497: Chapter 497 Tomb of Ten Thousand Swords

Meanwhile, ten thousand miles away, in another Secret Realm completely different from the Burial Land rift.

There is no scorched earth here, no deathly silence, no shattered space.

Instead, there is a desolate spectacle that makes time itself freeze—countless Peaks towering into the clouds.

No.

These are not true Peaks.

They are giant, peerless swords of various shapes—

Swords!

Sword Mountain!

A true mountain range of swords!

As far as the eye can see, it is a boundless forest of swords, an ocean of swords, a kingdom of swords!

Every sword is like a frozen epic, silently telling stories long forgotten by time.

Some long swords are stuck obliquely into the earth, their hilts exposed like pillars reaching the sky.

The pillars are covered in ancient, mottled patterns—these patterns do not look like carvings, but rather like Dao traces naturally condensed when the Chaos first opened.

They exude a heavy aura reminiscent of the primordial beginning, as if they have stood here since the birth of the Universe, witnessing the birth and extinguishing of stars.

Just gazing at them from afar, a roar of creation resounds deep within the Divine Soul.

Some short swords are suspended in mid-air, their blades as thin as cicada wings, trembling slightly in the silent wind, emitting an ethereal, pleasant chime.

This chime is no ordinary sound. Every vibration causes the surrounding Spiritual Qi to rise and fall like tides—inhaling and exhaling, rising and falling, as if whispering a sword song that spans eternity.

The melody is desolate and sorrowful.

It makes one's heart ache and eyes burn.

Some giant swords lie horizontally in the valley, their blades as wide as door panels, covered in thick, unknown metallic rust—this rust is dark red like solidified blood, deep brown like dried tears.

Yet, beneath this corrosion, there is a supreme sharpness that once severed rivers and split mountains.

This is not sharpness.

It is will.

It is the determination to sever everything that has not dissipated even after sleeping for billions of years.

Some thin swords are hidden in rock crevices, revealing only an inch of cold light.

This cold light is not bright, but it causes the surrounding space to twist and shatter—as if even the Laws of heaven and earth cannot withstand its sharpness; the space cracks like a broken mirror, forming spiderweb-like fine lines.

It exudes an extreme danger and arrogance—

An arrogance that would rather destroy itself in the Void Realm than be touched by mortal hands.

Here—

Is a graveyard of swords.

It is also a palace of swords.

The air is filled with ubiquitous Sword Qi—

This is no longer simple Sword Qi, but a kind of "intent," a kind of "soul."

Some are as sharp as the thunder of the Nine Heavens, carrying the majesty to judge all things.

Some are as heavy as the Mount Buzhou, pressing down so hard that one cannot breathe.

Some are as ethereal as gathering and scattering clouds, elusive yet omnipresent.

Some are as treacherous as the shadows of the abyss, hiding murderous intent in silence—thousands of Sword Qi intertwine and mix here, forming a unique, heart-stopping "field."

This "field" is not a killing array, but it is more terrifying than any killing array.

It does not cut the Physical Body, only the Divine Soul.

If an ordinary Cultivator dares to step here, their Divine Soul will be torn, ground, and interrogated by this ubiquitous Sword Intent in an instant—

You can hear the whispers of ten thousand swords.

You can see the past battles of the Sword Master.

You can feel those long-dispersed joys, sorrows, loves, and hatreds.

Then—in the torrent of information, your "self" will collapse like a sandcastle.

Before you can even let out a scream, you become a part of this Sword Tomb, becoming another wandering Sword Intent.

At this moment, in a relatively flat area on the outskirts of Sword Mountain—

The space suddenly ripples.

The ripples are light at first, like raindrops falling into a quiet lake.

But immediately after, the space is like silk torn by an invisible hand, cracking into irregular fissures.

Inside the fissures, the Chaos current surges, and shadows of flickering starlight and chaotic time and space are vaguely visible.

"Shh—!"

The first figure squeezed out forcefully.

This is an alien youth, over a zhang tall.

His skin is like gray-brown rock, naturally born with profound runes.

These runes flicker with his breathing, and every inch of his body seems to have been tempered a thousand times.

When he landed, the ground within a three-zhang radius shook slightly, leaving two shallow footprints.

Immediately after—

The second.

The third.

The fourth.

Those with wings on their backs flapped their wings and emerged.

The feathers shimmered with a cold metallic luster, and the edge of every feather was as sharp as a knife.

The flapping of wings brought about sharp wind whistles, cutting the air with "woo-woo" shrill cries.

