The world did not change slowly when the third nail shattered. It did not fade or blur or shift gradually from one state to another. It broke. The way a wall breaks when the foundation gives way. The way a dam breaks when the pressure becomes too great. The way a man breaks when he has been holding something together for fifty years and finally, finally lets go.
One moment, Gu Yao was standing in the canyon, his body trembling, his hands shaking, the hammer heavy in his grip. The next moment, he was somewhere else entirely. He was still in the canyon, still standing, still holding the hammer—but he was seeing things he had never seen before. Things he had forgotten he could see. Things that had been locked away so long ago that he had stopped believing they existed.
The walls of the canyon were no longer just stone. They were layers of time, compressed and folded, each stratum a record of something that had happened here. He could see the river that had carved this gorge, long dried up, its ancient bed now nothing but a scar on the landscape. He could see the animals that had passed through, the people who had sheltered here, the battles that had been fought. He could see the blood that had soaked into the stone, the bones that had been buried beneath it, the spirits that still lingered, tethered to the place where they had died.
The air was no longer empty. It was thick with currents, invisible rivers of energy that flowed through the canyon like water through a streambed. He could see the tiny motes of residual spiritual energy, flickering like dying embers, and he could see the way they moved, the way they swirled around the refugees, drawn to their warmth like moths to a flame. He could see the way the energy pooled in the corners of the canyon, gathering in the shadows, waiting for something to stir it.
He could hear everything. The heartbeat of every person in the canyon, a thousand different rhythms, a thousand different fears. He could hear the blood pumping through their veins, the air moving through their lungs, the thoughts churning in their minds like storm clouds gathering on a distant horizon. He could hear the two cultivators who were still standing, their hearts racing, their breath quick and shallow, their bodies screaming with the need to either fight or flee.
Qing Xuan and Zi Ming had not moved. They were frozen, their eyes wide, their faces pale. They had felt the change. They had felt the seal break. They had felt the power that had been locked away for fifty years surge back into the world like water through a broken dam. It was not the power of cultivation, the refined and tempered energy that they had spent their lives mastering. It was something older. Something rawer. Something that had been buried so deep in the earth that even the Sects had forgotten it existed.
"What have you done?" Qing Xuan whispered. His voice was small, barely audible above the pounding of his own heart. "What have you done to yourself?"
Gu Yao did not answer. He was still adjusting to the new world around him, still processing the flood of information that was pouring into his mind. The third nail—the Ling-Xu Nail, the lock on his perception—had been holding back a tide for fifty years. Now that tide was unleashed, and he was drowning in it. He could see the flaws in Qing Xuan's armor, the weaknesses in Zi Ming's stance. He could see the fear in their eyes, the desperate calculation behind their frozen expressions. He could see the way their spiritual energy flickered and dimmed in the dead air of the canyon, barely sustained by the reserves they had brought with them.
And he could see the refugees. Huddled against the canyon walls, their faces pale, their bodies trembling. They had seen him fight before. They had seen him kill. But they had never seen him like this. They had never seen the thing that had been locked away inside him. To them, he was no longer the wounded blacksmith who had led them out of Qingzhou. He was something else. Something terrifying. Something that wore the shape of a man but had the eyes of a god.
"I'm still me," he said. His voice sounded strange to his own ears, deeper and more resonant, as if it were coming from a great distance. "I'm still the same man."
But he could see the doubt in their eyes. He could see the way they shrank back, the way they pressed themselves against the stone. He had become something different in their eyes, something that was no longer quite human. He had become the very thing they had been running from.
"Kill him!" Zi Ming shouted. He had recovered from his initial shock, his face twisted into something ugly. "He's vulnerable! The change is still happening! Kill him now before he finishes whatever he's doing!"
Qing Xuan hesitated. He had seen the change. He had felt the power. He knew that attacking now was dangerous, perhaps fatal. But Zi Ming was already moving, his twin blades raised, his body a blur of purple light that cut through the grey gloom of the canyon like a knife through silk.
Gu Yao saw him coming. He saw the trajectory of the attack, the angle of the blades, the point where they would intersect with his body. He had always been able to read an attack, had always been able to anticipate his opponent's movements. But now it was different. Now he could see it with perfect clarity, every detail, every nuance, every possible outcome unfolding before his eyes like pages in a book.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
He stepped aside. It was a small movement, barely a shift of his weight, but it carried him out of the path of the blades with an ease that felt effortless. Zi Ming's blades passed through empty air, and he stumbled, his momentum carrying him forward. He had committed too much to the attack, had thrown himself into it with all his strength, and now he was exposed.
