Chapter 478
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Inside the barrier, Kian couldn’t hear the whispers outside. All he felt was sword energy crashing in from every direction. His eyes locked on the Sword Saint. He strained to track those lightning–fast moves.
A slash of sword light shot skyward, turning the world pale. The Sword Saint flicked his wrist, and thunder rumbled in the clouds like the sky was tearing open. Winds howled across the mountaintop, heat waves roiling.
Warren stole a glance at Kian. The boy stood rooted, eyes glazed–clearly lost in some revelation. Warren inwardly sighed at his raw talent.
He’d brought his top disciples there before, but none caught on this quick.
Just as he marveled, Kian moved. The black blade on Kian’s back hummed, then slid free into his grip.
Warren froze, then snapped out of his shock and frantically tried to stop him. “Stop!”
The Sword Saint loathed interruptions. Even for Warren’s sake, he only tolerated silent watching.
Kian nodded so easily before. He didn’t seem like an idiot–so why draw his sword now?
Warren wondered, ‘Is he out of his mind? Even if he has some revelation, he should wait till later to figure it out. How dare he practice in front of the Sword Saint?”
Warren’s scalp prickled as he remembered what had happened to those who’d crossed the Sword Saint before. He tensed up and stepped half a pace forward, putting himself between Kian and danger.
With his cultivation level, he could probably take a few hits from the Sword Saint. But if those strikes landed on this kid, he’d be lucky to survive. His meridians and pubic region would likely be wrecked.
Since he’d brought Kian there, it was his job to keep him safe.
Suddenly, a searing heat closed in. Warren held his breath and readied himself. Here it came!
Just as Warren braced to channel all his spiritual power to fend off the attack, his vision swam and his defense hit nothing. He stared in disbelief as the Sword Saint charged straight past him.
The clash of blades rang out, sharp as shattered ice.
Warren’s blood turned cold. He thought, ‘No… He’s actually going for the boy? What did the boy ever do to deserve this?‘
In the cultivation world, status was everything. To a master, everyone else was vermin. The Sword Saint’s arrogance was par for the course–no one here was worth his notice.
Snuffing out an insect who dared interrupt his practice? One flick of sword energy, and it’d be gone without a whi
But what was the Sword Saint up to? He was actually dueling Kian himself!
Warren wondered, ‘Is he in a foul mood today? Planning to crush this kid?‘
These thoughts flashed by in a heartbeat. Warren lunged forward to intervene, only to get sent flying back dozens of feet. When he shook off the dizziness, his expression suddenly froze. Something wasn’t right.
In the blink of an eye, they’d exchanged hundreds of strikes. The clash of their swords thundered, and their movements were so swift that it left him dazzled.
Disciples outside the barrier couldn’t make out the details, but Warren saw everything. As his shock faded, he realized the
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Chapter 478
Sword Saint wasn’t trying to kill Kian. It looked more like he was demonstrating moves, teaching swordplay.
Otherwise, with their gulf in cultivation, how could they have lasted this long?
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Warren was stunned. As the truth hit him, his face went slack with disbelief. He wondered, ‘Since when did the Sword Saint change his ways? Am I dreaming?‘
He dug his nails into his palm. The sting was real. This wasn’t a dream.
The white–clad Sword Saint had dropped his cultivation to Nascent Soul stage, matching Kian’s. After a thousand exchanges, he sheathed his blade, flicking away the frost clinging to the steel. His eyes held a glimmer of approval as he sized up the young man.
Every sword technique in their spar, Kian had grasped on the first try.
Kian stood rooted, still lost in the duel. His mind buzzed with so many insights it felt like his skull might split.
His temples throbbed, veins standing out on his forehead. Beyond sword moves, he’d grasped something deeper.
Silence fell. The Sword Saint stayed put, and no one dared break it. Finally, Kian shuddered. His entire presence shifted.
Warren gasped, eyes popping. “Sword domain…” he murmured.
Among the hundred million sword cultivators, only a handful ever achieved this.
