Ruo Xianxue, who had previously appeared irritated, now stood frozen. Her dark robes billowed wildly as she sensed the presence of Zhi Xuan’s Slaughter Intent. It was no longer a wild, animalistic bloodlust, but an absolute silence—the kind of stillness that occurs a split second before a blade severs a soul from its body.

  "Slaughter as an acceptance without denial," Zhan Xianwang slowly lowered his white piece onto the chessboard, but this time, the jade board crumbled into fine dust. "Your Slaughter Intent has evolved once more."

  Zhi Xuan did not answer with words. He rose slowly, cradling the still-sleeping Mei Hua with one arm while his right hand reached into the air. The red and black light particles around him solidified, forming a vortex that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.

  The first ten years within this Secret Realm were not spent in quiet meditation, but in shattering his own soul and rebuilding it from the sharpest shards. In his hands, the malevolent energy seemed to condense, capable of being unleashed or suppressed at will.

  "Ten years," Zhan Xianwang murmured, observing the floating jade dust. "You spent ten years just to understand that the hand holding the sword must be as calm as the hand holding a flower. Zhi Xuan, you are the first person to use my personal hell to forge a small heaven within your own mind."

  Zhi Xuan stepped down from the ruined wooden tavern. Each footfall on the jade stone street no longer triggered the appearance of ghostly corpses. Instead, the ground he trod upon seemed to submit; the wild black sand outside the city walls subsided, forming a flat path as if the universe were opening a way for a king newly risen from his own death.

  Zhi Xuan stopped at the threshold of the Bone City gate, staring at the horizon of the black sand desert which no longer seemed threatening. Ten years had passed in a single breath of enlightenment, yet for his body, time felt as though it had just washed away the deepest stains. He stroked Mei Hua’s head, ensuring that the girl's hair was not covered by the stifling dust of history.

  "Immortal King," Zhi Xuan said calmly, directing the title toward Zhan Xianwang. "I once heard of someone becoming an Immortal King; it must have been unimaginable back then. But now, you surely desire a state like that of the Great Saint today."

  Zhan Xianwang was stunned; his majestic golden shadow trembled slightly as if Zhi Xuan’s words were a pebble thrown into the surface of a still lake. He looked at his own translucent palms, then turned to look at Ruo Xianxue, who now stood with her arrogance slightly faded, yet still radiating the dignity of a ruler of hell.

  "Oh? Immortal King or not, that is merely a flash from the past," Zhan Xianwang replied with a faint pull of a thin smile. He rose from the bench, stepping forward, and as fast as a blink, he stood beside Zhi Xuan. "I have not even risen yet; it takes time for me to remain still within the Nine Heavens Bead. Just like Xianxue, if you are unable to step onto the Immortal Path, then everything before you will vanish along with you."

  Zhi Xuan stared straight at the horizon, which was now filled with frozen streaks of red lightning. Zhan Xianwang’s sentence was a cold warning—that their lives were now an inseparable wager. If Zhi Xuan broke, then the two great legends of ancient times would be buried in eternal darkness with him.

  "I certainly will; I have so many promises," Zhi Xuan murmured calmly, looking down at the black sand beneath him. "Will the Elders outside the Secret Realm sense your presence? I simply do not wish to be burdened by the knowledge that the entire world knows I carry a Devil and a God."

  Zhan Xianwang chuckled, the sound of his laughter now resembling the scraping of precious metals rather than the voice of a frail old man. "Those Elders? For them, the laws in this place are the highest limits they can comprehend. But for us, this place is merely a small sandbox."

  "I hope so," Zhi Xuan replied, raising his gaze and exhaling softly. "Next, let me walk alone through this Secret Realm that reflects the mirror of my Dao."

  Zhan Xianwang nodded slowly, his figure beginning to fade into grains of golden light that reabsorbed into the energy vortex around Zhi Xuan’s chest. Ruo Xianxue said no more sharp words; she only looked at Zhi Xuan with an unreadable gaze—a mixture of recognition and closely guarded hope—before she too disappeared, leaving behind the cold fragrance of a fox in the air.

  Now, in the midst of the vast silence of the Bone City, there was only Zhi Xuan and Mei Hua. Zhi Xuan stepped out of the city gate. The vast black sand desert stretched before him, but this time he no longer walked with a tension-filled vigilance.

