Ms. Diviner: The Prodigal Daughter's Return Chapter 1459: Please, Kill Me

The palace's tremors ceased, and the great door's Primordial Contract ceased its flickering. The golden light that had illuminated the Sword Spirit Puppets faded away. An intense silence descended upon the entire valley.

Yet, this stillness was fleeting. Soon, the Sword Spirit Puppets began to wail in agony. Despite their suffering, they brandished their longswords and charged forward with frenzied aggression, though their power was noticeably diminished.

Han Yan regarded Qu Shanling with astonishment, never suspecting he possessed such an arcane hand formation technique. She questioned why this had remained hidden from her.

"Strike them down, quickly!" Qu Shanling urged, his voice laced with desperation. The hand formation strained his very being, veins bulging, cold sweat drenching him relentlessly.

Though the secret behind his formation, capable of subduing the Primordial Contract that had confounded even Ye Lanfeng, remained unknown, his visibly strained condition was a stark warning. Han Yan and the others grasped that his strength wouldn't hold indefinitely. Abandoning further contemplation, Han Yan, alongside Ye Lanfeng, plunged into the fray against the approaching Sword Spirit Puppets.

Stripped of the Primordial Contract's potent influence, the most formidable Sword Spirit Puppets barely reached the Seventh Rank of Sword Master. Even fighting with their utmost effort and a suicidal resolve, they were no match for the combined onslaught of Han Yan and her allies. One by one, the puppets succumbed, their heart meridians obliterated and their divine souls annihilated. To ensure no lingering threats, Han Yan and her companions left no trace of their souls behind.

A profound understanding settled upon them: these Sword Spirit Puppets were mere pawns, their actions dictated by an unseen force. Compassion and hesitation were luxuries they could not afford in this critical moment. To falter would not only endanger themselves but potentially bring grave peril to the entire Holy Court Continent.

In mere moments, over a hundred Sword Spirit Puppets lay lifeless upon the ground. Only a solitary figure in black remained before the altar, murmuring incantations. His body bore the brutal marks of the golden light pillar, wracked by tremors born of excruciating pain.

His gaze, now vacant and unfocused, landed on Han Yan. A bewildered expression crossed his face, yet within his eyes, a peculiar spark flickered.

Abruptly, his chanting ceased. He spun around, his sword arcing towards Han Yan.

Instinctively, Huayue and the others moved to shield Han Yan, their faces etched with grim determination. Their caution proved premature. The strength of this black-clothed assailant was inferior to that of the fallen Sword Spirit Puppets, even lagging behind them. He was merely at the Third Stage of Sword Master, a level of cultivation incapable of posing any threat to Han Yan.

Before anyone else could react, Han Yan moved like a streaking arrow. Her Cold Sky Sword surged forward, aimed directly at the opponent's heart meridian.

A shocking turn of events ensued. Confronted by Han Yan's fatal strike, the man in black made no attempt to defend or evade. Instead, he spread his arms wide, embracing the oncoming blade.

A soft 'shh' echoed as the Cold Sky Sword sank into his chest. Yet, its deadly trajectory halted mere inches from his heart meridian.

With nearly all the Sword Spirit Puppets vanquished, a lone figure stood before her. Han Yan remained burdened by a multitude of unanswered questions. The strange glint in his eyes and his final, death-seeking gesture suggested a lingering ember of consciousness. Han Yan felt a reluctance to hasten his demise.

As she withdrew her sword's potent force, Han Yan swiftly extended her left hand, sealing several of her own vital meridian points, rendering herself immobile.

With a graceful sweep of her hand, Han Yan removed the mask, unveiling a face of captivating beauty.

"It's you!" Han Yan declared, her voice cold. Before her stood the stunning young woman who had been her lifelong rival—the Fourth Miss Zhao, Zhao Lingxian.

Earlier, during the command of the Sword Spirit Puppets, Zhao Lingxian's voice had been unnervingly mechanical and devoid of emotion. Yet, Han Yan had sensed a familiar resonance, a suspicion now confirmed by this final revelation.

However, the woman before her was no longer the radiant beauty of the past. Zhao Lingxian's exquisite features were contorted by an anguish so profound it bordered on despair.

"Han Yan, kill me, please kill me!" Zhao Lingxian pleaded, her breath coming in ragged gasps like a mortally wounded animal. Her delicate face was hideously disfigured by an overwhelming torment.

"Who is orchestrating this?" Han Yan demanded, her tone sharp.

Observing Zhao Lingxian's unbearable suffering, it was evident she was not the true architect of these events; a more sinister presence lurked behind the scenes.

Following the intense confrontation at Flying Peak, where Zhao Lingxian narrowly escaped death by Han Yan’s blade only to be saved by Yun Qianmo, suspicions pointed towards Yun Qianmo as the true architect of the events. Despite this revelation, the connection between Ye Lanfeng and Yun Qianmo made Han Yan hesitant to accept this conclusion, prompting her pointed question.

"At Flying Peak, didn’t you already encounter him?" the Fourth Miss Zhao inquired, her voice thick with despair.

"It truly was him." Though the outcome was already known, the final confirmation left Han Yan feeling a profound sense of desolation. Her gaze instinctively turned to Ye Lanfeng, whose composed demeanor offered no clue to his thoughts.

"Why would he do this?" Ye Lanfeng addressed Zhao Lingxian.

"I don’t know, I truly don’t know! He’s a demon! Please, kill me now," Fourth Miss Zhao pleaded with Han Yan, her body wracked with tremors and pain.

Han Yan gripped the Cold Sky Sword, her resolve faltering to deliver the killing blow. Witnessing her lifelong adversary reduced to such a pitiable state evoked a strange melancholy within her. In retrospect, Zhao Lingxian’s actions, however extreme and sinister, were driven by a desire to protect her family, a motivation Han Yan herself could understand, though she condemned the ruthlessness of the methods employed.

Had Zhao Lingxian’s motives been less vindictive and her actions less abhorrent, perhaps a different path, one of friendship, might have been possible.

"Han Yan, I was wrong before. I wronged you. Please, end my suffering. I cannot bear to live as a puppet, neither alive nor dead. Please…" Tears of regret streamed down Zhao Lingxian’s face.

With a solemn nod, Han Yan finally plunged the cold blade into Zhao Lingxian’s heart meridian.

As the Cold Sky Sword had previously pierced Zhao Lingxian’s chest, Han Yan noticed not only the damage from the golden pillar of light but also significant scarring within her meridians, distinctly different from those of a normal cultivator. It was evident that her meridians had been forcibly severed and then crudely reconnected.

The inhuman torment and agony Zhao Lingxian must have endured during her refinement into a Sword Spirit Puppet defied imagination. Even after the transformation, the very act of circulating Qi would have inflicted excruciating pain. Indeed, a Sword Spirit Puppet surpasses the power of a Death Spirit Sword Slave, like the one Zhao Lingxian previously refined, and thus, the cost of its creation is exponentially higher.

However, unlike typical Sword Spirit Puppets who lose all sense of self and their capacity for pain, Zhao Lingxian retained a sliver of awareness, enduring her suffering with a semblance of consciousness. For her, the cruelest fate was to remain lucid amidst her torment.