Those whose faces were hidden in the churning mist emerged quietly.

Only a pair of piercing eyes were revealed—this gaze was so sharp that it seemed to be able to pierce through all falsehoods and see through the deepest secrets of the human heart.

Half-human, half-beast creatures roared as they landed.

Fangs exposed, Evil Qi pressing, faint blood light lingering around their bodies—this is the substantial Evil Qi condensed from too much killing; ordinary Cultivators feel their Divine Soul sting just by getting close.

More than a dozen figures, in various forms, with powerful auras.

They all adjusted their postures within a breath, looked around vigilantly, and kept a safe distance from each other.

In their eyes, there was both wariness of the strange environment and caution against the "companions" beside them.

They are all young Prodigies from various races.

Randomized and teleported here by the rules of the Secret Realm.

Then—

They saw it.

They saw the boundless Sword Mountain.

Time seemed to stop at this moment.

The wind stopped.

Breathing stopped.

Even the heartbeat seemed to have skipped a beat.

"Th... This is..."

The alien youth with a red horn was the first to speak.

He looked around, his pupils suddenly shrinking to the size of a needle tip, then violently expanding—reflecting the sky full of sword shadows.

He gasped.

The sound of gasping was particularly harsh in the silence.

Then, his whole body began to tremble uncontrollably.

Not fear.

It is excitement.

It is ecstasy.

It is the madness of dreams becoming reality.

"Ten Thousand Sword Graveyard?!"

His voice was hoarse, every word squeezed out from the depths of his throat, carrying the fishy sweetness of blood:

"The legendary burial place of the Primordial Sword Sect—even those old monsters in the clan who have lived for hundreds of thousands of years only regarded it as a vague legend!"

"They scoured ancient books, stepped through the heavens, and searched for countless epochs!"

"It actually... actually exists!"

"Right before my eyes!"

He stepped forward violently. The rock under his feet cracked, and the red horn exploded with hot light—this is a sign that the Bloodline is boiling to the extreme and the Battle Intent is burning to the Peak!

"Such rich Sword Qi! No, this is not Sword Qi, this is Sword Soul! It is the immortal will of those ancient divine swords!"

Another alien woman covered in fine silver scales trembled.

She stretched out her scaled palm, her five fingers slightly spread, as if to grasp the invisible things flowing in the air.

She could feel it—

These Sword Qi are "alive."

They flow at her fingertips as if they have life.

With a cold touch, with ancient emotions, with the pride of having severed stars, and with the loneliness of losing their Sword Master.

She closed her eyes.

Tears fell from the corners of her eyes—

Not sadness.

It is an instinctive reaction to being shocked by some magnificent existence that she cannot control.

"Opportunity! A huge Opportunity!"

An alien Prodigy with a scorpion tail dragging behind him licked his lips.

His tongue was forked, scarlet and terrifying.

He greedily scanned the dense long swords around him, his pupils reflecting countless sword shadows, his breathing became as heavy as an ox's, his chest heaving violently:

"If I can find a divine sword that fits me here, resonate with it, and obtain its Legacy—my Dao will be completely perfected!"

"Whatever Saint of the clan, whatever ancient Bloodline, will be trampled under my feet!"

"The Old Ancestor will also look at me with admiration!"

Greed is growing.

Ambition is expanding.

More than a dozen alien Prodigies, from different races, even with generational blood feuds between them—

But at this moment, all hatred, caution, and calculation were temporarily suppressed by the endless Sword Mountain before them.

In their eyes, only shock remained—

And the greed for possession that crazily sprouted after the shock.

The ancient, sharp aura permeating the air all spoke of the extraordinary nature of these spirit swords—

Each one is like a sleeping ancient Vicious Beast.

Sealing power capable of opening the heavens and the earth, waiting for that fated person to wake them up.

Then—

They saw the other two figures on the edge of Sword Mountain.

A man and a woman.

Human Race.

Against the backdrop of thousands of divine swords, shrouded in the sky full of Sword Intent, these two figures should have been as small as dust—

But strangely, when you look at them for the first time, you actually feel—

They are out of place with this Sword Mountain, yet harmonious.

The man is dressed in a white sword robe.

He stands as tall as a pine tree after snow.

His face is handsome but without the slightest sharpness, his eyes are as calm as a deep pool. He holds a sheathed long sword in his arms—

The scabbard is the most ordinary bronze color, without any patterns.

The hilt is wrapped in half-old white cloth.

He just stood there quietly, doing nothing, yet he had an aura of standing like a deep pool and a mountain.

