The deeper Feng Xianyue and the other cultivators ventured, the quieter the mountain became.
There were no birds, no beasts, not even the sound of insects.
The silence was broken only by an occasional metallic hum that echoed through the valleys like a sword being slowly drawn from its sheath.
Every boulder, every cliff face, every ravine bore sword marks of different sizes.
Some were shallow scratches, barely visible.
Others were deep gashes that split boulders cleanly in half.
As they climbed higher, the sword intent grew denser.
Weaker cultivators found it difficult to breathe, while those who cultivated the Sword Dao felt their weapons tremble uncontrollably within their scabbards.
Finally, they reached the heart of the mountain.
It was not a peak but a massive crater—as though the earth had burst open from within.
At its center stood the ancient sword.
Only the hilt and a portion of the blade were exposed, the rest buried deep beneath the mountain.
Even so, it towered over everything around it like a heavenly pillar.
Countless cracks radiated outward from its base, dividing the earth into a web of canyons.
Every few moments, wisps of sword qi escaped from the blade, carving fresh scars into the surrounding cliffs before fading into the air.
The sword had remained motionless for centuries, yet merely awakening for a month was enough to reshape the mountain into a land where swords ruled all things.
Everyone surrounded the crater, watching the magnificent divine sword.
Some greedy ones jumped in, hoping to be the first to grab the prize.
However, not everything happens as one wishes.
Just when they were ten feet away, the sword suddenly reacted.
Dark sword energy burst out from within, swirling around the blade with an intense glow.
Before the nearby cultivators could react, this ominous sword energy enveloped their whole being, sucking at their spiritual energy.
Painful screams filled the originally quiet atmosphere with a deafening chill.
For a moment, no one dared to breathe.
Where ten cultivators had stood moments ago, only scattered robes and abandoned swords remained.
A suffocating silence descended, before shocked gasps and murmurs filled the air.
Feng Xianyue’s eyes narrowed as she studied the dark energy that had consumed the ten cultivators.
Unlike the others, she wasn’t just frightened—she was observing.
The energy, no matter how subtle, felt familiar somehow.
It reminded her of the space stone’s aura.
Not identical, but related.
Like two branches from the same root.
“I can feel the sword’s resentment,” Yueling whispered through the bond.
“But there’s something else too…
Mother’s presence.
Faint.
Buried beneath the darkness.”
Feng Xianyue’s heart tightened.
“Then we’re in the right place.”
All the cultivators who had come with bellies filled with excitement and greed were struck with a chilling fear to their guts.
“What was that?” someone muttered.
“What a powerful energy of resentment…” another said.
An energy—cold, ancient, and hungry.
Like a wound that had never healed.
It was then that everyone became cautious.
No longer were they deceived by the seemingly pleasant sword qi radiating from the sword.
Xiao Qingyun, closely observing the receding dark energy, muttered to himself, “That isn’t ordinary resentment…
something is suppressing the sword spirit.”
“Everyone be careful.
The spirit of the sword has an unusually strong negative qi…
don’t approach carelessly,” said Xiao Qingyun.
Being a budding genius disciple from the Celestial Moon Dao Sect, his juniors like Feng Yue looked up to him despite not being much older than them.
His voice was calm, measured.
The kind of voice that expected to be listened to.
“Brother Xiao, whether we approach carelessly or not is not your business…
don’t pretend to care for others by restricting their luck,” said Liu Yang, a disciple from the Void Severance Dao Sect.
His tone was sharp, mocking.
He stood with his arms crossed, a sneer playing on his lips.
“How dare you talk to Brother Xiao this way!” Lan Hua said, pointing at Liu Yang.
She and her companions had arrived just in time to witness the devastating death of ten cultivators.
Now they clung to Xiao Qingyun’s familiar powerful aura in fear.
“Brother Xiao is kind enough to warn you of danger, yet you do not appreciate it!”