“Good.” Even the Sword Saint’s eyes brightened. He nodded, inwardly thinking, ‘I knew this kid had it.’
Kian finally snapped out of his trance. Meeting the gaze, he murmured, “It’s you.”
The figure before him was familiar. It was Greg, the sword cultivator who’d shared a meal with him and Nyx the day before.
Greg looked shockingly young, with delicate features and clear eyes. His presence was veiled, masking his true cultivation level. Hard to believe he was a patriarch who’d lived for millennia.
Kian didn’t linger with his gaze. He bowed deeply and then averted his eyes.
Greg seemed cheerful, nodding at him. “You’ve got talent. Don’t waste it. Start training with me daily.”
He’d never taken on disciples before–too much hassle, and he hated being tied down. But he didn’t mind guiding Kian.
After all, they shared a mission–protecting their precious little rabbits with their swords.
Thinking of Nyx, Greg waved a hand to dispel the barrier. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching. When he didn’t spot that small, round figure, he asked, “Where is she? Didn’t she come?”
Kian knew exactly who he meant. He paused before answering, “Nykie’s at Herb Peak.”
At that hour, she was probably still fast asleep.
“Then I’ll come with you to find her.” At the mention of Herb Peak, Greg’s mind flashed to yesterday’s canteen f lighting up. He gave Kian’s shoulder a friendly pat.
This eyes
One free meal wasn’t enough–he wanted seconds.
Spectators watched, slack–jawed, as the Sword Saint spent the whole morning sparring with Kian. No one caught their conversation, but they saw the pair shoulder–to–shoulder, soaring away on their swords. Only afterimages lingered in the air.
Everyone stood frozen, stunned into silence. ‘Is…Is that really the Sword Saint?‘
The Celestial’s sword cultivators recovered first, shooting the Sword Guild disciples strange looks.
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This was the aloof Sword Saint they’d claimed wouldn’t spare a glance at anyone?
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Under the weight of so many skeptical stares, the Sword Guild disciples flushed with indignation. “We weren’t lying! He’s usually cold as ice!” they snapped, jabbing their chins up.
“If you don’t believe us, look–even Mr. Mitchell’s shocked!”
“How’d that Celestial kid catch the Sword Saint’s eye?”
“Who even is he?”
The Celestial disciples watched the pair vanish, then exchanged nods. Herb Peak–had to be.
The Sword Guild disciples took off after them, curiosity trumping caution. They needed answers.
On the wide bed, the fluffy rabbit twitched her nose, half–asleep. A sudden sneeze sent her tumbling. Achoo!” She rolled across the sheets, splayed her stubby paws, and stretched before blinking awake.
She wondered, ‘What time is it?‘ She didn’t see Kian, supposing he had already left early.
Nyx sighed inwardly, ‘He’s so hard working. Well, I can’t slack off either.‘ She hopped off the bed and shifted into her human form.
The canteen ran like clockwork, leaving Nyx with no pressing tasks. She dressed simply, wolfed down breakfast, and headed to the spirit field.
Now at Nascent Soul stage, her cultivation let her manage these fields far better than in her Foundation Building days- otherwise, she’d never have risked opening the canteen to guests from other sects.
As she poured spiritual energy into the Violet Soul Grass seedlings with her Snow Dew Bottle, Olivia crashed down from the sky, her voice shrill. “Nyx, help!”
Panting and pale, Olivia grabbed Nyx’s arm. “I planted Nymph Grass yesterday, and it was fine. Now half the field’s dead. Come quick!”
These days, Nyx’s fellow disciples turned to her by default when spirit plants sickened–forget Elder Cyan. Nyx had time to spare, and her fixes often worked better.
Nyx soothed Olivia and followed her to the field. Sure enough, the soil lay parched and yellow, drained of spiritual energy. Seedlings of Nymph Grass wilted everywhere. Olivia’s face crumpled, and she looked ready to keel over.
“Not a huge deal.” Nyx hunted through the field until she found a surviving seedling. After sensing its emotions, she understood. “Nymph Grass and Shroomdew can’t grow side by side. They repel each other.”
