"Hey, old man, what are we still doing here? It’s already the eighth. The Celestial Sword Sect stopped letting people up ages ago. If you ask me, we should just turn back and head home."

Twenty li outside Ten Thousand Swords City, the Little Fatty, dressed in golden brocade, complained to a scruffy old man up ahead while tearing into a greasy, golden-brown roasted chicken leg.

The old man shot the Little Fatty a fierce glare. "And whose fault is that?" he snapped, his beard practically bristling. "The whole way here, it was one complaint after another—a stomachache, a sore rear... You made us miss our window, and now we’re delayed another ten days."

The Little Fatty seemed unconcerned. "I told you already, I’m not interested in that stupid Swordsmanship. Even if you dragged that stele right in front of me, I wouldn’t give it a second look."

"What do you know, you brat?" The old man smacked the Little Fatty on the back of the head, his voice tinged with frustration. "That stele at the Celestial Sword Sect holds a great secret! If you could decipher it, you’d be set for your next life."

But the Little Fatty just glared back, slightly peeved. "If that stele were really so amazing, how could a group like the Celestial Sword Sect be the ones in charge of it?"

"Heh, why do you think that stele has been left standing there all these years? It’s because too many people have their eyes on it. No one dares to make a rash move. Who knows how many pairs of eyes are watching from the shadows.

"Right now, the Celestial Sword Sect is like a puppy on a tightrope. A single gust of wind might be all it takes for them to fall and be smashed to smithereens.

"Even if I don’t take this stele, someone else will sooner or later. Who knows, maybe by taking it, I’ll actually be saving every last soul in their sect." The old man chuckled slyly. Combined with his scruffy appearance, it made him look rather sleazy.

The Little Fatty eyed him suspiciously, his brow furrowed. "You’re a bit overconfident, old man. You, trying to snatch the Sword Stele? I’m afraid you’ll get yourself hacked to bits."

The old man grinned, revealing a mouthful of large, yellow teeth. He looked at the Little Fatty. "You’re right, I can’t do it alone. But isn’t that why I have you, my dear disciple? With the two of us working together, we can brave even a Dragon’s Lair and Tiger’s Den."

THUD.

The moment the words left his mouth, the Little Fatty was struck dumb. He was so stunned he didn’t even notice the half-eaten chicken leg slip from his grasp and fall to the ground.

A long moment passed before the Little Fatty let out a squeal like a pig being slaughtered.

"NO—!

"I’m not going! I’m not going! If you’ve got a death wish, why drag me into it? You’ve already got one foot in the grave! You’ve lived a full life, but I haven’t!

"I refuse! No matter what you say, I’m not going! You could beat me to death and I still wouldn’t go!"

"Not going?" The old man chuckled menacingly. "I’m afraid that’s not up to you." He reached out, grabbed the Little Fatty by the collar, and lifted him up as if he were plucking a chick from the ground.

The poor Little Fatty, a proper Foundation Establishment Cultivator, was utterly powerless. He could only flail his limbs wildly in mid-air, his eyes welling up with tears.

"Old Song! Old Xu! Help me...!"

***

Song Changsheng was completely unaware of the events unfolding outside. He had been sitting before the Wordless Stele for three days, as motionless as a statue. Suns rose and set, the stars wheeled across the sky, yet he did not move.

His consciousness was immersed in a world conjured by the Sword Stele, where he methodically followed an old man’s movements, refining a Sword Pill.

The method for refining a Sword Pill had existed since ancient times, but due to its intricate process and long-lost history, very few people still possessed this unique refining technique.

In a remote region like the Daqi Cultivation World, they were all but impossible to find.

For this reason, Song Changsheng was exceptionally serious and focused.

Before long, he had refined his first Sword Pill. Though it was only of the lowest tier, his heart swelled with a sense of accomplishment.

Just then, the old man looked at him with an approving gaze, which gave Song Changsheng the sudden, mistaken impression that the elder was aware of his presence.

But the elder only glanced at him for a moment before looking away. He addressed the crowd in the grand hall, "Next is the final, and most crucial, step: sealing the Sword Intent.

"A Sword Pill’s power is directly related to the Sword Intent sealed within it. Now, everyone, watch my demonstration."

The elder formed a sword-finger and lightly tapped the Sword Pill that was coiled around his fingertips.

In that instant, Song Changsheng felt a colossal, Heaven-Supporting sword flash through his mind. Immediately after, the Sword Pill on the elder’s fingertip flared with brilliant light, erupting with intense Sword Qi. The ground at the elder’s feet was instantly riddled with sword marks.

’Such powerful Sword Intent...’ Song Changsheng was shaken to his core, his gaze toward the elder now filled with reverence.

The physical damage the elder had caused might not have seemed great, but only Song Changsheng understood what he had just experienced.

He had a premonition that if the elder wished it, he could have shattered his Dao Heart with that single display of intent.

The Dao Heart was ethereal and intangible, yet it was terrifyingly real. There were countless examples in the world of Cultivators whose unstable Dao Hearts led them to fall into demonhood, or whose Dao Hearts shattered, causing them to lose all of their Cultivation.

But those cases were always brought on by a variety of external or internal factors.

This elder, however, gave Song Changsheng the impression that he could forcibly shatter his Dao Heart, as easily and casually as a scythe mowing down a field of wheat.

Such an ability was simply unheard of. Even the Sword Immortals described in the ancient texts were likely no more powerful than this.

Just then, the elder’s gentle voice sounded again. "Now, it is your turn to try."

As his voice faded, the Cultivators in the grand hall who had already refined a Sword Pill began their own attempts.

Only Song Changsheng was stumped, staring at the Sword Pill in his hand. ’I’ve barely practiced any forms of Swordsmanship,’ he thought. ’Where am I supposed to get Sword Intent to seal inside it?’

Suddenly, he felt a shadow fall over him. Looking up, he saw that the elder had appeared before him at some point without him even noticing.