Chapter 188: The Kiss of Doom (3)

Ziyan sighed deeply. She knew all too well that she had been tied to Luodongjie’s war chariot, bound to his quest for vengeance. Yet, she had no choice but to fight.

Ling Ziyan raised her hands high, fingers forming a gesture—forward, and then a wiping motion.

This meant death.

Mingse had been cultivated for ten years, and had never once allowed a witness to survive an encounter. This was the rule, for both Mingse and the Empire.

To have seen was to die.

Everyone understood this, and Long Yun understood it too. In fact, Long Yun was aware of Mingse’s existence because he once had a friend named Situ Hai.

This friend was hailed as the greatest wandering swordsman in the universe. At an extremely young age, he had already been recognized as a Grand Swordsman, even gaining a reputation as a contender for the title of the universe’s greatest swordsman.

But Situ Hai had abandoned all honors, choosing instead to travel freely across star systems, opposing the resistance forces that dared to stand against the Empire. In the end, just two of them had successfully resisted the Empire’s invincible First Fleet.

Situ Hai once told Long Yun that in this universe, no one’s sword should be feared. Because a sword is both a weapon and a visible threat. When you can see the blade, when you can detect the killing move, it is not truly terrifying. Even if you die by it, it is merely death—nothing to fear.

But Mingse was different. Even Situ Hai, the universe’s greatest swordsman, the Grand Swordsman who could pierce a spaceship with a single strike, had shown fear in his eyes.

Mingse was an entirely different kind of power. It was darkness incarnate—so dark that all the shades of night combined could not equal even a fraction of its depth. It was powerful—so powerful that the Emperor of the Empire would rather abandon his entire fleet than part with the Mingse Assassins. It was terrifying—not because of its blades, but because it could create illusions. It could read minds, then conjure the most horrifying, unbearable visions to shatter a person’s will.

It was a feeling so unbearable that one could not even bear to look back. When the pain and sorrow replayed over and over, no one could retain the strength to fight.

That was why Situ Hai repeatedly warned Long Yun: you could offend any swordsman in the Empire, but never, ever face Mingse, for it would make your life a living hell.

Long Yun had remembered this warning well—even after Situ Hai had taken away Long Yun’s wife.

But now, Long Yun had no choice but to face it. When he saw Ling Ziyan’s gesture, he knew his fate had already been sealed.

Luodongjie, however, offered them a chance with feigned kindness: “Tell me where Yang Hao is, and I will spare one of you.”

One person—but at the cost of betraying Yang Hao.

Long Yun sneered, not even bothering to ask the others. Slowly and powerfully, he drew his broadsword, suddenly filled with a surge of fierce determination. “To fight against Mingse—this is the honor of a true warrior.”

Beside Long Yun, Maya, though gravely wounded, still dispersed her original form and gathered all her combat energy to its peak. Da Nuo and Xiao Yan had already drawn their swords, standing back to back in a battle stance.

No one from Hao Jian Corps would ever yield under threat, especially not aboard their own ship.

Moreover, Long Yun still had strength left to fight.

On Long Yun’s broadsword, a brilliant glow emerged. The energy within his body was different from others—it manifested as a red mist, far more refined than the energy of ordinary warriors.

This was the result of his training under the guidance of Hun Yuanzi. While the Force techniques of the Galactic Empire were said to be warrior arts, in truth they were designed to prevent true awakening, deliberately misleading practitioners. Long Yun’s family had a strong foundation in cultivation, and with Hun Yuanzi’s guidance, his strength had grown rapidly.

It wasn’t just generals like Luodongjie, who relied on powerful ships and heavy artillery, who couldn’t match him. Even among the current group, experts like Ling Ziyan would likely be no match for Long Yun.

Now, Long Yun had broken through to the fifteenth level, entering the realm of Sword Master. Thus, he faced his enemies without fear, believing his blade alone would be enough to protect those beside him. In his eyes, the members of Mingse didn’t seem particularly formidable. If he struck first, wielding his family’s heavy sword, he could at least cut down two of them.

Long Yun’s reasoning wasn’t wrong. Although Mingse had used illusions to disable the *Doom’s Kiss* and catch Maya off guard, individually, each member of Mingse didn’t seem especially strong.

