Chapter 60: Unova Triangle

“The Celestial Iron Father… forged it himself?”

Sirian had never imagined that boiling sword’s origin was directly linked to the Celestial Iron Father.

Before he could recover from his shock, Rolf continued.

“That was long ago, during the Revival Era. The Expeditionary Pioneer assembled his legions, preparing to launch an expedition into the Dark World, but he found that most standard-issue weapons were insufficient to support the Torchbearer’s power.”

Rolf polished boiling sword until it gleamed, then laid it horizontally on the dining table, like a dividing line separating the two.

“The Torchbearer’s fire was too bright, too scorching. Many blades would melt into pools of molten iron during extreme combustion. For this, the Expeditionary Pioneer commissioned the Celestial Iron Father to forge a batch of blades for the Torchbearers that feared neither intense fire nor high temperatures.”

Rolf rang the dinner bell, and a clockwork servant poured him a glass of fine wine.

“The Celestial Iron Father collected the Torchbearers’ damaged blades and armor, throwing them, still stained with blood, into the furnace. He refined them into a pot of boiling molten iron, then personally cut his own wrist and poured his blood into it.”

Rolf drained his wine, his voice tinged with a hint of drunkenness, and his words took on a hazy quality.

“With his supreme power, the Celestial Iron Father transmuted the refined metal, endowing it with strength that defied the laws of reality.

This metal would only disintegrate at extremely low temperatures, and as the temperature rose, it would become increasingly solid and sharp.”

“In other words, as long as the Torchbearer’s blood still burned, it would never disintegrate, never dull.”

Rolf picked up a dinner knife and lightly tapped boiling sword, producing a crisp ringing sound.

“At the same time, this metal also possesses extremely good conductivity, whether for heat or Source Energy…”

Rolf did not continue. A faint electric arc flashed across the dinner knife, leaving a trace of burning crimson.

He gently stabbed the heated dinner knife into the roasted chicken leg, producing a sizzling sound.

“When a blade forged from this metal is plunged into an enemy’s body by a Torchbearer’s hands, the extreme temperature will instantly incinerate the enemy’s flesh into ash, or even vaporize it, making a sizzling, boiling sound.

Thus, this metal was named Boiling Metal, and the blades forged from it were simply named boiling sword.”

All the past events slowly unfolded before Sirian’s eyes.

“All boiling swords were forged during the First Expedition, and subsequently endured several more expeditions and the upheavals of changing eras.

By now, most boiling swords have broken or been lost in the Dark World. The remaining boiling swords are no longer considered mere weapons, but sacred relics that record honor, hidden by various clans in the deepest parts of their collections, never seeing the light of day.”

Rolf smiled helplessly, “It seems you truly don’t understand boiling sword’s past, to use such a precious item for casual hacking and killing.”

Sirian said something similar to Nun, “boiling sword’s purpose is to slay enemies. If it’s sealed away in a display case, what’s the difference between that and being rusted away?”

“A good answer.”

Rolf examined the emblem on the hilt, the burning sunflower.

“If my guess is correct, your full name should be Sirian Yang Kui.”

Sirian’s expression tensed, but he quickly regained his composure and replied.

“Soflova.”

Sirian further explained, “Soflova means sunflower in the ancient language, so my full name should be Sirian Soflova.”

“Oh, is that so?” Rolf nodded, “I also stumbled upon the existence of the Yang Kui Clan in a book and recognized your clan’s emblem.”

“It’s hard to imagine that for a clan of the Ten Sacred Bloodlines, after only a few hundred years, people have almost completely forgotten you.”

Rolf then added, “That’s true. Ever since the legion split, the Keepers of the Flame Sect gained control of the Civilized World. To weaken the influence of the Ashen Remnant Army and make the world forget you, it’s only natural.”

Sirian did not respond, and Rolf remained silent for a considerable period.

The roasted chicken on the plate gradually grew cold, its warmth dissipated. Rolf finally prepared himself and asked.

“Decades ago, I heard a rumor from White Sun Holy City. They said… the Yang Kui Clan was completely annihilated.”

“But I am right before you.”

Sirian said firmly, “Sirian Soflova is right before you.”

Rolf’s fingers intertwined uneasily, and finally, he let out a long sigh.

“Speaking of which, I have some connection with your Yang Kui Clan.”

Sirian asked in surprise, “What?”

“My teacher participated in that final, twelfth expedition, and the clan accompanying him was precisely the Yang Kui Clan. Because of this, I learned of your existence in his diary.”