The most bizarre thing is—

The three feet around him are a "pure land."

The raging Sword Intent, capable of tearing the Divine Soul, naturally diverged to both sides when entering his three-foot range—

Like water meeting a reef.

Like a breeze passing over a ridge.

Not resistance, not confrontation.

It is that those Sword Qi "do not want" to get close to him.

As if he standing there, itself is an insurmountable Law of the sword.

The woman is quite different.

Dressed in red.

Radiant like a prairie fire, as if to ignite this gray Sword Mountain.

Her eyebrows are like sword edges, her eyes like cold stars.

Her brow is heroic, and her gaze is sharp.

She is not holding a sword, just standing casually, arms crossed—

But the Sword Intent revealed inadvertently is purer and sharper than the thousands of divine swords around her.

This is not externalized Sword Qi.

It is the internalized Sword Heart.

It is the absolute self-confidence that can sever Karma and split the Void Realm with a wave of a hand.

One is as quiet as a deep pool.

One is as fierce as a burning sky.

The two have different temperaments, yet are equally striking—

Or rather, equally heart-stopping.

"Human Race?"

The Red-horned Youth raised his eyebrows, a trace of instinctive disdain flashing in his eyes.

In his long life cognition, the Human Race has a weak Physical Body and a short lifespan, and although they have a clever heart, it is difficult to achieve the Great Dao.

But soon, this disdain was replaced by deeper greed.

The Human Race does have unique skills in Artifact Refining, especially in sword casting.

If these two can stand so calmly in the Ten Thousand Sword Graveyard, if they are not carrying exotic treasures, they must know some secrets.

However, the most important thing right now is the endless Sword Mountain before them!

First come, first served.

Whoever gets it first, it belongs to them!

Secrets can be interrogated slowly.

If the sword is lost, that is the real regret!

"Who cares about them! Take the sword first!"

The Silver-scaled Woman scolded, already unable to hold back.

Her figure flickered, the silver scales on her body shone with flowing light, and she turned into a silver stream of light, her speed so fast that she left afterimages in the air—

Taking the lead to pounce on the nearest cyan long sword stuck in the ground.

The long sword is about seven feet long, the blade is slender like a willow leaf, and the whole body glows with a cyan luster.

There are natural cloud patterns on the guard, and the Spiritual Qi is pressing.

The space three inches around the blade vaguely has the sound of wind and thunder—

It is clearly a top-grade spirit sword with wind and thunder attributes, perhaps even a embryo of the legendary "Dao Sword."

Her eyes were full of heat, as if she had already seen her heroic posture holding this sword to roam the world.

The palm covered in silver scales did not hesitate—

Grabbing towards the hilt!

It was cold to the touch, and the feel was solid.

The patterns on the hilt fit the palm, and there was even a slight sense of resonance.

The Silver-scaled Woman was overjoyed.

Sinking Qi into the Dantian, True Essence surging, lucking into the arm, twisting the waist—

She was about to pull out the long sword!

"Rise for me!"

She gave a clear shout and pulled upward with force.

Time was infinitely elongated at this moment.

The eyes of all the Prodigies were focused on her hand, focused on that cyan sword.

The Red-horned Youth had already chosen the next target.

The Scorpion-tailed Prodigy licked his lips and calculated the distance.

The Figure in the Mist had sharp eyes.

The Winged Youth flapped his wings and wanted to fly—

Then, they saw it.

They saw a scene they would never forget.

"Shh—"

A very slight sound, like ash shattering, rang out.

No.

This is not even a sound, it is a "shattering sensation" that rang directly in the Divine Soul.

In the Silver-scaled Woman's astonished and twisted gaze—

At the moment her fingers clenched the hilt and her power exploded—

This cyan long sword, which was full of Spiritual Qi and seemed indestructible, started from the place her fingers touched—

Silently, it turned into powder.

Not broken.

Not shattered.

No sparks.

No loud noise.

It was like a sand sculpture that had been piled up for billions of years, and at the moment of touch, it completed the dissipation of the last bit of cohesion.

From the hilt to the tip.

From entity to void.

It turned into a handful of fine, gray dust without any Spiritual Qi in a way that was heartbreakingly calm.

When these dusts slipped through her fingers, they even stayed in the air for a moment, reflecting the sky light, flashing the last bit of faint cyan fluorescence—

[part:gemini-3.5-flash]

It was like the final sigh of a Sword Soul.

Then—

The wind came.

With a gentle breeze, the dust drifted away, dispersing in the wind like quicksand, leaving no trace behind.

