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ArabicChat Group Crossover: My System Simulates Infinite Anime Worlds — Chapter 52
Chapter 52: The Unexpected Joy of Teasing a High Elder
The Foxian pilot expertly handled the starskiff, bringing it to a halt in the silent expanse of the cosmos.
You stepped directly out into the void. Drawing the longsword from your waist, you raised it high. Yet, for all its presence, the blade emitted no terrifying surge of energy, no world-shaking fluctuations. It was simply there, a sliver of darkness against the greater dark.
You whispered, your voice a mere breath in the vacuum, yet carrying the weight of an immutable law. “The end of all things is death. Death is a new beginning, and the new is but the start of another death. Yet, all of this is meaningless before that which should not exist. Die.”
As the final word fell, a soundless death knell tolled across the fabric of space. You swung the longsword, a gentle, deliberate arc from top to bottom.
In that instant, a sliver of absolute blackness bloomed from the blade, merging smoothly with the pitch-black cosmos. It was not a light, but an absence—a wave of pure Nihility that expanded at an impossible speed, carrying the chilling finality of the grave as it swept across the grotesque, living celestial body.
The fleshy, writhing tentacles the planet-creature had extended were the first to meet the encroaching void. They did not burn or explode; they were simply… unmade. The black aura of death corrupted them instantly, turning them to ash that dissipated into nothingness. The living planet itself, a horrifying sphere of raw flesh and pulsing veins, began to crumble, its entire mass turning into fine black dust that scattered into the cosmic winds, taking the countless Followers of Abundance upon its surface with it into oblivion.
You remained utterly oblivious to the deep shock your single action had sent rippling through the entire Xianzhou Alliance.
On the bridges of the other Xianzhou flagships, jaws were agape. More than a few high-ranking officials were frantically combing through their memories, desperately trying to recall if they had ever slighted you in the past.
The ones who felt the chill of true fear, however, were the Vidyadhara Elders of the Luofu. They knew well how often they had spoken ill of you behind your back, and a terrifying image now consumed their thoughts: that same sword, swung in their direction, for a few careless words that had unfortunately reached your ears.
Unaware of their anxieties, you boarded the starskiff and made for the half-destroyed Cangcheng. With its engines obliterated and half its structure torn asunder, the ship was clearly a lost cause.
As you surveyed the wreckage, your eyes briefly fell upon a dark-skinned trainee bearing the sigil of the Destruction, and moments later, a woman whose form seemed assembled from disparate, doll-like parts. As your gaze passed over them, you felt two new, distinct streams of Path-related power manifest within you. You merely sighed, accepting the additions without comment.
Entering the crippled Xianzhou ship, you were met with a grim sight. The vessel was overrun with those who had succumbed to the Mara, their sanity shattered. There were hardly any lucid survivors left. You had only destroyed the external threat, the living planet; the internal decay of the Cangcheng had already taken its toll.
Not long after, your communicator chimed. The General’s face appeared on the screen. You stated your location, tersely advised him to dispatch a medical fleet immediately, and then severed the connection.
With a flick of your wrist, the longsword cleared a path through the Mara-Struck monstrosities before you.
Amidst the chaos, one sight left a particularly deep impression: a young, white-haired girl, weeping uncontrollably. The sound of her wails grated on your nerves.
Finding your patience worn thin, you strode over and delivered two sharp, stinging slaps across her cheeks. As she stared up at you in stunned silence, you jabbed a finger toward her nose and delivered a blistering lecture. Miraculously, she stopped crying.
Seeing a natural aptitude for the sword in the girl’s stance, even in her distress, you decided to take her under your wing. You also had a peculiar thought: she had the potential to become a General.
Through your long years of observation, you had discovered a curious pattern. Most of the current Xianzhou Generals possessed silvery-white hair, or at the very least, a shade of whitish-grey. Every time an important meeting was held, the holographic projections arrayed before you were a sea of white and grey heads, with very few other colors mixed in.
From this, you had logically concluded that a full head of white hair must be a prerequisite for becoming a General.
After you resolved the crisis of the living planet and returned to the Luofu, the General sought you out. He engaged you in a long, rambling conversation and even arranged for several psychologists to provide you with counseling.
You knew what they were worried about. That single sword strike had been saturated with the aura of Nihility. You calmly assured them that you were perfectly fine, stating with absolute certainty that you would not become one of Lan’s Self-Annihilators.
You couldn’t be sure, but it seemed you had said the exact wrong thing.
Their nervousness intensified. The Vidyadhara Elders, in particular, scrambled to send a deluge of lavish gifts and profuse apologies.
