Things that shouldn’t be touched, a door of slaughter that shouldn’t be opened, a demon’s seal that shouldn’t be broken… He thought that Ye Sheng had died in the Bronze City because he had taken these blades.
“We suspect they were forged to kill other First Generation dragons,” Anjou said softly. “Each of the seven weapons corresponds to a different weakness of the Monarchs: Pride, Envy, Wrath, Sloth, Greed, Gluttony, and Lust. Norton intended to judge his seven brothers using his ultimate achievement in alchemy. The ancient Hebrew on its exterior translates to: ‘The bloodline of every king shall end by the sword!’”
“Don’t joke around—none of the Dragon Kings sound lustful. Was ‘Lust’ forged especially for you, Principal?” Finger said. “And why would he want to kill the other Dragon Kings? Shouldn’t they unite to take us down first?”
“Dragons are a species that worship strength. Their kinship is nothing compared to their reverence for power. If they believe their brother is too weak to continue existing, they will not hesitate to start a war to destroy and devour him. The rise and fall of the Dragon Raja is because of this violent tradition. The Dragon Raja is always ruled by a king, and a king’s fate is to be killed by a new king. This is how they pass on their power,” Anjou said.
“So when he forged these weapons, he had already started the countdown to his brothers’ lives?” Chu Zihang asked.
Anjou nodded.
“But then he raged over his brother being killed by us?”
“Dragons are a strange species. They devour their kin savagely, yet mourn their kin’s death deeply. It’s said that after the Black Emperor devoured the White Empress, he howled in agony, flying to the highest point in the sky, then diving straight into the deepest part of the ocean, breaking the ice of the harsh winter, repeating this seven times,” Anjou said.
“He sounds like a conflicted, artsy young man,” Finger muttered. “But can this thing really kill a Dragon King? Especially the smallest one… can it even pierce dragon scales?”
“Not yet, because what you’re seeing isn’t the true Seven Deadly Sins.” The vice principal pulled each of the swords out and placed them back in the scabbard. He bit his finger, raising it to let everyone see the blood, then slowly smeared it onto the scabbard. The blood rapidly filled the inscriptions on the scabbard.
“Step back—it’s about to wake up.” The vice principal signaled everyone to move back. He didn’t need to say it; everyone had already stepped back. They could all feel it—the change. It came to life, as if there were a heart beating inside the scabbard—not just one, but seven. Seven swords awakened simultaneously, and their heartbeats merged—each distinct, yet pounding together.
Dark red vine-like patterns emerged on the surface of the scabbard, resembling veins, with a beating heart pumping restless blood throughout.
Cold sweat beaded on Lu Mingfei’s forehead as he remembered the scene from the bottom of the Three Gorges. Back then, the set of swords had felt just like this. Holding it was like holding the body of a dragon! This was its true form—it had to be awakened with blood.
“Now, let’s try drawing the swords, starting with Mingfei,” the vice principal said.
Lu Mingfei was reluctant to approach this thing. No normal person would want to get close to such a violent weapon, somewhere between a living and a dead thing. But fortunately, this wasn’t his first time drawing these weapons—he was the one who had truly used them before, though he couldn’t say that. He walked up to the table obediently, unlocked the latch, took a deep breath, and gripped the smallest dagger, Lust, shaped like a Japanese tantō. There was another force within the scabbard holding onto the dagger tightly. Lu Mingfei’s face turned red, and he used all his strength. Suddenly, he lost his balance, falling to the ground with the drawn dagger.
“First stage passed. Now try drawing the others,” the vice principal said. “After the awakening, the swords have a strong magnetic force holding them to the scabbard. The larger they are, the harder it is to draw them.”
“I really can’t,” Lu Mingfei shook his head, “I already gave it everything.”
“Try again,” the vice principal’s tone brooked no refusal. “The second one, Gluttony!”
Lu Mingfei gripped the handle of the yatagan. This time, the force inside the scabbard was ten times that of Lust. The blade slowly left the scabbard, but after only an inch, Lu Mingfei lost strength and slumped to the ground, panting heavily.
“Next, Greed,” the vice principal said calmly.
“Hey, I couldn’t even draw the second-to-last one!” Lu Mingfei said, his eyebrows drooping.
“Just try. Trying won’t kill you—at most, you might sprain an arm or something. Don’t slack off, or I’ll dock your grade points!” the vice principal threatened menacingly.
Greed barely moved from the scabbard before being pulled back, while Sloth, true to its name, lay lazily in the scabbard, only trembling slightly despite Lu Mingfei’s efforts. The Han Eight-Edge sword Pride, the tachi Envy, and the mighty Zhanmadao Wrath remained completely still. Lu Mingfei even jumped onto the table, stomping on the scabbard for leverage, perfectly embodying the futility of “an ant trying to shake a tree.”
“That’s enough. Next, Finger.” The vice principal clapped his hands.
Freed from his restraints, Finger smugly rolled up his sleeves, flexing his iron-hard biceps in front of Lu Mingfei. He really did have a pair of strong arms. He successfully drew Greed, waving the Scottish claymore with a satisfied grin. But beyond that, he also hit a wall, just like Lu Mingfei.
“Finally, Chu Zihang,” the vice principal said. “Consider this a test—do your best.”
“Yes.” Chu Zihang walked to the table, breathing slowly. He didn’t have Finger’s muscular arms; his physical training focused on Tai Chi, power that exploded from within soft movements—potentially far stronger than pure brute force.
Drawing Lust was effortless, as if pulling chopsticks from a holder. When drawing Gluttony, Chu Zihang used a horse stance, focusing his breath on his dantian, and succeeded on his first attempt. Finger’s smugness disappeared—he had struggled a lot with those two blades. Chu Zihang grasped the hilt of Greed, focusing his mind entirely, his long breath seemingly flowing from his lungs to his fingertips—then exerted his strength.
Blood dripped onto the desk as Chu Zihang stood there, silently staring at his palm. Lu Mingfei and Finger were both stunned. They had both thought Chu Zihang could at least draw Wrath. Judging from his earlier draws, he still had some strength left in reserve. But the Scottish claymore had not budged. The densely packed metal scales on the hilt had opened, cutting his palm. Only after Chu Zihang removed his hand did the scales slowly retract.
He had been rejected by Greed.
“The test is over, dismissed!” The vice principal snapped his fingers. “Schneider, Guderian, Mingfei, and Finger, come with me. The principal wants to speak to the students who didn’t pass.”