  Above the split sky, a thick storm suddenly appeared, revealing giant sword blades that made the black sand beneath Zhi Xuan crouch and twist violently, leveling as if to swallow Zhi Xuan below. The Secret Realm seemed to respond to the Dao of someone who had been strengthened.

  Those giant sword blades descended from the blood-red cracks in the sky, carrying the weight of sword intent capable of splitting mortal mountains. The air in the black sand desert suddenly became incredibly sharp; every gust of wind that touched the skin felt like a fine incision trying to dissect meridians.

  Zhi Xuan looked up. In his sapphire eyes, the image of thousands of light swords fell like a meteor shower about to destroy everything. However, he did not draw the Heavenly Sword. Nor did he release the Xuan-Huang Energy to build a solid shield.

  "Is this the form of the Heavenly Sword seen by those I have killed?" Zhi Xuan murmured calmly, looking at the swords with acceptance. "Then, let me feel what it is like if the Heavenly Sword strikes me."

  Zhi Xuan waved his hand and summoned the Divine Furnace, immediately enveloping Mei Hua in his arms; the Law of the Four Seasons that oppressed the universe now shielded Mei Hua like a safe dome. As for Zhi Xuan himself, he only closed his eyes and stood tall like the center of destruction.

  The rain of swords descended with a deafening roar, splitting the atmosphere of the Secret Realm and creating spatial cracks that emitted sparks of void. The first blade, a giant sword as tall as a tower, struck directly above Zhi Xuan’s head. However, instead of shattering, Zhi Xuan’s body vibrated in rhythm with the impact.

  BOOM!

  The shockwave swept the black sand in a radius of thousands of miles, creating a gaping giant crater. Zhi Xuan remained standing tall. Blood began to seep from his skin, soaking his robes until they were deep red, but his eyes remained closed. He did not resist. He allowed the sharp sword intent to tear his skin, enter his flesh, and wash over his bones.

  "A sword is not just for cutting," Zhi Xuan whispered in the middle of the plummeting metal storm. "A sword is an extension of will. If I am the sword, why should I fear myself?"

  Every time an illusory sword blade pierced his body, Zhi Xuan absorbed the essence of that sword intent. Within his Sea of Consciousness, the Heavenly Samsara Wheel spun at an unprecedented speed. The wounds on his body closed as quickly as they appeared, forged by the regeneration of the Heavenly-Blood Body and reinforced by the weight of the Xuan-Huang essence.

  Hundreds of swords fell like the wrath of Heaven; every thud was like forging in a furnace, every falling sword like a weight piercing and tearing the spiritual. Within the glowing Divine Furnace enveloping Mei Hua, Xiao Die and Ao Sheng performed their duty, guarding Mei Hua while watching their Senior anxiously as he was struck by swords outside.

  Xiao Die, with her glowing transparent wings, flew around Mei Hua’s head in distress. Every time the sound of a sword hitting Zhi Xuan’s body echoed outside, her small frame would flinch.

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  "Golden Dragon Brother... will Senior be okay?" Xiao Die whispered, her voice trembling with fear. "I feel Senior’s meridians churning violently. The sword intent out there is too sharp; it is no longer a test, it is a slaughter!"

  Ao Sheng, the little dragon holding the Dragon King’s spear with golden scales starting to crawl across his skin, was now coiled at Mei Hua’s feet. His golden eyes stared toward the transparent furnace wall, showing Zhi Xuan’s silhouette being continuously struck by giant sword meteors.

  "It is all right, Xiao Die," Ao Sheng replied, though he himself kept moving restlessly. "Senior is doing something crazy. He is not defending; he is consuming the attack. He is letting his body be the anvil. If he survives, his body and soul will merge with the Sword."

  Ao Sheng then turned toward Mei Hua, ensuring the little girl did not wake up from the shaking. "Our task is to ensure this little sister does not feel a single vibration from the hell outside."

  Xiao Die turned into a small moth and landed on the Lulu doll, exhaling deeply while spreading life powder to stabilize the energy within the furnace. "This world is so cruel to Senior. Why is it that every time he wants to step forward, the Heavens always send such heavy punishment?"

