The Lord God Descends into League of Legends - Chapter 8

(Thanks to friends for the rewards, here’s an extra chapter.)

With emotions surging, Mo Chen stepped across the void, singing as he went, completely unaware of the caravan at the foot of the mountain.

After flying barely two hundred li through the air, he felt that a fifth of his true essence had already been consumed, and he shook his head. Although at the peak of the Innate Realm, with the “Three Flowers Gathering at the Crown,” he could ride the wind and travel, it was still not effortless.

This was only possible because he cultivated one of the very top immortal techniques, his true essence dozens of times stronger than ordinary cultivators.

Lowering his gaze, the mountains behind him had disappeared, replaced by wilderness thick with man-high grass, and through the wilds a broad road wound its way. Just as he intended to descend, suddenly he felt the uncanny sensation of being watched.

Mo Chen’s eyes narrowed. Following his sense, he looked up into the blue sky. White clouds drifted in the clear heavens, not even a hawk in sight—yet the feeling of being spied upon only grew stronger.

His brows knit tightly as he stared higher. Suddenly, the true essence in his body surged of its own accord, rushing into his eyes. Mo Chen’s heart trembled. The meridians of the eyes were exceedingly fragile; if fierce, domineering sword essence forced its way in, he would blind himself!

Startled, he tried to halt the rushing essence, but he was still a step too late. Sword energy surged into his eyes, but instead of staying sharp and destructive, it softened into a trickling stream. Under the infusion of true essence, starlike radiance sparkled within his gaze.

Now, when he looked to the heavens, the sky abruptly dimmed—and through the void appeared a pair of violet eyes, meeting his own!

The two stared at each other for a long moment before the violet eyes slowly receded, tinged with a trace of shock.

“How very interesting this world is,” Mo Chen murmured with a faint smile.

Through those eyes, he had glimpsed beyond: a pair of bright eyes veiled by light gauze, a flawless face capable of joy and anger alike, and around her, a solemn, sacred temple.

Though she could meet his gaze across an immeasurable distance, he sensed that her cultivation was not high—merely at the threshold of the Innate Realm.

Mo Chen’s eyes still shimmered with divine light. The firmament changed, and pillars of qi luck, tall and short, thick and thin, of every color, thrust upward into the heavens. The owner of those violet eyes was rooted in the nearest crimson pillar of fortune.

“Chu Kingdom, Yingdu?” Mo Chen’s eyes dimmed back to normal, though his face showed interest.

At the same time, his curiosity about the Heaven-Severing Sword Art deepened. Clearly, it was more than just a sword technique—it could even glimpse the fates and fortunes of the world.

Chu Kingdom, Yingdu.

Since King Wu of Chu had moved the capital here 120 years ago, the city had grown into one of the most prosperous metropolises of the realm, rivaling even those of the Central Plains. Yingdu stretched over four kilometers in length and three in breadth, planned with precision and order.

At its heart stood the royal palace, sprawling across more than a hundred mu. To the left of the palace rose a towering temple, its scarlet walls carved with the image of a three-legged golden crow soaring in flight, its gilded roof tiles blazing like fire beneath the sun.

Inside, in the bright and spacious hall, at the center lay a pool nine square meters wide, its water still and crystal clear.

Beside the pool sat a graceful figure in meditation. She wore a light blue short coat over a deep-blue wide-sleeved gown that pooled like a flower around her. A purple-blue sash cinched her slender waist, perfectly accentuating her elegant form.

Her long lavender hair was coiled up with a sky-blue crystal hairpin, two locks falling gracefully on either side. Her beautiful face was half-hidden by a pale blue veil.

At her side stood a girl of fourteen or fifteen, small of stature, in a purple gown, her own violet hair gleaming, her delicate face veiled in purple gauze. Only her violet eyes were visible, wide and full of fright.

“Linglong-jie, was that… a man, or a god?” Her silvery voice trembled as it echoed in the hall.

She stared at the now-placid pool, still shivering at the vision just moments before: a man striding the skies, who across hundreds of li had sensed her elder sister’s astrological arts—and even turned them back to gaze upon her. Could such a being truly exist in this world?

