"Not interested.

Die!"

Song Qingxing raised his Long Sword and thrust forward with all his might.

This wasn’t just a heat-of-the-moment remark. He was truly uninterested in his opponent’s legacy, no matter how powerful—how absurdly powerful—he was.

To him, that was ultimately someone else’s Dao, not his own. He had his own path to walk. Even if it was fraught with thorns and haunted by demons, he would cut through it all with a single swing of the Three-foot Cyan Blade in his hand!

The only reason he remained in this trial was to defeat the enemy before him. He fell time and again, only to make the sword in his hand sharper, only so he could climb higher and travel farther in the future!

"Hmph. You say one thing and mean another!"

Seeing the cold glint of the blade stabbing toward his chest, a flicker of disdain crossed the arrogant man’s eyes. With a gentle swing of his sword, a torrent of Sword Qi erupted, and Song Qingxing was sent flying once again.

But he was back on his feet in an instant, silently raising his sword and charging forward again. The blood covering his face gave him a ferocious air.

Another seemingly casual strike, and a blossom of blood bloomed on Song Qingxing’s chest as he was knocked back once more...

In this dark, confined space, Song Qingxing was sent flying again and again, only to charge back and thrust his sword at his opponent with even greater speed. The cycle repeated, endlessly.

He didn’t know how many wounds covered his body, nor could he count how many times he had dragged himself up from the ground. All he knew was to charge—silent and fearless.

Gradually, his sword grew faster, his strikes more vicious. Though he was still no match for the arrogant man, unable to last a single exchange, his perseverance and perceptiveness began to move his opponent.

After knocking him away with another strike, the arrogant man sheathed his Long Sword. A trace of admiration colored his tone. "I have seen eight geniuses more talented than you, but none of them passed my test."

"Your tenacity is commendable; you’ve earned my respect. I can accept you as a Named Disciple and teach you a part of my Swordsmanship."

Anyone else would have been ecstatic to hear such an offer and would have kowtowed in immediate acceptance. Unfortunately for him, he was facing Song Qingxing.

Faced with the temptation of a peerless legacy, he simply raised his sword, advanced with silent, steady steps, and thrust—precise and swift!

A sinister glint flashed in the arrogant man’s eyes. "If you don’t know what’s good for you," he snarled, "then you can just die!"

SWISH

He raised the Cyan Blade high.

CLANG

CLATTER

With a sharp sound, the sword in Song Qingxing’s hand was sliced in two.

He was defeated in a single move yet again.

But this time was different. The arrogant man didn’t stop. He raised his sword again and thrust.

SHUK

The sharp Tip of the Sword pierced his skin and emerged from his back.

Song Qingxing’s body stiffened. He slowly raised his head, a mocking glint in his eyes. ’This is it! The chance I’ve been waiting for!’

SWISH

He summoned every last ounce of strength in his battered body and swung the broken sword, intending to trade his life for a single wound on his opponent.

CLANG

But his desperate strike was blocked. The rest of the blade shattered, leaving him with only the hilt.

A look of bitter unwillingness filled Song Qingxing’s eyes. His head spun and his vision blurred until the arrogant man before him became a double image.

Gritting his teeth, on the verge of losing consciousness, Song Qingxing resorted to the most desperate and ridiculous move of his life.

With his last ounce of strength, he flung the hilt at the arrogant man’s face.

SMACK

Seeing the red mark on his opponent’s face, a flicker of mockery crossed Song Qingxing’s eyes. Then, he collapsed, his consciousness fading into Chaos.

The arrogant man was stunned. He never imagined that, even at this point, his opponent would refuse to stop attacking.

’So... stubborn...’

A gratified smile suddenly appeared on his face. As he watched Song Qingxing’s scarred body dissolve into faint motes of light, he pointed a finger, shooting out a beam of pure white light.

As the motes of light dissipated, the arrogant man stood with his hands clasped behind his back. ’Since you are unwilling to inherit my legacy,’ he thought, ’then I shall grant you a different boon...’

PFFT

Back in the Sword Stele Forest, Song Qingxing spat out a mouthful of fresh blood, an unnatural flush spreading across his face.