  "Because Senior is Senior," Ao Sheng answered with an unusual air of maturity. "You know he has a slowness in cultivation because of the weight he carries. So, he sees this as an opportunity to perhaps release that weight, even if it is impossible. Senior... he is transforming himself into that sword."

  Outside the walls of the Heavenly Trifold Reincarnation Cauldron, hundreds, even thousands of swords continued to strike; every time one neared Zhi Xuan, it would dissolve but leave a mark. Everything happening in the Secret Realm, even though Zhi Xuan did not yet fully understand what Dao tests would come because of his Dao, he believed that everything occurring here contained enlightenment.

  Time seemed to freeze within that vortex of steel. The second ten years in the Secret Realm of the Sacred Heaven were no longer spent by Zhi Xuan talking to shadows, but in accepting pure pain. Every sword blade that plunged into his body brought a fragment of the secret regarding the laws of sharpness and destruction.

  Zhi Xuan, who now stood in the center of the crater formed by thousands of hits, slowly opened his eyes. His sapphire pupils no longer emitted a blinding light; instead, his eyes looked like an old, deep, dark well, where every falling sword blade seemed to sink into those infinite depths.

  "The Heavenly Sword, how magnificent it is," Zhi Xuan murmured in a heavy voice, watching the swords continue to fall. "Forging the Sword, yet forging the body. How one becomes a Sword, how to manifest a sword without using a sword."

  Zhi Xuan turned to the side, looking at his arm wrapped in blue cloth; there, his dark skin and the slaughter runes engraved upon it churned. "Becoming the will of slaughter, yet also using slaughter as a body."

  He raised his right hand, grasping the hilt of the Heavenly Sword that immediately appeared in his hand; the white cloth wrapped around the blade fell away, leaving a dark blade with glowing lightning runes. He began to swing his sword, closing his eyes and withdrawing all senses, letting intent be his guide.

  "Ten years to make peace with sin, and ten years to understand becoming a Sword," Zhi Xuan whispered, his voice clear amidst the roar of the storm.

  Every sword swing Zhi Xuan made in the middle of the metal meteor storm created a slow, spreading vortex. His movements were slow, almost resembling the dance of a hermit under the moon, but every time the Heavenly Sword blade sliced the air, the space around it seemed to freeze.

  The giant sword blades falling from the sky, which had previously struck his body with absolute destructive power, now seemed pulled by a new pressure as they approached Zhi Xuan’s swing. The swords no longer exploded upon contact; they curved, shattered into shards of light, and flowed following every movement of Zhi Xuan’s sword tip like a river returning to the ocean.

  "The Heavens are so wicked, all creatures weep," Zhi Xuan’s voice was heavy, containing a touch of calm yet sad tone. "Mercy knows no form, so why were right and wrong created?"

  Beneath the red horizon that continued to spew wrath, Zhi Xuan continued to dance. Every step on the black sand was a line of death poetry written with the tip of a blade. He no longer saw the thousands of falling swords as a threat, but as grains of rain watering the parched fields within his soul.

  "If one day my sword dissolves, my soul shatters, my tears no longer fall," Zhi Xuan murmured, shedding a single tear. "Would I still be worthy to wield the Heavenly Sword in my hand?"

  When that drop of tear fell onto the black sand, the air crackled and then froze completely; the clinking of metal was like the melody of a guqin on a long, rainy night. From the air, the swords that were previously formed now turned into shards of fragrant flowers, carrying a silent aura.

  Zhi Xuan continued to dance; his bare feet no longer touched the grains of black sand but floated thinly above a bed of light flower petals falling from the sky. Each of his swings now no longer left a harsh roar of wind, but left traces of transparent ripples in the air, as if he were painting on the surface of calm water.

  The thousands of giant swords still in freefall from the cracks in the sky suddenly lost their weight. They lost the intent to destroy, turning into streams of pure energy coiling around Zhi Xuan, following the rhythm of his melancholic dance. The Silence of Slaughter he had achieved earlier now merged with his sword intent, creating a pressure that was quiet yet carried the fragrance of death.