You happily accepted them all. Why turn down free goods? Besides, the Vidyadhara were famously wealthy; what was the harm in relieving them of a few trinkets?
In the time that followed, you began to train your new disciple, even though the little crybaby showed no interest in learning the sword.
Under your “percussive” pedagogy—ahem, your “education of love”—she quickly learned to behave. You subjected the girl, Jingliu, to a strict, hellish training regimen, frequently tossing her onto active battlefields to face the Followers of Abundance.
A blade technique suited for its wielder cannot be forged in the sterile quiet of a training hall; it must be tempered in the crucible of a true battlefield.
As your disciple grew year after year, she blossomed, becoming ever more graceful and elegant. She was soon hailed as the greatest beauty among the Cloud Knights.
In the blink of an eye, four hundred years passed. In that time, Jingliu’s progress was astonishing. The girl who once hadn’t dared to even draw her sword on the battlefield had become a veritable mad dog in the heat of combat.
Much else had changed in those four centuries. The High Elder, who had once suffered your beatings an average of three times a day, had completed his cycle and sunk into the Scalegorge Waterscape to await his next reincarnation. That fellow, Teng Xiao, had successfully ascended to the position of General, proving your theory correct: to become a General, one really did need a head of white hair.
During these years, however, you noticed your disciple was beginning to act strangely. You suspected you might have trained her a little too hard, as she seemed to have developed a rebellious, master-defying streak. If not for your lightning-fast reactions, you would have fallen for her “traps” on several occasions.
You simply couldn’t understand why Jingliu had become so insubordinate. Your educational methods should have produced a perfectly obedient disciple. Could it be she had a latent masochistic streak?
Another two hundred years drifted by. During this period, Jingliu achieved one great military victory after another. Seizing the opportunity, you offloaded all of your official duties and positions onto her. Finally free from responsibility, you officially entered a life of retirement.
Your days became beautifully simple, spent lounging on a reclining chair and occasionally taking your pet thrush out for a stroll.
But as you watched Jingliu practicing her sword in the courtyard, a sense of helplessness washed over you. In two hundred years, her strange behavior hadn’t changed at all, which only strengthened a nagging worry. You were certain that if you were to suddenly leave this world, your disciple would undoubtedly succumb to the Mara.
You wondered if she would believe you if you told her you could be resurrected in another world. It seemed impossible. Even using the abilities of a Memokeeper or the tricks of a Fathom-Riddler, the concept was too fantastic.
As a precaution, you decided to take out an insurance policy. You explored the study of Illusionary Sword Intent and, for ten straight years, cast illusions upon Jingliu every night as she slept.
The result was… not what you expected. Looking at Jingliu, who was now clutching your arm with her head resting peacefully on your shoulder, you wanted to slap yourself. The last ten years had been a complete waste, and had, in fact, produced the exact opposite of the intended effect.
This had to be Aha’s doing, you grumbled internally. If not for that meddling Aeon of Elation, your plan would have succeeded long ago.
Another two hundred-odd years passed.
Then, one day, the High Elder suddenly revived. On the first day of her new life, she retained a petite, childlike form, her full memories not yet returned.
She came running into your courtyard with a pitter-patter of tiny feet, a small, ornamental spear clutched in her hands. A little dragon tail swished back and forth behind her. It looked adorable. In fact, it was adorable.
Holding the spear, she launched a lazy, half-hearted thrust at you.
You casually deflected the “attack” with two fingers and flicked her lightly on the forehead.
The Vidyadhara High Elder, freshly revived, immediately clapped her hands to her forehead. Her eyes instantly turned red, and her little face scrunched up as tears began to well.
She muttered to herself, a mantra against the coming waterworks. “Must not cry, must not cry. I am the Vidyadhara High Elder; I absolutely must not cry.”
Finding her struggle immensely amusing, you flicked a finger, sending a tiny sliver of sword qi to tap the exact spot you had just flicked, which was already beginning to swell.
The little High Elder was, after all, still a child. Her personality matched her form, and your second provocation was too much to bear. She burst into tears with a loud “Waaah!” The cry was impressively loud; as expected of a Vidyadhara High Elder, even her wailing was more resonant than others’.
You ignored her, and eventually, the storm of crying subsided into sniffles.
You watched as the little High Elder, her face a mask of cherubic fury, ran towards you. Sniffling, with a runny nose, she pointed a tiny finger at you and shouted in a squeaky, babyish voice, “Just you wait! One day, I will defeat you!”