Filled with fierce determination, Long Yun raised his sword high, channeling all his strength into the blade’s tip. He had trained for so long, yet had never truly revealed his full power. For a warrior, that was a deep regret. But today, that regret would end. Long Yun believed that this single strike would change the entire battle and restore his family’s honor as one of the most respected in the Galactic Empire.

Just a few days ago, Long Yun had practiced his sword on a silicon mountain at the Three-Crystal Sea. With one strike, he had shattered the entire mountain, leaving a hundred-meter-deep crater in its center.

Though that strike would leave him drained of all strength and energy, he believed it would be enough. Once this world-shaking strike was unleashed, no matter the opponent—be it Mingse, Ling Ziyan, or Luodongjie—they would have no strength left to fight.

So Long Yun prepared to unleash everything.

But then the sky darkened.

No one had time to wonder—where was the sky on a spaceship? Yet the impending clash suddenly felt surreal.

Long Yun’s broadsword was already glowing with blinding light, all his energy condensed into one point. At this moment, he had to strike. He was at the breaking point—he had no choice but to release.

But he hesitated. His sword remained raised, his posture strange, and his entire aura began to wane. The earlier heroic spirit vanished, his fiery eyes dimming, even turning into shock.

Because in Long Yun’s eyes, everything had changed. Before him, there were no longer any enemies—no Mingse, no Luodongjie. Only a young woman, smiling sadly, slowly approaching him.

Long Yun’s beard and hair bristled with rage, yet he could not bring himself to strike. The woman before him was his former wife, the woman he had once loved most—the woman who had run away with Situ Hai.

It was an illusion. Long Yun knew it was an illusion created by Mingse.

As the Empire’s top combat unit and elite assassin force, Mingse’s signature technique was killing through illusions. This had been their specialty since the group’s inception, and after further training by a certain elder in the Imperial Senate, the technique had become even more refined.

Now, Mingse could exploit their opponent’s greatest weakness, their deepest fear, using it to suppress their strength and break their will before battle even began.

Here, Long Yun had been the strongest fighter, capable of slicing through mountains with a single strike. But now, his sword could not even kill a chicken. He trembled all over, tears filling his eyes, paralyzed and helpless, ready to be captured.

Besides Long Yun, Maya was likely the second strongest here, but her situation was no better. Mingse had also found her weakness. In the illusion, Maya saw the destruction of Saint Star, the day her parents and siblings were killed one by one during the Day of Divine Wrath. The screams echoed in her ears, torturing her mind. This woman could no longer hold her original form, collapsing to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.

As each of them was tormented by illusions and rendered helpless, Ling Ziyan gave a signal to her subordinates. The few black-clad figures, like shadows in a mist, each drew a black scimitar and floated toward Long Yun and the others.

The Final Judgment.

Ling Ziyan sighed inwardly, though her expression remained calm. She thought of Mingse’s ultimate technique—the Final Judgment. Each time her subordinates sliced open their opponent’s neck with their black blades and saw the dark red blood spray out, she felt a strange melancholy.

These people did not die in battle, but in their own memories and past.

And who among them had no memories?

As she thought this, the sky seemed to darken even further. Ling Ziyan felt a strange unease—perhaps she was the only one still capable of noticing such things. While Mingse could create illusions targeting a person’s innermost fears, it required immense energy. There was no way they could have created a darkened sky inside a spaceship.

Yet the atmosphere was undeniably eerie. The ship’s cabin seemed to be bathed in the glow of a setting sun—beautiful, yet tinged with a quiet sorrow.

This sorrow strangely fit the current scene. Ling Ziyan watched as the Mingse assassins raised their black blades toward Long Yun’s neck, the same crimson blood about to spray into the air. She closed her eyes, unwilling to witness the moment.

But she could still hear it—the hiss of blood slicing through the wind. That sound was even crueler than sight.

The black blade was nearly at Long Yun’s throat, and he still stood helpless, sword raised, unable to move.

He was ready to die.

All seemed lost. Even a master like Heide would likely be unable to change the outcome. Who could stop a wild horse once it had bolted? Who could halt the swing of a scimitar?

But then the sky was no longer dark. Or rather, it suddenly blazed with the light of a hundred suns.

There was no sky inside a spaceship, yet now it was as if the radiance of a thousand suns had converged here. From the top of the cabin, three meters above, a brilliant golden light erupted, like a sword piercing the eyes, wounding the soul, and shattering all darkness and illusions.

Everything came to an abrupt halt.