Gu Yao's hammer came up in a short, brutal arc. The iron head caught Zi Ming in the ribs, and the man crumpled, his body folding around the impact like paper around a stone. The sound was wet and heavy, the sound of bone breaking and organs shifting. Zi Ming's mouth opened, but no sound came out. The wind had been knocked out of him, and he was struggling to breathe.
But Zi Ming was not dead. He was tough, tougher than he looked. He rolled with the blow, came up on one knee, and lunged again. His blades were still in his hands, still sharp, still hungry.
This time, Gu Yao did not dodge. He reached out with his left hand, his fingers closing around the blade of Zi Ming's sword. The edge was sharp, sharp enough to cut through steel. It should have sheared through his fingers like paper. Instead, it stopped.
Zi Ming stared, his eyes wide with disbelief. The blade was caught in the grip of a mortal man, a man who should have been bleeding, should have been screaming, should have been dying. And yet the blade did not cut. It did not even scratch.
"What are you?" Zi Ming whispered. His voice was barely a breath, choked with fear and confusion.
"Your worst nightmare," Gu Yao said.
He squeezed. The blade shattered in his grip, fragments of spirit-iron raining down on the stone floor with a sound like broken glass. Zi Ming screamed, a sound of pure, unadulterated terror, and tried to retreat. But Gu Yao was already moving. His hand closed around Zi Ming's throat, lifting him off his feet. The man's legs kicked uselessly in the air, his hands clawing at the iron grip around his neck.
"Fifty years," Gu Yao said. "Fifty years of pain. Fifty years of silence. Fifty years of watching the world use people like you to hurt people like me." His voice was calm, almost conversational, but there was something underneath it that made Zi Ming's blood run cold. "Fifty years of waiting for the moment when I could finally stop holding back."
He squeezed. Zi Ming's eyes bulged. His face turned purple. His hands scratched uselessly at Gu Yao's arm.
"Tell me," Gu Yao said. "Did you ever think about what it would be like? To be on the other side of the hammer? To feel what it's like to have everything you are taken away from you?"
Zi Ming could not answer. He could not speak. His eyes were desperate, pleading.
Gu Yao opened his hand. Zi Ming dropped to the ground, gasping, his hands clutching his throat. He was alive. Barely.
"You're lucky," Gu Yao said. "I'm not in the mood to kill you."
Qing Xuan had not moved. He was standing where he had been, his face pale, his hands trembling. He had seen what Gu Yao could do. He had seen the power that had been unlocked. He knew that attacking was futile. He knew that staying was suicide.
"Go," Gu Yao said. "Take your partner and go. Tell them what you saw. Tell them that the lock is breaking. Tell them that I'm coming for them. Tell them that the chains are not as strong as they think."
Qing Xuan did not hesitate. He grabbed Zi Ming by the collar and dragged him into the air, his emerald light flaring as he launched himself into the sky. Within moments, they were gone, just two streaks of light fading into the grey clouds above.
The canyon was silent. The refugees were still huddled against the walls, their faces pale, their bodies trembling. They had seen him fight before. They had seen him kill. But they had never seen him like this. They had never seen the thing that had been locked away inside him.
Shen Yi was the first to move. She walked toward him, her steps slow and careful, her eyes fixed on his face. She was not afraid. She had never been afraid of him.
"Gu Yao," she said. "Look at me."
He turned. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, the power that had flooded through him seemed to recede. The world grew quieter. The colours dimmed. The voices faded. He was just a man again, standing in a canyon, holding a hammer that weighed more than he did.
"I'm still here," she said. "I'm not going anywhere."
He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come. The power was still there, surging through him, demanding to be used. The third nail was gone, and the world was still too bright, too loud, too much. He could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, threatening to crush him.
"I need to sit down," he said. His voice was strange, distant, as if it were coming from someone else.
She caught him as he fell. Her arms wrapped around him, steadying him, holding him upright. The hammer slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground.
"I've got you," she said. "I've always got you."
They remained like that for a long moment, his head resting on her shoulder, his body trembling. The refugees watched in silence, not daring to approach, not daring to speak. They had seen the power. They had seen the change. They did not know what to make of it.
"Brother Gu," Xiao Liu said. His voice was hesitant, uncertain. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Gu Yao said. But he was not fine. He was far from fine. The third nail was gone, and the world was too bright, too loud, too much. He could feel the power still surging through him, waiting for the next time he would need to use it.
"We need to move," he said at last. His voice was steadier now, more like his own. "We need to reach the Forest of All Beings before they send someone else."
"They'll send someone else," Shen Yi said. "They always send someone else."
"I know," Gu Yao said. "But we'll be ready."
He picked up the hammer. The weight was familiar, comforting. It was the only thing that made sense in this new world of too much light and too much sound.
"Let's go," he said.