503: Chapter 503 The Original Form of the Sword

Meanwhile, Sword Child remained sitting cross-legged in the same spot.

He had been sitting for three days.

Three days, seventy-two hours, forty-three thousand two hundred breaths.

With every breath, Sword Mountain became clearer in his perception—not a clarity of the naked eye, but a more essential clarity, one closer to the truth.

For these three days, he had not moved a single inch, had not chosen any Sword Master Peak, and had not even opened his eyes.

The surrounding Sword Intent had gone from attempting to drive him away at the beginning, to ignoring him later, and now to—

Awe.

Yes, awe.

These masterless Sword Intents were like beasts in the mountains; when they first caught the scent of a strange Aura, they bared their fangs, attempting to drive this uninvited guest away.

But they soon discovered that this person's way of existing was different from all previous intruders.

He did not resist, did not counterattack, and did not even release any hostility.

He simply sat there, like a stone, like a withered tree, like a span of time that had long existed within Sword Mountain.

This left the Sword Intents confused, then curious, and finally—

Fear.

Because they could not "touch" him.

Every Sword Intent that attempted to approach Sword Child automatically dissipated at a distance of three feet from him, not because it was blocked, but because it was "assimilated."

It was as if he himself were a more ancient, purer, and more irresistible Sword Intent; these wandering Sword Intents had only two choices before him:

Submission, or annihilation.

So they chose to avoid him.

Around Sword Child, an increasingly large blank area was forming.

This blank space was not emptiness, but a silent declaration—

Here, there is a master.

And during these three days, Sword Child had been doing one thing.

He was "listening."

Not with his ears.

His sense of hearing had lost its meaning on the very first day, shattered by the roar of Sword Mountain—the Sword Intents here were too numerous, too chaotic, and too violent; they collided, bit, and devoured one another, and the sound they emitted was enough to drive any living creature mad.

Sword Child was listening to something much deeper.

Listening to the flow of these Sword Intents—not the superficial collisions, but the deep-seated veins.

Every Sword Intent had its source and destination; they traveled through Sword Mountain along some invisible trajectory, like blood surging through blood vessels.

Sword Child followed these veins, tracking them one by one, untangling them one by one, until the entire "Bloodline map" of Sword Mountain slowly unfolded in his mind.

Listening to the resonance between those Sword Master Peaks—one hundred and eight peaks, seemingly independent, yet possessing a subtle chord between them.

They were not parallel, but interwoven; not scattered, but orderly.

When the Sword Intent of a certain peak surged, several other peaks would resonate in response; when a certain peak fell silent, the Aura of the other peaks would quietly fill that void.

This was not coincidence; this was design.

Listening to the breath of that sleeping Aura in the deepest part of Sword Mountain.

This was the faintest yet most massive existence among all the sounds.

It was too deep, so deep that the vast majority of intruders could not even perceive its existence.

But once you caught it, you would discover that its breathing rhythm was perfectly synchronized with the pulse of the entire Sword Mountain—

It was not following Sword Mountain; Sword Mountain was following it.

Like a heart.

The one hundred and eight Sword Master Peaks were its blood vessels, and those Cultivators climbing the peaks were the blood injected into the vessels—

And it was the heart waiting to awaken.

Through this "listening," Sword Child gradually figured out the structure of this Sword Mountain.

The one hundred and eight Sword Master Peaks, seemingly independent, were actually a single whole.

They were arranged according to some mysterious Formation, forming a massive Sword Formation.

Every peak was a node in the Formation, every Sword Intent was a line within the Formation; they echoed, bolstered, and restrained one another—

Forming a Formation map so precise it was suffocating.

And the eye of the Formation was in the deepest part of Sword Mountain—

The location of that sleeping Aura.

Those Cultivators who had climbed the Sword Master Peaks and been branded were not eliminated.

They had been "activated."

Their brands were connected to the Sword Master Peaks, and the Sword Master Peaks were connected to the eye of the Formation.

Every branded Cultivator was like a key inserted into a lock, injecting the final trace of vitality into this sleeping Sword Formation.

From the moment they were branded, they became a part of this Sword Formation—

Becoming the "fuel" to drive the eye of the Formation.