It was as if this sword had never existed.

As if the sound of wind and thunder, the azure spiritual light, and the cloud patterns on the blade—

Were all just a dream dreamt for hundreds of millions of years.

The Silver-scaled Woman froze.

She maintained her sword-drawing posture, leaning forward with her arm muscles tensed, her fingers still shaped in a gripping gesture—

But her palm was completely empty.

All that remained was a handful of cold, useless ash, and a lingering, rapidly dispersing cold sensation.

Before the ecstasy on her face could fade, astonishment had already crept into the corners of her eyes.

Following that was blank bewilderment.

Confusion.

And finally—

A faint trace of fear welled up from the deepest depths of her eyes, creeping up her spine and spreading throughout her body, causing her to shudder uncontrollably.

"What... what is going on?!"

She cried out in dismay.

Her voice was sharp and piercing, echoing in the silent Sword Mountain, sounding exceptionally abrupt.

This voice was filled with disbelief, as well as the anger of being toyed with—

But even more so, it was fear.

Fear of the unknown.

Fear that "everything before her eyes might just be an illusion."

The other foreign race Prodigies who were preparing to snatch it all froze.

The Red-horned Youth had already rushed halfway when he forced himself to a halt, plowing two deep grooves into the ground under his feet.

The scorpion tail of the Scorpion-tailed Prodigy was raised high, its poisonous stinger gleaming with a cold light, yet it hung frozen in midair, completely motionless.

The fog surrounding the Figure in the Mist churned violently, revealing the turmoil in his heart.

The Winged Youth made a sudden stop in the air, his wings flapping frantically, kicking up turbulent air currents.

The air seemed to solidify.

Only the occasional clear chime of an unknown sword weapon from deep within the Sword Mountain was exceptionally distinct in the dead silence.

"Let me do it!"

The Red-horned Youth shook his head violently, tossing that sliver of unease out of his mind.

He refused to believe in such absurdity—

Or rather, he was unwilling to believe it.

He growled, his voice like muffled thunder.

The runes all over his body erupted with blinding light, and like a wild bull, he crashed toward another dark-red heavy sword that was slanted into the ground next to a boulder.

This sword was taller than he was.

Its blade was as wide as a door plank, and its entire body was dark red like coagulated blood.

The spine of the sword was as heavy as a mountain range, with a faint blood-red light flowing along the edge.

It exuded a heart-palpitating, fierce Evil Qi—

As if it had once drunk the blood of countless living beings, destined to draw blood whenever drawn.

It was, without a doubt, a weapon of slaughter, a killing sword!

"Such a weapon of slaughter is meant to be used by me!"

A fierce light gleamed in the Red-horned Youth's eyes as he gripped the hilt, which was wider than a door plank, with both hands—

It felt bone-chillingly cold to the touch.

The Evil Qi surged up his arms, actually causing his Bloodline to boil and his Battle Intent to soar.

"A fine sword! Indeed a fine sword!"

He laughed wildly, aligning his waist and horse stance as his entire body's strength exploded.

His muscles bulged in blocks, and his blue veins squirmed like earthworms.

The runes beneath his skin seemed to come alive, flowing with a lava-like glow.

The rock beneath his feet cracked inch by inch, the fissures spreading out for several Zhang.

"Rise!!!"

He roared to the heavens, his voice shaking the wilderness, as he used every ounce of his life's strength to yank upward—

The exact same scene played out once more.

At the moment he pulled it up with immense force, this dark-red heavy sword, which exuded a towering fierce Evil Qi and seemed ready to awaken and slaughter all living beings at any moment—

Emitted a low "wu" chime.

This low chime was very brief and soft—

Like a sigh.

And like liberation.

Then, the blade trembled gently.

Starting from the hilt, cracks spread like a spider's web—

These were not physical cracks.

They were the corrosive marks of time.

The disintegration of existence itself.

The dark-red blade turned into the finest dust.

First the hilt, then the guard, followed by the broad blade, and finally the sword edge where the blood-red light flowed—

It did not collapse.

Instead, it "dispersed."

Like a handful of sand blown away by the wind, under the Red-horned Youth's shocked and distorted gaze, it turned into a sky of dark-red dust and mist, drifting down and scattering all over the ground.

This red dust shimmered with fine light under the sun—

Looking like countless dried tears of blood.

The Red-horned Youth still maintained his posture of exerting force with both hands.

Because he had exerted too much force, his effort suddenly met with nothingness, causing him to lurch backward violently, staggering several steps before barely managing to steady himself.

