Hex-Edge: Requiem of a Fractured Swordsman

The stench of rotting reeds filled Lin Wufeng's nostrils as he waded through the knee-deep waters of the Blood Marsh. Thick crimson mist curled over the blackened bog, swallowing sound and light alike.

"This place reeks of death," Li Feng growled. "Perfect for an ambush."

"Quiet," Jing Xin murmured. "The marsh listens."

Ahead, the ruins of the Blood Marsh Fortress loomed—a crumbling ziggurat of black stone, its walls weeping rust-colored vines. According to Bai Yu's scrolls, the fortress had once been a prison for heretical cultivators, their screams still etched into the air.

Ying Sha waited at the base of the ruins, arms crossed. "Took you long enough, Broken Sword." His ear, freshly stitched from the monastery fight, twitched. "Patriarch's inside. Try not to let your… other selves cause trouble."

Lin Wufeng's grip tightened on his sword. "Stay sharp," he warned his minds. "This reeks of a trap."

The Sixth Awakens

The fortress interior was a maze of dripping corridors and rusted iron gates. The deeper they went, the heavier the air became—thick with the scent of old blood and something fouler.

Then, the Patriarch emerged from the shadows.

Clad in robes of sewn-together skin, the Netherworld Sect's ruler floated inches above the ground, his face hidden behind a mask of polished bone. "Lin Wufeng," he rasped. "Or should I say… all of you?"

A pressure built in Lin Wufeng's skull. The voices inside him screamed—

—and then, silence.

A new presence stirred.

The sixth personality.

It spoke in a voice like cracking ice:

"You should not have come here."

The fortress trembled.