Volume One: The Youth Enters the World Chapter Five: Sudden Upheaval

Within the sword’s inner world, Fang Tian’s spiritual energy surged ever higher. His face flushed crimson, his entire body burning hot, pain etched across his features. Drawing spiritual power into his meridians proved even more arduous than tempering his body with it; the energy within him, flowing like a river, relentlessly seeped into the meridians of his feet.

Sweat poured down Fang Tian’s face, drenching his clothes, rising in steaming white mist as it evaporated from his skin. He took a deep breath, veins bulging, knowing the final moment was at hand. With a fierce shout, he forced the remaining spiritual energy into his meridians in one determined rush.

Moments later, the strength radiating from his body faded, the white mist vanished, and Fang Tian had broken through.

First layer of Spirit Gathering Realm.

Now, the spiritual energy within him was gone, replaced by a current flowing through the meridians in the soles of his feet. He stood, testing his right foot. With a light press against the ground, he propelled himself backwards—his figure vanished from where he stood, appearing ten paces away. Fang Tian shook his right foot in delight.

He realized only the meridians in his right foot held flowing spiritual power; elsewhere in his body, spiritual energy was scarce, and what remained was within the meridians. Infusing spiritual energy into the meridians served not only to connect them, making the body better able to wield spiritual power, but also to store it. All his prior energy had now entered the meridians.

Fang Tian resumed absorbing spiritual energy. Once the meridians had taken it in, his body felt hollow, retaining only a trace. When spiritual energy filled his body, he tried using the method of tempering the body, letting the energy repeatedly crash against his form. Afterwards, Fang Tian found it even more difficult than before—not only did it consume the energy within him, but it also depleted the meridians, lengthening the assault.

Longer time meant longer self-torment; Fang Tian scratched his head and sighed softly.

With his cultivation level advanced, he could finally return home. Eager anticipation filled his heart as he looked around. At that moment, Elder Tian appeared before him.

“Excellent. In three years, you’ve reached the first layer of Spirit Gathering Realm. Your talent is extraordinary.”

Seeing Elder Tian, Fang Tian hurried over and said, “Elder Tian, may I return now?” Three years had passed; he’d grown taller, his old clothes no longer fitting. He changed into a new set.

Elder Tian nodded. “Now that you’ve reached the second stage, you can attach spiritual energy to your feet and walk across the lake to return.”

Fang Tian hesitated. “But Elder Tian, how do I get out? Didn’t you say you can’t let your power leak out?”

Elder Tian waved his long robe. Instant pain flared in Fang Tian’s arm, blood welling forth. He gritted his teeth as a drop of blood slowly floated up from his arm.

The drop hovered in midair, shining with dazzling light. Fang Tian gazed upward, curious about the phenomenon.

Soon the light faded; he looked to Elder Tian.

Elder Tian spoke, “This is the blood recognizing its master. Now you can freely come and go from this space, and you may store the sword within your body. Go ahead, try using your mind.”

Upon hearing this, Fang Tian focused his mind. The space before him began to dissolve, shifting. He emerged at the bottom of the lake.

Fang Tian used spiritual power to ward off the water, looking at the sword embedded in the meteorite. Its blade was long, its body dark and unremarkable—not at all suggesting a divine sword. With another thought, the sword transformed into a streak of white light, sinking into Fang Tian’s arm to form a long sword tattoo, which then vanished as though it had never existed.

Seeing the divine sword now stored within him, Fang Tian made his way toward the surface of the lake.

The night breeze caressed his face, soft moonlight pouring through the gaps in the clouds like countless ribbons of white silk, shimmering across heaven and earth. The lake’s surface sparkled, ripples spreading outward. He stood atop the water.

He breathed in the energy of heaven and earth, savoring the world outside. Fang Tian thought, finally, I’ve come out. Though only a month had passed outside, for him it had been three years.

Gathering power in his feet, he lightly touched the water's surface—ten paces, a hundred paces. His speed increased, drawing closer to the village, his longing growing stronger with each step.

Fang Tian continued across the lake. Nearing the village, he noticed its brightness pierced the night sky. Doubt crept into his heart—was the village celebrating something?

When he could see clearly, he froze, stopping at the shore.

The village was not celebrating. Flames raged everywhere, infernal fires like serpents devouring the small settlement.

All joy vanished in an instant—something terrible had happened to the village.

Fang Tian didn’t linger, rushing into the village, praying his father, Xiao Lan, and the others were safe. But fate often mocks, running contrary to hope.

The village was reduced to ruins by fire; charred, broken houses stoked Fang Tian’s anxiety. Only the sound of burning flames filled the air—no voices, no sign of life. Fang Tian dashed toward his home, shouting, “Father, are you there?” No answer. He hurried to Xiao Lan’s house—no response. He searched, but it was futile.

His spirit felt struck by lightning, lost and desperate, frantically searching the village, but there was no one.