He stared with wide eyes, looking at his empty hands, then at the pile of dark-red dust on the ground—

His face was filled with shock and bewilderment.

His mouth opened and closed, his throat making strange "he-he" sounds—

Yet he could not utter a single word.

This expression was like that of a beggar who thought he had grasped gold—

Only to open his hand and find nothing but a handful of yellow clay.

"My sword!"

On the other side, the winged foreign race Prodigy who had lunged toward a levitating short sword had his fingertips just touch the hilt—

The short sword was as thin as a cicada's wing and completely transparent, as if a galaxy were flowing within the blade, breathtakingly beautiful.

An obsessed light already gleamed in his eyes, as if he could already see his heroic figure holding this sword, its sword light pouring down like a galaxy.

Then—

The short sword trembled gently at his fingertips.

Like a butterfly flapping its wings, like a dewdrop falling.

Then, it turned into a shower of glittering, starlight-like dust, pouring down from his fingertips and drawing a fleeting band of light in the air—

Before dispersing into nothingness.

He grasped at empty air.

His body surged forward due to momentum, almost causing him to plunge headfirst from the air.

He frantically flapped his wings, tumbling awkwardly in the air for several rotations before stabilizing his posture.

The expression on his face went from ecstasy to shock, to terror, to uncontrollable rage—

Finally twisting into a near-hideous despair.

"Damn it! What is going on?!"

He roared, his voice carrying a sob:

"Are these swords... all fake?!"

"Illusions? But this aura cannot be faked! Just now, the Sword Qi, Sword Intent, and tactile sensation—they were clearly real! Even my Divine Soul was resonating!"

"Could it be a Restriction? Destroyed upon touch? But why?! The swords of the Ten Thousand Sword Graveyard shouldn't be like this! They shouldn't!"

"I don't believe it! Again!"

*Bang!*

*Chii—*

*Clatter—*

For a moment, cries of alarm, angry curses, questioning voices, and unwilling roars resounded together in a chaotic din.

Some foreign race Prodigies refused to accept this reality, switching from one sword to another—from those stabbed into the ground to those levitating, from giant swords to slender swords, from those radiating spiritual light to those plain and unadorned.

The result, without exception, was the same.

They dissolved upon touch, dispersing upon contact.

These ancient swords, which seemed incredibly miraculous and harbored boundless power, at the moment of contact—

All turned to dust.

Turned to ashes.

Turned to nothingness.

Some swords would emit a low chime before dispersing, like a sigh, a weep, or liberation.

Others simply dispersed in silence, as if they had already been waiting for a long time.

Over a dozen foreign race Prodigies, the favored children of heaven from various races—

Were now running around the outer perimeter of the Sword Mountain like headless flies.

Looking at the thousands of long swords around them that still exuded terrifying Sword Qi and appeared incredibly miraculous—

They no longer dared to stretch out their hands easily.

Their faces were filled with suspicion, confusion, anger, and a deep sense of helplessness.

This was the annoyance of being toyed with—

As if an invisible existence had used this boundless Sword Mountain to set a massive trap.

And they were the fools who had eagerly jumped right into it.

Amidst their irritation, there also lurked an indescribable trace of unwillingness—

And a faint fear.

If these swords were all fake, then what was the point of this Ten Thousand Sword Graveyard?

If they couldn't even touch them, where was the legendary Opportunity?

If everything would eventually turn to ash, then what were the vast Sword Intent and this majestic Sword Qi—

Supposed to be?

In unison, they turned their gazes toward the other two humans in the area—

This man and woman who had stood silently from beginning to end, as if watching a play.

There was something wrong with these swords.

Yet these two humans were so calm, not even attempting to touch a single sword.

They just stood there—

One calm.

One mocking.

As if they had known everything all along.

Jian Tanghuang stood with her arms crossed, her red clothes swaying gently in the breeze of Sword Qi, like a ball of burning, inextinguishable fire.

A faint, half-smile curved the corners of her lips—

It was a very subtle curve.

Three parts mockery.

Three parts disdain.

And four parts of "as expected" realization.

Her gaze swept over the group of suspicious, angry, and desperate foreign race Prodigies—

As if looking at a pack of clowns who didn't know the heights of the heavens, trespassing into a divine temple yet unable to even touch the threshold.

Wherever her gaze fell, those Prodigies actually avoided her eyes involuntarily.

"Is that it?"

She finally spoke.

Her voice was not loud, but clear as a sword's chime, exceptionally distinct in this dead silent Sword Mountain:

"And you think you are worthy of coming to the Ten Thousand Sword Graveyard to seize swords?"

