perish.”

The word was like the final pronouncement of the Reaper.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—

Instantly, tens of thousands of sword energies swept in a crisscrossing storm, unleashing the ultimate, most dazzling, and most merciless tempest of death within the sealed space.

No matter if they hid underground or in secret chambers, no matter if they were elite, middle, or novice ninja—before my sword domain, there was no distinction.

Where the sword aura passed, all was annihilated.

In moments, blood stained the ancient manor crimson.

The screams were silenced before they could escape, swallowed by the relentless sword storm.

In less than ten heartbeats.

The storm stilled; the sword energy faded.

The entire Iga headquarters—over five hundred ninja—was erased from the world.

All that remained was a shattered, blood-soaked ruin.

With Yi Yi at my side, I strode through the wreckage as if through an empty field.

The first stop of our journey to the Bandit Nation: the Iga clan, wiped out.

The news that the Iga style had been razed overnight, its entire ninja population vanishing into thin air, detonated like a nuclear blast within the Bandit Nation’s supernatural world, spreading unprecedented terror.

This was not a battle—it was a purging.

No trace of the perpetrator remained at the scene; only a manor ground to dust by sword energy, and a chilling rumor: “Divine Retribution.”

The highest authority in the Bandit Nation’s supernatural world—the Hall of Yin and Yang—immediately entered its highest state of alert.

The Hall of Yin and Yang, in the ancient capital of Kyoto, was a vast complex blending classical and modern architecture. It was the gathering place of the nation’s top onmyoji, priests, and exorcists.

At this moment, in the hall’s innermost chamber, “The Amaterasu Room,” the atmosphere was so tense it seemed to drip with unease.

At the head sat the supreme chief of the Hall, the most powerful onmyoji of the era—Abe Koken. He wore white ceremonial robes, his face wizened but his eyes as sharp as a hawk’s.

“Iga’s ‘Heavenly Cloud’ barrier didn’t even tremble—an entire school vanished without a trace,” a young shrine maiden reported, her voice trembling. She had just returned from the scene; terror still lingered on her face. “What remains is a… sword intent, supreme and pure, that we cannot comprehend. It felt as if a god had descended to mete out punishment.”

“A god?” Abe Koken snorted coldly, his ancient face dark as thunder. “Our nation’s Amaterasu would never punish her children in such a way! This must be an invader—a monster from across the sea!”

His words sent a chill through everyone present.

Just then, the giant crystal ball used for divination in the hall’s center began to flare and hum with an ear-piercing sound, without warning.

“Not good! An unimaginably powerful being is approaching Kyoto!” cried the onmyoji monitoring the crystal, panic in his voice.

Abe Koken’s expression changed drastically. He shot to his feet. “Activate Kyoto’s Grand Barrier! Maximum level! Now!”

But it was already too late.

A calm, infinitely cold voice, as if crossing the boundaries of time itself, echoed directly in every mind present.

“No need to waste your efforts.”

At those words, the roof of the Amaterasu Room silently vanished into nothingness.

Sunlight—and two silhouettes—poured in.

Yi Yi and I hovered in the air above the Hall of Yin and Yang, gazing down at the mortified leaders of the Bandit Nation.

“Who… who are you?!” Abe Koken demanded, barely containing his terror.

“Debt collectors.”

My gaze was icy, my divine sense already locked onto the Hall’s treasury, where trophies equally stained with the blood of my people were kept.

“Iga was your claws. Now, it’s time for the heads that planned the deeds.”

“Bakayaro! Arrogant Chinese!” roared a hot-blooded exorcist, drawing his vajra club and chanting, “Fudo Myoo’s Fire Curse!”

A ball of exorcising fire roared toward me.

I didn’t even glance at him. I simply blew gently.

The fire, like a candle in the wind, was snuffed out in an instant. The exorcist himself, like a sand painting scattered by a breeze, crumbled to ash from head to toe.

The hall fell deathly silent.

All were petrified by such godlike power.

Abe Koken trembled from head to foot. He finally understood—what they faced was an existence from an entirely different plane.

“What… what do you want?” he forced out, using all his strength.

“I said—collecting debts.”

I reached toward the Hall’s treasury and squeezed the air.

Boom!

The earth split open, and the entire treasury was wrenched from the depths by an invisible force, rising before me.

With a thought, the treasury doors burst asunder. The so-called trophies—ancient Chinese swords, imperial seals, golden decrees—each flew out, circling me in the air, wailing with grief.

“These belong to China. Today, they return to their rightful owner.”

“As for you…”

My gaze returned to Abe Koken and his cohorts, now utterly devoid of mercy.

“Atonement—for your ancestors’ sins.”

I raised my hand, ready to purge this place as I had the Iga clan.

But just then, Abe Koken suddenly began to laugh maniacally. “Hahaha! Do you think you’ve won? Do you think the Bandit Nation’s guardians are so easily destroyed?!”

He bit his tongue, spraying blood, forming a bizarre seal with his hands as he shrieked toward the heart of Kyoto:

“Welcome, ultimate weapon of the Yamato race—Soul of the Demon Blade Muramasa! Slay our enemies before us!”