The setting sun cast a bruised-purple reflection across the quiet waters of Mirror Lake.
Swish—clang!
A heavy gust of displaced air whistled through the reeds as Lucien brought the six-foot single-edged blade down in a brutal, vertical cleave.
The blade stopped a mere millimeter above the damp gravel, freezing with absolute mechanical perfection.
Not a single tremor traveled up his wrists; his balance was unshakeable, his breathing calm and rhythmic.
In just two days of relentless, uninterrupted repetition, Lucien had completely mastered Flawless Basic Swordsmanship.
Every thrust, diagonal sweep, parry, and foot transition was no longer a conscious effort—it had become pure instinct.
He had stripped away all wasted flourishes, transforming every simple movement of the eighty kg blade into the most direct, lethal application of force possible.
Even more terrifying was the furnace within his dantian.
Over the last forty-eight hours, Lucien had relentlessly condensed ambient Stellar essence, pushing his foundation past another threshold.
He had stepped firmly into the second level of the Stellar Body Realm.
For an ordinary cultivator, Level 2 meant two temperings—barely enough to harden the skin against blunt wooden clubs.
For Lucien, Level 2 meant eighteen total temperings.
Eighteen cycles of celestial fire had forged his muscles into braided steel cords and his jade skin into impenetrable armor.
In raw physical strength and muscle density alone, he was already equivalent to a first-level Bone Forging expert like the senior disciples of the clan.
When factoring in his boundless physical stamina, flawless sword forms, and the tyrannical nature of his Stellar Qi, Lucien knew he could comfortably decapitate an ordinary second-level Bone Forging cultivator—and even clash on equal footing against a third-level expert.
He rested the flat spine of the heavy sword against his shoulder, running a thumb over the cold steel.
It had no intricate engravings or spirit gem sockets, but the brutal weight sat comfortably in his grip.
However, he knew its limitations.
If he channeled his pure, unbridled Stellar Qi directly through its blade, the metal would likely fracture.
Stellar Qi was one of the most tyrannical, fiercely aggressive energies in existence.
The few legendary masters across history who had ever wielded starlight had only absorbed thin, diluted wisps filtering through the night sky.
Lucien, by contrast, generated pure, primordial stellar fire directly from the newborn star core burning inside his own dantian.
Common mortal steel was simply never meant to hold such heat.
Forms without blood are just an empty dance, Lucien thought, looking east toward the horizon.
With the Annual City Martial Competition only five days away, stagnant forms beside a quiet lake would not forge his combat instincts.
He needed real carnage.
He needed the Eastern Mountains.
The Eastern Mountain Range was an ancient, sprawling behemoth that stretched endlessly across the Eastern Continent.
To common mortals, it had no beginning and no end.
It was an untamed wilderness of primeval canopies, bottomless gorges, and teeming packs of demonic beasts.
Unlike human cultivators who advanced through meticulous sub-levels of nine or ten, demonic beasts were categorized into nine broad tiers matching human realms, divided simply into Low, Mid, High, and Peak ranks.
Tier 1 beasts mirrored the Body Tempering Realm, while Tier 2 beasts held the devastating bone-crushing lethality of the Bone Forging Realm.
He would not dare delve into the inner depths where Tier 3 beasts roamed.
Tier 3 beasts possessed the terrifying might of the Blood Quenching Realm—a realm where martial masters purified their very lifeblood into torrential rivers of aura.
In all of Aurora City, only two men stood at the summit of the first level of the Blood Quenching Realm: his grandfather, Patriarch Lucas David, and the old patriarch of the rival Lewis Clan.
Attempting to face a Tier 3 beast at this stage was suicidal.
Of course, Lucien could not tell a soul in the David Clan about his real destination.
To his mother Leona, his grandfather, and his uncles, Lucien was merely a fragile beginner who had just completed his second tempering.
If he dared announce he was venturing into the beast-infested jaws of the Eastern Mountains to hunt Bone Forging creatures, they would assume he had lost his mind and lock him inside his pavilion under round-the-clock guard.
Returning to the family compound as night fell, Lucien entered the patriarch’s study to present his request.
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“A tour around the city?” Lucas echoed, looking up from his maps with a warm, approving smile.
“A sensible idea. You’ve been confined to the estate for years, boy. Go see the merchant stalls, visit the outer gardens, and clear your head before the tournament. Take a small pouch of silver from the treasury.”
“Thank you, Grandfather. I will be back before the tournament begins,” Lucien said, offering a respectful bow.
He said his brief goodbyes to his mother, who gently reminded him to stay away from the western quarters where the Lewis family patrolled.
Lucien promised her he would be cautious.
Returning to his room, Lucien strapped the six-foot black-iron greatsword securely across his back, cloaking the blade in coarse gray linen.
He packed a sturdy leather satchel with dried rations and water.
Slipping silently out the compound’s eastern gates under the shroud of pre-dawn darkness, Lucien bypassed the waking markets of Aurora City, turning his back on the stone walls and heading straight toward the towering, jagged shadows of the primeval forest.