Just eight short words.

Every word was like a sword.

Sharp.

Sarcastic.

Merciless.

Piercing these foreign race Prodigies so deeply that their faces turned green and white. Those with hot tempers were about to flare up on the spot—

But looking at the endless Sword Mountain around them, looking at the "divine swords" that shattered upon touch, and looking at the gaze of the red-clothed woman—unconcealed, as if looking at ants—

A chill rose from the depths of their hearts.

They actually forced down their rage.

Jian Tanghuang stopped looking at them.

She turned her gaze toward the depths of the Sword Mountain, her eyes distant, as if searching for something.

The Sword Disciple still held his sheathed long sword.

From beginning to end, he had not uttered a single word.

He had not moved a single step.

He did not even spare a single glance at those foreign race Prodigies.

His gaze, from the very beginning, had been fixed on the depths of the Sword Mountain.

His expression was as calm as water.

Without sorrow or joy.

Without surprise or anger.

It was as if everything happening before his eyes—the fanaticism of the Prodigies, the dissipation of the swords, the shattering of hope, the angry roars—

Had nothing to do with him.

Had nothing to do with this Mortal World.

He just stood there quietly.

Watching quietly.

Watching this endless Sword Mountain.

Watching every ancient spiritual sword that seemed to contain world-shaking secrets, yet would be destroyed upon touch.

Watching the slanted giant swords turn to dust.

Watching the levitating short swords disperse into starlight.

Watching the slender swords hidden in rock crevices return to nothingness.

His eyes were very still, as still as a deep pool.

But if anyone could look directly into the depths of the pool, they would see—

Light flowing within.

It was not sword light.

It was a light more subtle and profound than sword light.

It was understanding.

It was compassion.

It was resonance.

He was looking at the swords.

And he was also looking at the stories behind the swords.

Looking at those who held the swords, looking at those years of swinging swords, looking at those severed Karmas, looking at those protective oaths—

Looking at those loves, hatreds, passions, and enmities annihilated in the long river of time.

In his eyes, the dissipation of each sword was not a simple "disappearance."

It was the end of a piece of history.

The period of an era.

The final chapter of a sword song.

When the Silver-scaled Woman touched that green sword, he saw a figure clad in green robes, wielding a sword and roaming through wind and thunder, flash deep within the blade.

This figure turned back at the last moment, smiling faintly at him—

Before dispersing with the wind.

When the Red-horned Youth attempted to pull up that dark-red heavy sword, he saw a general clad in tattered armor, fighting to the death in blood, amidst the towering Evil Qi of the sword.

The general nodded at him—

Before crumbling into a sky of blood-red light.

When the winged Prodigy's fingertips touched the transparent short sword, the galaxy flowed within, reflecting a youth looking up at the starry sky, questioning the heavens with his sword.

The youth winked at him—

And turned into specks of starlight.

Ten thousand swords all decay.

Only the intent lasts forever.

The swords were waiting for someone.

And they were also saying goodbye.

Deep in his eyes, an extremely subtle sword glow flashed and vanished.

So fast it seemed like an illusion.

Yet it also seemed like a whisper that only swords could understand.

He was responding.

Responding to those dissipating Sword Intents, responding to those departed Sword Masters, responding to the loneliness and waiting of this Sword Mountain.

And in the deepest depths of his gaze.

In the core area surrounded by the Sword Mountain.

In the center of the perilous land where even the Sword Qi condensed into physical form and space itself distorted—

A sword was quietly stabbed into the ten-thousand-Zhang high precipice.

It was pitch-black all over.

Without light or luster.

Without patterns.

Without spiritual light.

It did not even have a sharp edge.

It did not look like a sword.

It looked more like a piece of stubborn iron, a charred wooden stick, a forgotten past.

Yet it was stabbed there—

And all the swords pointed toward it at a subtle angle.

As if on a pilgrimage.

As if in submission.

As if in waiting.

It was waiting.

Waiting for someone who could see it.

Waiting for someone who could understand it.

Waiting for someone who could draw it.

The Sword Disciple looked at this pitch-black sword.

He looked for a long time.

Then, very, very softly, almost inaudibly—

He sighed.

This sigh dispersed in the wind, dispersed in the thousands of Sword Intents, dispersed in this Sword Tomb that buried countless legends.

No one heard it.

Only Jian Tanghuang slightly turned her head and glanced at him.

Her red clothes were like fire.

Her gaze was like a sword.