In the gray and misty memory, a beam of light suddenly appeared.

This beam of light shone on Chai Sang's face, like a glimmer of life in a desperate situation, making the craftsman's face, which had been lifeless for a long time, finally have a trace of the breath of a living person.

Hairpin walked up to him, his gaze falling on the yellowed, broken scroll.

When Chai Sang was young, he tried to be the greatest swordsmith of the Yuezhi Kingdom, just like his ancestors. That's why he often spends a lot of time searching around for some special sword-forging atlases. Some of them were picked up from the miscellaneous items that the peasants didn't want, some were given to him by the rangers to exchange for weapons, and the old scrolls held the dreams of his youth. However, as time passed, the old books were put away, piled up with countless maps left by their fathers, and they did not see the light of day.

After all, raising a family is more important.

Some of those maps are real, some are fake, and some look more like scribbles, which is impossible to achieve. He had looked at it upside down when he was a teenager, and he hadn't opened the box for years.

And now, he holds the book in his hand, as if he is holding all the hope in the world.

The craftsman knelt on the ground and trembled as he opened the book.

The hairpin sat beside him and watched with him.

The book was opened, perhaps because it had been left behind for many years, and as soon as it was opened, there was immediately a damp and rotten smell. And in that decay, there is an intriguing aroma, which is very special.

The handwriting is bright red, and the blood stains left on the book are like a shiver.

Hairpin Star was slightly stunned, this is not a sword-casting atlas.

She followed the action of Chai Sang flipping the book, and the more she looked, the more frightened she felt.

This is a book of sword forging, which is different from ordinary atlases, and this is a atlas that tells the world how to give birth to sword spirits.

The sword spirit is formed after the spirit weapon has a divine mind. Most of the machine spirits are born and raised, or travel with their masters, and they are achieved by chance. But it will never be forged by ordinary craftsmen of mortals, and ordinary sword-casting materials in the world cannot give birth to the soul of a sword.

However, there is a way in this book, as long as the sword-maker watering the sword forged by Wen Yang with his own blood for three hundred and sixty-five days, it is possible to give birth to an extraordinary sword.

Of course, that's not enough.

Because it has not been tempered by cultivation and has not opened its spiritual wisdom, even if an ordinary sword is watered with blood, it is just an empty shell.

Chai Sang turned to the last page of the book, Hairpin Xing's breath was suffocated, and he couldn't help but speak: "No! ”

It is impossible for mortals to give birth to sword spirits, there is only one way.

The final step in refining the sword spirit is to sacrifice the soul of the swordsmith, sacrifice yourself to the sword cast, and become the "sword spirit" yourself.

It's not a sword, it's a deal in a way. Use your soul in exchange for a "divine sword" with a sword spirit.

How can there be such a map in the world? The sword-forging method recorded in this book is strange and evil, and at first glance it is a trap. Nine times out of ten, the swordsmith sacrificed his soul and poured his blood on the swordsmith to give birth to the sword, and it could be an evil sword. When Chai Sang really became a "sword spirit", who knows if he can retain his original memory and consciousness, or if his whole body, from body to mind, will be devoured, and he will be completely used by this sword.

Now, it seems, that is indeed the case.

The hairpin wanted to stop the craftsman's next move, but the outstretched hand slashed across the other's shoulder, as if touching the empty air, leaving no trace.

She can't change the past that has happened.

As a swordsmith, Chai Sang knew this better than anyone. He knew the strangeness of this map, the ominous method of recording, and the fate of the tiger was likely to be the price he had to pay for his soul.

But that was his only hope.

What does it matter if the soul is not soulless, or from the moment he dies without worry, he is already an empty shell.

The courtyard sounded again with a tinkling sound.

But this time, there was no more little girl sitting in front of the door watching him work.

The sound of clanging swords was originally very full and crisp, but now it has become chaotic and dull, and the sound of knocking on people's hearts makes people palpitate. He worked day and night, and when a neighbor passed by, he said in surprise: "Chaisang, how did you become like this?" ”

How did he become like this?

He was originally just short and ugly, but now he is watering the sword body with his own blood every day, and his body is rapidly emaciated, his skin is yellow, and his cheeks are so thin that he is only skinny and bone, and he looks like a soulless walking corpse.

When the neighbors saw him like this, the children were frightened and avoided him to walk. The man of good deeds pointed at him behind his back and whispered: "What if my daughter dies, he seems to have given up as a civilian." ”

The young master of the General's Mansion is still well-fed, and the killing of a young girl is insignificant to a powerful person like them. Occasionally, when someone mentions it, it just sneers disdainfully: "Oh, it's not dead yet, that waste." ”

The voices fell to the craftsman's ears, and he was indifferent.

He was just focused on forging the most ferocious sword in the world. This sword will help him avenge his daughter and seek justice for his daughter.

Chaisang became more and more eccentric, more and more withdrawn, he no longer went out, closed his gates, did not socialize with people, and people could only hear the "clanging" sound in his yard day and night to guess that he was still alive, and they all thought he was crazy.

Hairpin Xing felt that Chai Sang was not far from madness.

He forged the sword with great care.

The blade of the sword was a beautiful silver-white color, and the shape was small, and it looked very light, and he carefully carved a small frost flower on the hilt of the sword, which was cast from white crystal, and for this white crystal he sold everything he could sell in his house.

Hairpin sat in the courtyard, watching him hold the white crystal, carved with heart little by little, the translucent stone slowly bloomed into a fragile crystal at his fingertips, beautiful and fragile.

This sword is exactly the same as the one Sanssouci wants.

And he also developed feelings for this sword.

Chai Sang sometimes talked to himself at the sword, not knowing what he was muttering in a low voice, sometimes he would cry silently at the sword, sometimes he would laugh loudly at the sword, but more often than not, he would just stare at the sword for a long time, his eyes gentle and affectionate, as if he was looking at something else through the sword.

He was getting thinner and thricher day by day. Hairpin sometimes feels that he doesn't look like a living person, and it's surprising how such a body is moving to do what he hasn't done every day.