“Heh.” Liu Yang snickered in disdain.
“What kindness?
Everyone with eyes saw what happened.
There is no need to speak of righteousness here.
We all came for the divine sword and will eventually fight one another for it.
Who knows if he says not to approach but approaches when we let down our guard?”
“Fellow Martial Brother Liu,” Feng Yue began gracefully.
“Please don’t take offence.
Brother Xiao was just worried about us, his junior brothers and sisters, as we are from the same sect.”
Her words insinuated that Xiao Qingyun’s warnings were not directed at Liu Yang’s group in the first place.
Liu Yang was at first taken aback by the beauty in front of him, but listening to her words made his admiring gaze fade.
“Instead of arguing with each other, why don’t we cooperate and find out how to approach the divine sword?” Feng Yue said, throwing a glance at Xiao Qingyun, hoping he would agree.
Xiao Qingyun nodded in agreement, and a smile pulled at her lips, her eyes glistening with delight.
Feng Yue quickly lowered her eyes, forcing herself to remain composed.
Han Long couldn’t take it anymore and finally tore his gaze from Feng Yue.
His eyes had never left her earlier, so he hadn’t missed the exchange between her and Xiao Qingyun.
His fists clenched at his sides.
He had saved her.
Protected her.
And she smiled at Xiao Qingyun like he was the sun itself.
A bitter taste filled his mouth.
What am I to her?
Just a convenient shield?
“What are you planning now?” Liu Yang asked, glaring at Feng Yue.
“Cooperate with you only to be backstabbed later?
Ha…” He laughed, a harsh, grating sound.
“Please.
The only thing you’re good at is batting your eyelashes at your precious Brother Xiao.
Leave strategy to those with actual brains.”
Liu Yang ruthlessly threw the words at the beauty, and his fellow brothers and sisters from the same sect burst out in laughter.
“Liu Yang, don’t take it too far.
Feng Yue has no other intentions,” Xiao Qingyun finally spoke, frustrated.
“If you don’t want to cooperate, fine.
Have it your way.”
Seeing this, Feng Yue’s face heated up in shame.
She was only trying to impress Brother Xiao.
How did it turn out this way?
Feng Xianyue watched from among the crowd of cultivators.
She took a bite from her meat jerky, chuckling with amusement.
She hadn’t expected to find such an amusing show right before her.
And what more!
She didn’t have to pay.
She took another bite of the meat jerky, chewing slowly.
“If only I had some wine to go with this entertainment,” she murmured under her breath.
The cultivator beside her gave her a strange look.
She smiled sweetly and said nothing.
“Since you are both Golden Core cultivators, why don’t you try approaching the sword?” suggested Liu Wei, watching her brother’s reaction.
She casually glanced at Xiao Qingyun, who coldly glared at them but didn’t refuse the suggestion.
Liu Yang became silent, considering his sister’s words.
Though he had initiated this bothersome quarrel, he had done so only to create more time for his senior brother to get here.
However, before he could decide, a voice spoke, interrupting his thoughts.
“Since you all are finding it hard to decide…
why don’t I try first?”
The voice belonged to Hong Mei, a cultivator from the Heavenly Sword Dao Sect.
The crowd parted like water before a blade, and Hong Mei walked through the gap, her steps unhurried.
She had long grown tired of the petty quarrel before her.
Her sword was still sheathed, but everyone could still feel it—the sharp edge of her presence, cutting through the tension like a knife through silk.
Some cultivators near her scrambled to the side when they realized who spoke.
No one wanted to be near the temperamental Scarlet Sword Witch.
Scarlet Sword Witch was a nickname that the cultivation world had given her after she became known for her mad sword skills.
She was not someone to be trifled with.
Feng Xianyue’s gaze shifted to the newcomer.
Hong Mei’s cultivation was formidable—mid Golden Core at least.
But more than that, there was something in her bearing.
A recklessness that bordered on madness.
‘Interesting.’