When enough fuel was activated, the thing within the eye of the Formation would awaken.

And that moment would be the true third trial.

Or, more accurately, the true test.

Sword Child slowly opened his eyes.

His gaze remained calm, so calm that it did not seem like he was on a Sword Mountain that could swallow him at any moment.

But the gray Sword Intent in the depths of his pupils was more condensed and restrained than before, as if, during those three days of stillness, he had not only seen through this mountain—

But also seen through himself.

The gray Sword Intent no longer flaunted itself outward, but retracted inward, shrinking into a nearly invisible glimmer.

But the sharpness contained within that glimmer was enough to make anyone who perceived it feel a chill down their spine—

This was the mark that appeared only after a person had honed their own Dao of the Sword to the extreme: returning to simplicity, great skill appearing as clumsiness.

"So that's how it is."

He said softly.

The voice was not loud, yet it echoed within the blank area, carrying a certainty that the matter was settled.

"The first trial eliminates unqualified Materials. The second trial screens for qualified vessels and brands them. When there are enough vessels, and the eye of the Formation is activated, the true Legacy will appear—"

"And before that, everyone who mistakenly thought they had obtained the Legacy was merely deceived into becoming a sacrifice ahead of time."

When he said this, there was no mockery or pity in his tone, only an acknowledgment of the designer's handiwork.

This was not sinister; this was fair.

This Sword Mountain never intended to hand the Legacy to the lucky, the opportunists, or those with good fortune from the very beginning.

It wanted someone truly qualified.

And those who were branded, if they were strong enough, if they could transform from sacrifices into masters—

Then the brand would not be a shackle, but a key.

The wager was life.

The winner takes all.

He paused, his gaze passing over the layers of Sword Master Peaks, looking toward the deepest part of Sword Mountain.

There, the clouds and mist began to churn.

At first, it was just a subtle fluctuation, like the even breathing of a sleeper.

But soon, the fluctuations turned into tremors, and the tremors turned into a roar.

The one hundred and eight Sword Master Peaks trembled simultaneously, not the kind of slight, ignorable shivering, but a violent vibration transmitted from deep beneath the earth that made one's soles tingle.

Rocks rolled down, Sword Intent ran wild, and countless tiny cracks spread across the mountains—

As if the entire Sword Mountain were shedding its skin.

Then, streams of sword light shot into the sky from the peaks.

Red, cyan, gold, silver, purple, white, black—each color represented an extreme Dao of the Sword, and each color carried the will of an ancient Sword Master.

Like a volcano suppressed for ten thousand years that had finally found an outlet, they shot into the clouds with an unstoppable Aura, intertwining, tangling, and undergoing Fusion in the sky, eventually forming a massive net of light covering the entire Sword Mountain.

Every line of this net emitted a suffocating sword pressure, and every node shimmered with a light that one could not look directly at.

It was not chaotic, but possessed perfect geometric symmetry—

That was the line of the Formation, the sign that the Sword Formation had truly activated.

The center of the net of light was aimed directly at the deepest part of Sword Mountain.

There, an Aura a thousand times more terrifying than all the previous Sword Intents was slowly awakening.

Not an explosion, not a gush, but an awakening—like a giant beast that had slept for billions of years opening its eyelids, like a Heavenly God who had been sealed for endless years stretching its limbs.

This slow, unstoppable, languid yet absolutely oppressive awakening—

Made the entire Sword Mountain tremble in its breath.

This was not Sword Intent.

It was the master of Sword Intent.

"The third trial... is about to begin."

Sword Child stood up, his white sword robe swaying gently; as his sleeves fluttered, the three-foot blank area expanded as he rose—

As if even the air was making way for him.

He did not look at those branded foreign Prodigies.

It was not indifference, but clarity. They had already become a part of the Sword Formation and would not be in mortal danger for the time being.

But when the eye of the Formation fully awakened, when that net of light began to contract, and when the true sacrifice began—

Their fate would be beyond anyone's control.

The only ones who could save them were themselves.

Sword Child's gaze passed through the layers of sword light, through the churning clouds and mist, through the trembling peaks—

And landed in the deepest part of Sword Mountain.