Rolf slowly said, “My teacher rarely spoke of that expedition, and it wasn’t mentioned in his diary. I once asked him, but he said nothing, only that those past events should rot in his mind.”

Sirian gave a self-deprecating laugh, “Is that so? Perhaps you know more about the Yang Kui Clan than I do.”

This time, it was Rolf who was surprised, “Then your teacher was too incompetent.”

Sirian shook his head, mournfully.

“My teacher was very competent; he just… didn’t have the time.”

Rolf heard the sadness in Sirian’s words, and considering his noble bloodline, capable of preventing the descent of the Spirit World, and this boiling sword, which could be called a sacred relic… he asked, “Many things happened, didn’t they?”

“Yes, many, many things, suffocating things.”

Sirian mimicked Rolf’s action, pressing the dinner bell, and a clockwork servant poured him a glass of fine wine.

“Do you have milk?”

The clockwork servant understood him and brought another glass of milk.

Rolf laughed, “Milk, really? I thought you would get completely drunk.”

“I’m not used to drinking.”

Sirian shook his head, retrieved boiling sword, and his fingertip rubbed the sunflower emblem.

Suddenly, he remembered something and turned boiling sword to the other side, revealing the upright triangular emblem formed by many kneeling figures.

“Since you know so much, do you know what this emblem represents?”

Rolf glanced at the upright triangular emblem, his expression becoming solemn, and he retorted.

“Are you mocking me?”

Sirian said nothing, his expression sincere.

Rolf said helplessly, “Do you really not understand?”

“I have guessed what it represents, and I have tried to search for related information, but it seems to have become a taboo, only briefly mentioned in passing, without any in-depth introduction… just like those Abominations.”

Having experienced so much, Sirian knew that, besides the Torchbearer’s clan emblem, the other emblem that could be inscribed on boiling sword was that of the legion they served.

But this legion, which saved the Civilized World, no longer even had a name in the current era.

“To the chaos evils, language has magic. Even if you just lightly recite those cursed names and passages, it will attract the prying eyes of the chaos evils, and even bring disaster.”

Rolf murmured, “In this endless conflict, more and more taboos have appeared, history has become riddled with holes, and the world has fallen apart.”

Sirian recalled how, when Nun recited the legion’s oath, the Chaos in the heavens and earth stirred, like a pack of wolves seeking to devour someone.

He said fearfully, “Did the failure of the twelfth expedition and the outbreak of rebellion make the legion itself a taboo?”

Rolf snapped his fingers, and layers of iron walls rose tightly against the glass curtain, encircling the brightly lit dining room with iron walls, making this residence a true fortress.

Faint lights flickered overhead.

Having seen so many clockwork servants, Sirian wouldn’t be surprised even if Rolf’s residence stood up the next second and transformed into a walking mechanical construct.

“The chaos evils were once pushed to the brink by the legion. If the twelfth expedition had succeeded, the world today would definitely not be like this.” Rolf said regretfully, “But failure is failure. The chaos evils will never allow the Civilized World to reunite and rebuild the legion.”

Sirian thought of the legion’s split, “At the same time, the Civilized World is also resisting another reunification, right?”

“Who knows?”

Rolf did not give a clear answer, only repeating the phrase Sirian was growing tired of hearing.

“This is an era of mutual isolation.”

The answer was obvious.

“As for the legion’s name.”

Rolf spoke a name long forgotten by books and the world.

“Patrol Oath.”

He lowered his voice.

“The Patrol Oath Legion.”

The moment the name Patrol Oath was uttered, a chill flashed by, like a poisonous snake coiling around Sirian’s throat, its cold scales scraping his skin.

“This most stable triangle, formed by many figures, is the symbol of the legion.”

“It is called the United Triangle.”

Sirian gazed at the United Triangle on the hilt, and the banner cherished by Nun appeared before his eyes.

That was the banner of the Patrol Oath Legion.

Sirian subconsciously asked, “What exactly happened during the twelfth expedition?”

“My teacher knew something, but unfortunately, he died a long time ago.”

Rolf made a bad joke, “Even with various extracorporeal circulations, and even mechanizing part of his brain, he still couldn’t defeat time.”

“He never revealed a single detail, even when he connected himself to the Forging Court’s brain core.”

“Later, I followed the Forging Court to Heer City.”

Rolf snapped his fingers, the iron walls descended, sunlight streamed in, and the room filled with a foul, fishy smell.

“Let’s stop here, Sirian. We should clean ourselves up.”