“‘On this day of good omen, the High Lord smiles; his jade-hilted sword chimes like jewels…’” Yue Linglong’s pink lips murmured an ancient chant, before she said calmly, “At such a realm, what difference is there between god and man?”

Her misted gaze drifted into the void as she recalled what she had seen. In her eyes, it had been a sword—one that pierced heaven and earth, that could sever the very firmament!

“Tell King Kang: before long, a divine figure shall arrive. This is the chance for Chu to rise.” Yue Linglong spoke softly without turning.

The young girl bowed and hurried out of the hall.

“The heavens are shifting. I know not where the future will lead,” Linglong whispered to the empty air, eyes clouded. Even she could no longer discern the world’s destiny.

Hearing this, the girl trembled. Was there truly something beyond even Linglong-jie’s sight?

Several hundred li away, in Tong City.

Tong City stretched scarcely a kilometer across, its twenty thousand residents bustling, its avenues broad and smooth. All caravans traveling to Nanyue had to pass here, so though small, the city thrived with life.

The Welcoming Guests inn was the largest tavern in town, covering over two thousand square meters, with two stories. Its great hall was a sea of noise, filled with travelers.

Mo Chen paused at the door, watching the lively scene. At the center of the hall stood a thin, gray-clad elder on a low platform, recounting tales of distant lands.

Sensing Mo Chen’s gaze, the old man looked toward the door, smiling and nodding, before turning back to his captivated audience.

“How very interesting this grows,” Mo Chen smiled faintly. That gray-clad elder was actually at the peak of the Post-Heaven Realm, yet here he was, telling stories.

“Honored guest, would you like a meal or a room?” A boy scurried up, eyes widening at Mo Chen’s flowing robes. He had worked here seven years, and never seen garments so resplendent. He did not know Mo Chen’s identity, but he knew no ordinary man wore such clothes.

“A meal,” Mo Chen said calmly.

Soon he sat upstairs by the railing, watching the elder below.

“If we speak of Chu’s foremost swordsman, none surpasses Chu Kuangge. But how many of you know his origins, or his battle of renown?” the elder asked with a smile.

“Old Han, don’t keep us guessing—tell us about Chu Kuangge’s past and his famed duel!” a richly dressed merchant called out.

“Chu Kuangge was born into a minor noble family, already fallen by his birth. In youth, he roamed as a ruffian knight, until chance granted him a master of the sword. From then on, he lived only for the blade, his former wildness gone.

“For ten years he tempered his sword. Six years ago, in the battle of Zhanban between Jin and Chu, none could withstand his edge—until he faced Zhao Yi, Jin’s foremost swordsman. Only then was his advance checked. Kuangge was twenty-nine; Zhao Yi, forty-eight.

“They fought over six hundred exchanges, sword auras so fierce none dared approach within dozens of paces. At last Zhao Yi, steady and seasoned, found a flaw and defeated him. Yet Zhao Yi, true to his noble bearing, did not kill him—he even sent him safely back to Chu.

“Zhao Yi himself admitted: five years hence, he could no longer resist Chu Kuangge; ten years hence, none in the world could match him. With such praise, the once-unknown Kuangge rose to fame, and was named by King Kang as Chu’s Number One Swordsman.”

The elder’s voice rose and fell like a tide, carrying the crowd into awe.

“Zhao Yi was indeed a gentleman of the sword. Now six years have passed—were they to meet again, what then?” someone asked in wonder.

“Five years ago Zhao Yi already said he could not withstand him after five years. Now, six years on, surely Kuangge would triumph. Ten years hence, he will be peerless beneath the heavens. A fortune for our Chu!” a Chu man shouted proudly, draining his cup.

“Well said! But not ten years—four more, and none shall rival him,” another laughed.

“Gentlemen, you are mistaken. If we speak of Chu’s first personage, Kuangge still falls short,” the elder said, glancing briefly up toward Mo Chen, then shaking his head at the crowd.

“Old man, are you mocking us? Even Zhao Yi himself said Kuangge would be peerless in ten years! Who else in Chu could surpass him?” one man demanded, slapping the table.

“The Witch, Yue Linglong,” the elder said evenly.

At once, the tavern fell silent. The rowdy crowd bowed their heads, not daring to speak further.