There, within that awakening Aura, he felt a Sword Intent that was both familiar and strange to him.

It was familiar because the essence of this Sword Intent shared the same source as the Dao of the Sword he cultivated—it was a pure "sword" that transcended attributes, schools, and all barriers.

It did not belong to fire, ice, thunder, or wind; it was the sword itself—

It was the origin of all Dao of the Sword, and also the end of all Dao of the Sword.

It was strange because the way this Sword Intent existed was different from any sword he had ever seen.

It was not dead, not static, and not passive.

It had life, will, and desire.

It was breathing, thinking, and choosing—it was not an object waiting to be taken, but a judge waiting to be persuaded.

This was not the Sword Intent of any ancient Sword Master.

This was...

Sword Child's pupils contracted slightly.

Those eyes, which had always been as calm as water, rippled for the first time—

Not fear, not surprise, but the seriousness of meeting a worthy opponent.

"Heaven and Earth Wandering Dragon."

He whispered this name. There was no guesswork or doubt in his tone, only the confirmation of a long search finally reaching its end.

This legendary sword truly existed.

But it was not a dead object.

It was alive.

Alive.

Not a rhetorical device, not a metaphor, but in the literal sense—

Alive.

It had its own breath, its own pulse, its own joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness.

It had slept for who knows how many tens of thousands of years, not because it was resting, but because it was waiting—

Waiting for someone worthy enough to make it open its eyes.

And now, it had awakened.

Because that person had arrived.

On the other side of Sword Mountain, Jian Tanghuang also stopped at the same moment.

She stood at the edge of a cliff, her red hair whipping loudly in the gale; the clothes on her body had long been slashed by Sword Intent, revealing the protective spirit armor faintly visible underneath.

Her breathing was a bit rapid, and a dried bloodstain hung from the corner of her mouth—it was left behind from the backlash when she had forcibly broken into a Sword Master Peak earlier.

But she had not stopped.

Until this moment.

She looked up at the massive net of light in the sky.

Her red pupils reflected the sword light filling the sky, and her face, which usually carried a somewhat cynical smile, now held only gravity.

This gravity was not fear, but the expression a true Sword Cultivator would only show when facing a true opponent—

Seriousness.

"So that's how it is..."

She also understood.

Those who climbed the peaks, those who mistakenly thought they had obtained the Legacy, were used from beginning to end.

What this Sword Mountain needed was not a successor, but a sacrifice.

It was not because they were not strong enough, but because they were not clear-headed—they had been blinded by desire and their ears had been blocked by greed—

Unable to see the truth behind those brands, unable to hear the beating of that sleeping heart.

And she, because she had not climbed the peaks and had not been branded, had instead remained free.

Jian Tanghuang hooked the corner of her mouth into a smile.

In this smile, there was the relief of having survived a disaster, the smugness of having insight into the truth, but more than that—

Excitement.

A kind of excitement that only a true madman would have, a boiling of the blood when facing a desperate situation.

"Interesting."

She flexed her wrists, and a red halo surged from her palms, spreading along her arms to her entire body, like a layer of flowing flame armor.

These halos were not spiritual power, not True Qi, but a more primitive, more violent power—it was her Sword Intent, the embryonic form of a sword that had already made countless people tremble in fear before it was even fully formed.

"Now that's more like it. If it were this easy to obtain the Legacy, that would be too boring."

She looked toward the deepest part of Sword Mountain, toward the center of the net of light, toward that terrifying Aura that was awakening.

"Come on, let me see what the third trial really is."

In the sky, the net of light became denser and brighter.

The light of the one hundred and eight Sword Master Peaks was no longer independent, but converged into one under the guidance of some supreme will. Red, cyan, gold, silver—all the colors merged together, becoming a color that did not belong to any single Dao of the Sword.

This was the original color of light.

It was the original form of the sword.

A massive pillar of light that pierced heaven and earth crashed down from the convergence point, like a spear thrown by a Heavenly God, piercing straight into the deepest part of Sword Mountain.

The earth trembled, the Void Realm shattered, and all living creatures within ten thousand li felt the aftershock of this strike—

Not the aftershock of power, but the aftershock of Sword Intent.