Shroomdew had been planted first here and thrived. The new Nymph Grass seedlings were much weaker, so they didn’t stand a chance.
Nyx dug up the survivors and followed Olivia across the field. They replanted the grass where the Shroomdev uldn’t choke them out.
Mud caked her fingers, but Nyx ignored it, murmuring to the plants. Since she was there, she’d help Olivia check the whole field for other problems.
Nearby, a group wandered toward the canteen, looking around and chatting.
“Feel that spiritual energy? No wonder they’re the top sect.”
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“Herb Peak is their weakest outpost, yet the spiritual energy here is still much richer than that in our sect.”
“Small sects…rough life.”
“Our talents are average. If we joined the Celestial, we’d probably end up as servants.”
“Servants? No thanks.”
“I’d rather miss out on all this spiritual energy than wait on others.”
They all laughed.
These cultivators came from small sects, and due to their ordinary aptitudes, they were merely scraping by on the cultivation path. They loved wandering in the mortal world to feel a sense of superiority.
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In their sects, they were forgettable; in the cultivation world, invisible. Only among mortals did people fawn over them like immortals.
This shared hobby bonded them. Different sects, but kindred spirits.
Where there are people, there are social complexities. In this group, Matthew Jennings from Feather Sun Palace topped them all in cultivation and aptitude. The others naturally looked up to him.
“Matthew, with your aptitude, you could join the Celestial without slumming as a servant.”
“Inner disciple? That’s a pipe dream. But even as outer disciples, it’d beat rotting in a small sect!”
“You’ve got no clue! Feather Sun Palace has thrived for the past 100 years. With Matthew bringing home wins from the Sect Competition, it’ll outgrow ‘small sect‘ status soon!”
Normally, Matthew lapped up this praise. He prided himself on his aptitude, often bragging he could’ve joined the Celestial –if only he hadn’t missed their once–a–decade recruitment.
Today, though, he barely registered his friends‘ chatter. His eyes fixed on two elegant figures in the spirit field ahead.
His companions noticed his distraction and followed his stare. They thought, ‘Wow… The Celestial female cultivators are something else.‘
But they snapped back to reality, vigilantly yanking Matthew away. “Cut it out, Matt. Those are inner disciples.” Gorgeous or not, the great gap in status spelled trouble.
Matthew’s lecherous nature was an open secret among his companions. They’d personally seen the dozens of concubines he’d taken into his harem–all mortal women offered up from the human realm, plucked solely for their beauty.
None had spiritual roots or the ability to cultivate. Matthew indulged in their youth and looks for a few years, then cast them aside like worn–out shoes once age faded their charm. As mere mortals, they had no means to fight back or stir up trouble.
But now he had his eye on the Celestial Sect cultivators! His friends, panicking at the thought of getting dra trouble, grabbed him and tried to calm him down.
Matthew shrugged them off. “I’m looking at the one without the Celestial uniform. She looks familiar.”
linto
The woman reminded him of a mortal beauty he’d coveted named Nyx. Before he could marry her, she’d fled home. He’d raised hell at her home. He wondered, ‘Could she have ended up here?‘
Rumor said she’d eloped with her ex–fiancé, a guy with an affinity for cultivation. His spiritual roots were damaged, but he
could still serve as a Celestial servant.
“Even without the uniform, standing with an inner disciple means she’s no ordinary nobody,” his friends warned. “We’re
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Chapter 478
here for the Sect Competition–don’t start anything!
However, Matthew didn’t care about what his friends said. He mumbled an absent minde
fixed intently on Nyx.
He had a very deep impression of her whom he failed to marry. He was absolutely sextain the bewys identity, and it must be her.
Compared to the Celestial cultivator beside her, Nyx dressed plainly, her hands bed in die Cesty a long ver
work.
‘Figures,‘ he thought. If her fiancé’s a servant, she must be one too. Then be scuted to, she’s must wi lackey. Just a mortal without spiritual roots.