  "Living like in the middle of a storm, the ocean waves that wash away time," Zhi Xuan murmured, his eyes still closed, but his voice calm and melancholic. "Immortality is only their fear of a Reincarnation that never comes, so what is the meaning of seeking the Heavenly Path?"

  "This solitude is like flower petals drifting in the middle of the ocean," Zhi Xuan’s voice was heavy, calm, and almost like a flower speaking. "Flowers grow in spring, yet wither in autumn. Life and Death are never separated; why does Heaven regulate that?"

  The vortex of light flower petals grew tighter, forming a circling storm surrounding Zhi Xuan’s increasingly silent figure. Within the embrace of his sword dance, time seemed to lose its direction; there was no longer a haunting past, no chasing future. There was only this point, where blade and breath became one frequency vibrating the foundations of the Secret Realm.

  From a distance, the ruins of the Bone City appeared to tremble—not out of fear, but because of the spiritual resonance emitted by Zhi Xuan’s enlightenment. Those bone walls slowly began to be overgrown by glowing jade moss, turning the giant tombstone into a new monument of life.

  "What is the meaning of every death, every slash, every slaughter, if Reincarnation never arrives," Zhi Xuan’s voice echoed, questioning the Heavens as if he himself began to question Reincarnation. "The Great Saint seeks Heaven, yet Heaven never comes. Why is Heaven so heartless?"

  Zhi Xuan’s question challenging the Heavens was not answered by thunder, but by a deeper silence, a stillness that seemed to force the entire universe to hold its breath. Above, the seven eternal glows of Yao Gu piercing the dimension of the Secret Realm began to flicker, as if the eye of Heaven were blinking in surprise at the audacity of a mortal questioning the essence of immortality itself.

  Zhi Xuan stopped his dance. The tip of the Heavenly Sword slowly pierced the mound of black sand, which had now turned white, covered by light flower petals. He stood frozen, his head bowed, while his hair, which was starting to grow longer strand by strand, billowed in the wind that carried the scent of wet earth and ancient sadness.

  "Twenty years," Zhi Xuan whispered, his voice now sounding like the scraping of frozen tree branches. "I have killed thousands of swords, but I have not yet been able to kill the doubt within my own heart."

  Beneath the sky that no longer spewed steel but left a stifling silence, Zhi Xuan’s body seemed to become a seed drawing in all the melancholy of these falling flower petals. Twenty years had been etched into the lines of his face, which now appeared more mature, sharper, yet held an invisible fatigue behind his pair of sapphire eyes.

  "However, that doubt will be answered; the past and the future always have an answer," Zhi Xuan murmured, closing his eyes again, pointing the sword upward as his finger softly stroked the blade. "I am the Heavenly Sword."

  Instantly, as the tips of Zhi Xuan’s fingers touched the coldness of the Heavenly Sword blade, a massive vibration traveled from the hilt, piercing his bone marrow and merging into his bloodstream. The sapphire light in his eyes dimmed, replaced by sharp, cold silver flashes, as if his soul had left its mortal body to reside within that ancient metal.

  The world around him suddenly fell silent. The black sandstorm, the falling light flower petals, even the roar of the Secret Realm dimension seemed to freeze before a single absolute will. Zhi Xuan no longer felt the weight of the air or the pull of gravity. His body felt light, yet simultaneously possessed a density capable of splitting the sky.

  "The sword is no longer in hand," Zhi Xuan whispered, but his voice did not come from his mouth; instead, it echoed from every pore of his skin, which now emitted a metallic glow. "I no longer wield a sword. I am the sword itself."

  In that sacred moment of enlightenment, Zhi Xuan’s body began to fade visually, turning into the shadow of a giant sword, transparent yet real. The Heavenly Sword he held dissolved, melting into his arm, merging the ancient lightning runes with his meridian lines.

  There was no longer a separator between the mind that kills and the body used to kill. Both had reached the stage of Man-Sword Unity—the oneness of Sword and Body. A cultivator on the Path of the Sword, blessed by Heaven with a breathtaking advantage.

  The resonance wave from that union spread to all corners of the dimension, cracking the sky dome that was once blood red into shards of crystal falling slowly. The resulting silence was no longer the quiet of a tomb, but the silence of a sword stored in its scabbard—a latent potential for destruction buried within a majestic tranquility.