Then, at the western edge, he heard voices and hurried toward them.

“Quick, tell us where the treasure is. If you don’t, you’ll die too.” “There’s no treasure here, you’ve searched yourselves. We truly don’t know of any treasure. Please, spare us, I beg you!” A villager spoke, pleading.

“If you don’t know, then you’re useless. Join the others.” The man raised his blade, which fell in a flash. The villager collapsed, lifeless.

The knife-wielder turned to the remaining villagers. “I heard there was a treasure born here. Do you really know nothing? If you do, speak now—you may live.”

The villagers knew of no treasure. Though the lake had seen strange phenomena and many outsiders had searched, nothing was found. Today, a band of desperate men had come; they'd told them about the events, but it made no difference. The intruders firmly believed the treasure was among them. Knowing their survival was unlikely, the villagers closed their eyes in fear.

The knife-wielder saw their resolve, realizing nothing more could be learned. He called his men. The villagers were surrounded, and two others stood beside the leader, seemingly equal in rank.

Weapons were raised, screams echoed, bodies fell.

Hearing the commotion from the west, Fang Tian rushed over, but was too late. Arriving at the open ground, he saw a group of men striking down the villagers. Among them, his father and Xiao Lan.

“No—!” Fang Tian cried out, spiritual energy surging, his hair flying wildly as he charged forward, breaking through several attackers. He watched his father slowly collapse, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Fang Tian knelt, lifting his father gently. His father, with his last breath, spoke, “Xiao Tian, you’ve come home,” and then closed his eyes, life extinguished.

Grief flooded Fang Tian, consuming his mind. He turned to look at Xiao Lan.

Her clothes were stained red with blood, like a scarlet blossom withering in the silent night. A smile lingered on her face, as if she’d seen Fang Tian return safely, joy in her heart as she departed.

Unable to restrain his sorrow any longer, Fang Tian howled at the sky. Grief transformed into fury; his eyes turned blood-red, threatening to devour those before him.

He stood, staring at them. They had destroyed everything he loved—he would have their blood for his loss.

The knife-wielding leader saw another survivor. “So, there was one left. His spiritual power is strong, he must have the treasure. Get him!”

Fang Tian’s eyes sharpened as the men rushed him. He drew the long sword he’d trained with, thrusting it into the ground, murmuring, “Frost Sword Technique, First Form: Ice Seal.”

Spiritual energy burst forth. Cold mist rose, quickly spreading outward. Frost formed on the ground, crystalline crackles resounding. In moments, a hundred paces around him were frozen solid; the attackers, caught mid-strike, were encased in ice, motionless.

The three leaders, sensing danger, had already moved out of range.

Seeing their men felled in a single move by this youth, the trio grew wary.

They exchanged glances, seeming to reach a decision. Fang Tian faced them, voice cold: “Tonight, you all die.”

The knife-wielder, standing between the other two, said, “Second Brother, Third Brother, this one is troublesome. We must attack together—don’t give him a chance to breathe.” The others nodded.

Chen Er wielded a meteor hammer; Zhang San held a spear. Chen Er raised his weapon, sneering, “Boy, you wiped out all our men. If we don’t avenge them, how can we face their spirits? Prepare to die. When you’re dead, I’ll torture your corpse to vent my rage.”

Fang Tian scoffed, “Nothing but empty words.”

“Facing death, still stubborn? Take this!” The two charged at Fang Tian.

He saw them coming, raised his sword defensively. Hammer and spear struck, but he parried, engaging in fierce combat. Sword light whirled, metal clashed—dozens of exchanges in moments.

“Boy, take this—martial skill: Meteor Strike!” Chen Er roared, spiritual power swirling as he leapt forward. The hammer flashed like a shooting star toward Fang Tian, forcing him to retreat. Zhang San’s spear threatened from the side. Fang Tian seemed pressed, emboldening his foes to attack even more fiercely.

Defending while retreating, Fang Tian suddenly channeled spiritual energy, deflecting their weapons and forcing them back.

“No more games. Time to send you on your way.” Fang Tian raised his sword before him, gathering spiritual energy into the blade. His face was emotionless, driven solely by his resolve to kill.

“Boy, stop bluffing. You’re already doomed. Let me send you off!” Chen Er and Zhang San unleashed their martial skills: “Meteor Triple Strike” and “Splintering Wood, Shattering Stone.”

Fang Tian focused, reciting silently, “Frost Sword Technique, Second Form: Flying Frost.” In a flash, he rushed before them, sword light flashing as his figure blurred between them, then stood behind.

They turned, but before they could speak, a line of blood appeared on their necks. No blood spilled, but white frost bloomed from the wounds, spreading across their bodies. The pair froze solid. Fang Tian swung his sword—human-shaped ice shattered and fell, leaving not a trace. They had not touched a single hair on him before vanishing.

“One remains,” Fang Tian said, gazing at the last surviving bandit.