Although only his consciousness had been "killed," the damage was no less severe than being run through with a sword in the real world. A wound like this would take at least three to five days to heal.

Casually wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, Song Qingxing felt no disappointment at having missed out on a peerless legacy. Instead, he was pondering why his final strike had failed.

He soon frowned deeply—not because he had found an answer, but because he discovered something new inside his Dantian.

’Is this... a Sword Embryo?’

Before breaking through to Foundation Establishment, a Cultivator must first form a Dao Foundation. For most, the ultimate goal is the Dao Foundation of the Great Dao.

But as a Sword Cultivator, Song Qingxing had a different goal. He didn’t want to form a Dao Foundation of the Great Dao; he wanted to forge a Sword Embryo.

The Sword Embryo is the crucible where Sword Intent is forged. Any Cultivator who successfully forms one will comprehend Sword Intent upon breaking through to Foundation Establishment, setting them upon their own unique Dao.

This was the common goal of all Sword Cultivators. Unfortunately, Sword Embryos were exceptionally rare. In the thousand-year history of the Celestial Sword Sect, fewer than three people had ever successfully formed one, a testament to their rarity.

Logically, Song Qingxing should have been overjoyed at having formed a Sword Embryo. But a sliver of suspicion crept into his heart. He had only recently reached Qi Refining Great Perfection. By all rights, even if he were capable of forming a Sword Embryo, it should have taken at least three to five years.

Then he suddenly recalled that after his "consciousness" had died, a flash of white light had shot into his Dantian. ’Could that have been when the Sword Embryo was formed?’

Song Qingxing was no fool. He quickly put the pieces together and guessed most of the truth.

’No-Injury Sword Venerable, I’ll remember this,’ Song Qingxing thought, staring at the Sword Stele and clenching his fists.

He had known from the moment he entered the trial who he was facing: the being hailed as the greatest master of the Sword Dao in all of history.

He also knew that before his Ascension, this Sword Venerable had hidden his life’s work within this very Sword Stele. Anyone who passed his trial could inherit his legacy.

But from the start, he had never cared about that legacy, even if it represented a height he might never reach in his entire life. That was why he had still launched a final, desperate attack even after the man had offered to take him as a Named Disciple.

He had come to study this Sword Stele not to inherit someone else’s Sword Dao, but to learn from its strengths, shore up his own weaknesses, and perfect his own Dao.

He had entered the No-Injury Sword Venerable’s trial with the sole intention of honing his own Swordsmanship.

He never expected to be gifted such a tremendous boon. It left him feeling somewhat adrift.

After a moment of silence before the Sword Stele, he glanced around. He didn’t see Song Changsheng, but he did spot Song Qingxi meditating before another stele.

After a moment’s thought, he walked over to that same stele and began to study it as well...

Meanwhile, Song Changsheng, still in his meditation chamber, was unaware that Song Qingxing, faced with the temptation of a peerless legacy, had made a completely different choice than he had.

He was currently immersed in the Daoist Scripture, unable to extricate himself.

A full day and night passed. Little Lingyun had been woken by hunger twice, but Song Changsheng still showed no sign of stirring.

His head spinning from hunger, Little Lingyun could only suck his thumb and cry himself to sleep.

The next morning, Song Changsheng slowly opened his eyes, a sharp glint flashing within them for an instant before vanishing.

This time, he had comprehended a peculiar Secret Technique that allowed him to discern the aptitude of others.

Different people had different ways of judging a person’s aptitude.

Some used the Spirit Root as their basis.

Others judged based on perceptiveness.

Still others made their judgment based on temperament or willpower.

It wasn’t that any one method was right or wrong; they simply had different priorities.

The Secret Technique Song Changsheng now possessed wasn’t perfect either, but it was perhaps the most impartial method.

By discarding all uncontrollable factors, this Secret Technique could provide the most accurate assessment possible.

Of course, life doesn’t follow a script. A Cultivator’s journey is filled with countless uncontrollable factors that no one can predict.

Therefore, this technique could only serve as a reference.

But even so, its value was undeniable!

...