After the Four Domains formally accepted the inclusion of the Fifth Domain—Sword Domain—a rare moment of peace descended upon the Sword Pavilion. But this peace brought no relaxation. Instead, the defeat during the Sword Domain War had ignited a fierce determination in everyone. Training intensified across the board. Windcloud Wuji didn't urge restraint—for he was the one training the hardest.
The "Star-Devouring" energy he had cultivated from both Sword Essence and Demonic Energy circulated through his body in tandem. Practicing two different inner cultivation methods at once took an incredible toll on both mind and body.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
A line of black, spike-like bones erupted from his back, tearing through his clothes. The grotesque protrusions gave him the appearance of a monstrous figure—hideous and terrifying.
Cold sweat streamed down his face like rain. The pain from his body's mutation was beyond what any normal person could endure. But even worse was the repulsion of the world itself, triggered by the demonic aura surging within him. Little by little, Wuji loosened the restraints on this demonic energy. With each increment he released, the world's resistance intensified. When that repulsion reached its peak limit, he would stop releasing more, using the pressure instead to temper his internal energy, making his Sword Essence deeper and purer.
After adapting to one level of world repulsion, he would push himself further, challenging the next threshold. The path of martial cultivation knows no end...
Every day, members of the Sword Pavilion could feel the thick demonic aura seeping from the third floor. None understood its source—until one day, Chi Shang stumbled in by accident and saw Windcloud Wuji's agonized training with his own eyes.
Chi Shang quietly withdrew. Wuji, caught in the torment of world rejection, didn't even notice. Following Chi Shang's report, word spread: on the third floor, their Grandmaster was training with a ferocity surpassing them all.
Every month, Windcloud Wuji would disappear several times, always returning exhausted. He never explained where he went. Upon his return, he'd head straight to the third floor, shut all the windows, and isolate himself. Sometimes, blood-curdling screams echoed from above. On those days, no one dared listen—everyone consciously shut off their senses.
Only Chi Shang, who had the rare privilege of entering after Wuji's seclusion, would find large pools of blood staining the wooden floor. He could scarcely imagine the intensity of Wuji's self-inflicted torment.
Driven by his master's example, Chi Shang trained with even greater desperation. His zeal infected the rest of the Sword Pavilion. Soon, everyone was pushing themselves to their limits.
"Strength… strength… strength—we need power," the warriors of the Pavilion shouted silently within. Their thirst for strength, perhaps, had no equal in the entire Taikoo World.
With their power at its lowest point, they had no choice but to strive—anything less meant death.
But where did Windcloud Wuji go during those excursions? Only he knew.
The strength of the world's repulsion was directly tied to the quantity and intensity of demonic energy within him. Once it reached a threshold, it would no longer increase. But Windcloud Wuji had discovered a shortcut—he could replenish demonic energy faster by absorbing it from powerful beasts. The more demonic energy he accumulated, the greater the repulsion he could harness to temper himself.
In all the Taikoo World, the only viable source of such energy came from ancient beasts—creatures that had lived for hundreds of thousands, even millions of years.
Each hunt was a battle of life and death. Beasts with a million years of cultivation could be slain in a single strike, thanks to the power of Wuji's Fifth Sword Soul. But even then, their energy only lasted him a short while. He needed more. As his power grew, he began seeking out even older beasts—those hidden in ancient realms, protected by time and mystery. With his spiritual sense, he hunted them down, slaughtered them, extracted their inner cores, and absorbed their demonic essence.
Yet, million-year beasts were rare. Those that had lived for ten million years or more were extraordinarily powerful. Even with fifteen million years of cultivation and the might of a Sword Sovereign, defeating such beings demanded a brutal fight. That was why he returned from each trip so drained.
In the sky of the Taikoo World, clouds eternally loomed. The sun rarely showed its face. One such morning, as Wuji finished his training session against the world's repulsion, he sensed a familiar, strange presence.
"Come out," said a calm, aged voice in his ear.
Startled at first, Wuji opened the windows on the third floor and leapt out. With a twist mid-air, he vanished into the distance.
He arrived atop a low mountain dotted with sparse wild grass. There stood someone he hadn't seen in ages—his old guide to the Sanctuary, the Sword Slave.
"I thought you were dead," Wuji said in surprise, gazing at the silver-haired elder. "I heard the guide for my plane was killed during the ascension process."
The Sword Slave offered a bitter smile. "You're right. The guide was killed—but it wasn't me. After I brought you to the Sanctuary, they reassigned me. Someone else was sent to guide your plane… and he perished. I narrowly escaped."
"I heard there was angelic interference that time?" Wuji asked, his tone laced with restrained fury.
"How did you know...? Ah—of course. Most of those who ascended were your disciples in some form," the Sword Slave said, shaking his head. "Forget it. Heaven is too powerful to challenge."
Windcloud Wuji fell silent, eyes dark. After a moment, he asked, "You wouldn't have come all this way just to reminisce, would you?"
The Sword Slave looked at Wuji with a complex expression. His voice trembled slightly. "I've never been prouder. Truly. All these years of guiding ascendants—never once did I feel the gravity and glory of this duty… until now. You are my pride, child. The moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew—you were different."
"Tens of thousands… tens of thousands! I never imagined that a single plane, even at its peak, could produce so many ascendants in such a short time." His eyes glistened with emotion. "Forgive me... a foolish old man shedding tears before you. It's been so long since I felt something like this. After all these years… you made me believe in humanity again."
Wuji did not interrupt. He simply watched. And in that moment, he began to feel that perhaps—just perhaps—the Sword Slave was someone like himself.