That night, deep in the training grounds behind the lord's residence.
The area was quiet. Only a few street lamps cast pure white light, turning the small open field bright as day.
A gentle night breeze brushed past, rustling the grass and leaves.
Luke stood alone in the center of the training grounds.
He kept his eyes closed, sensing everything around him—the flow of the wind, the warmth of the lamps, the footsteps of distant patrolling guards, even the wriggling of insects beneath the soil.
Ever since both his Intelligence and Spirit had reached 11 points, his perception range had expanded to a full two hundred ters. Within that radius, nothing could escape his "divine sense."
With a single thought, six flying knives materialized beside him.
They hovered in mid-air—three on the left, three on the right—trembling slightly up and down, gleaming with a cold, murderous light under the street lamps.
The knives were perfectly streamlined with just the right subtle curve, entirely silver-white and handle-less.
They were pure weapons designed for psychic control, custom-forged on Earth by "Andrew's Armory" and nad "Six-Inch Awn."
From certain angles, Luke looked exactly like a six-winged angel.
He opened his eyes, the corner of his mouth curving into a smile.
The six flying knives suddenly accelerated, streaking and weaving through the air!
They sliced the night, leaving silver trails that crisscrossed, flew side-by-side, spiraled upward, then dove downward.
Each knife seed to have a life of its own, yet under Luke's psychic control they moved in perfect harmony.
In the next instant, all six knives snapped inward, spinning around him to form a dense silver "protective cocoon."
They rotated so fast the blades blurred into a solid ring of silver light that completely enveloped him.
Any enemy who tried to approach would be shredded into minced at in an instant.
Luke waved his hand.
The six knives shot forward like a school of silver fish flashing across the night sky.
The training dummy twenty-five ters away didn't even have ti to react—well, it couldn't react anyway—before six cold glints simultaneously decapitated it.
The straw-filled head rolled to the ground. The body swayed twice and collapsed with a thud.
The knives didn't stop.
They suddenly fused in mid-air, the six blades locking together in a special formation to create a spinning silver drill.
With a piercing shriek, the drill slamd into a massive boulder fifty ters away—
Crack!
The stone exploded, shards flying everywhere.
Luke brought his index and middle fingers together into a "sword finger" and made casual gestures in front of him, like the sword immortals of legend directing flying swords.
Under his will, the six knives separated again and perford complex maneuvers in the air—spiraling, diving, sharp turns, climbing—like six agile silver swallows.
More than ten minutes later.
Fine beads of sweat appeared on Luke's forehead.
He had burned through more than half his spiritual power. The deep exhaustion rising from his soul grew clearer. He took a deep breath and made a gathering motion with his right hand.
The six flying knives imdiately flew back and clicked together in mid-air, forming a complete longsword.
The sword skimd along the ground and shot toward him, its silver blade trailing a streak of light under the lamps.
The instant it was about to slash through his legs, Luke leaped, landing firmly on the blade…
"Wuhu——"
A loud whoop exploded into the night sky.
"In the vast dream of life, only I awaken first!"
" and my sword were here!"
Luke stood on the flying sword, wobbling unsteadily as he soared above the training grounds.
His posture was far from elegant—tilting left one mont, leaning right the next, the sword swaying as if it might "crash and kill the pilot" at any second.
But this wasn't his first flight practice. With his powerful spirit and physical stats, he maintained that precarious balance.
Night wind howled past his ears. The villa compound, street lamps, and patrolling guards below grew small.
Luke spread his arms, savoring the unprecedented freedom and exhilaration—sword flight!
Sword flight! The legendary ability of sword immortals!
Ten minutes later, he descended slowly.
The mont he touched down, the six flying knives disassembled into six silver lights and vanished into thin air—recalled into his personal space.
In the distance, a patrol squad stood frozen, staring in shock.
The young lieutenant in charge swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay calm.
This wasn't the first ti he had seen the baron fly, but the awe never lessened.
"This is what a Celestial Dragon is," the lieutenant murmured, voice soft yet filled with irrepressible fervor. "The most noble magical bloodline… Our lord is the Seven walking among n!"
Several young soldiers seeing the spectacle for the first ti were completely stunned. One even instinctively traced a seven-pointed star over his chest—despite the Faith of the Seven not being popular in the Riverlands.
Luke paid the soldiers no mind.
He took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Breaking a sweat after intense training always left him feeling refreshed.
He clenched his fist, feeling the surging spiritual power inside him, and muttered to himself, "Am I a psychic master now… or a sword immortal?"
He thought for a mont and laughed. "With this level of strength, I should count as a high-level warrior, right? What tier of planetary level was that again?"
"Even Luo Feng, the cosmic bully from my high-school days, would have to step aside if he saw !"
No one could answer him.
After all, this was a world without a cultivation system.
But Luke didn't care about those superficial labels. He cared about real, tangible power growth.
Ever since Intelligence and Spirit had both hit 11, he had also "awakened" two special abilities—Insight and Bewitchnt.
It wasn't true mind-reading, but Insight let him sense other people's emotions toward him: hostility, respect, love, hatred, greed, fear…
As long as the person was within fifty ters, those emotions appeared in his perception like colors.
The lieutenant's fervent adoration, the young soldiers' shock and awe, the calm vigilance of the guards in the distant sentry post—he saw all of it clearly.
Bewitchnt was even more mysterious.
He discovered he could influence others' minds to a certain degree… Anyone who made eye contact or spoke with him would, without realizing it, be subtly affected by his spiritual power, gradually coming to acknowledge and agree with him.
It wasn't forced control, but a silent, gentle guidance.
Even more terrifying, he realized he could invade other people's spiritual worlds.
Just like how that bastard Three-Eyed Crow had invaded his own spiritual world, he could project his will deep into another person's consciousness and plant his own "spiritual mark."
Instinctively he felt that if he ever detonated that mark, the target would die instantly—soul death.
He could also use the mark to control them, turning the person into his puppet, utterly obedient to his will.
But these thods were still theoretical for now.
He hadn't tested them and didn't dare to experint lightly—improper handling could cause irreversible damage.
The spiritual world was too mysterious. One mistake could turn a normal person into an idiot or cause complete ntal collapse.
"I really need to find so volunteers to play with!"
Luke put away the handkerchief and looked north.
That direction was the Wall of the End, the lands beyond the Wall, the place where the Others would soon arrive.
It was also the old nest of the Three-Eyed Crow… or rather, Brynden Rivers.
That old bastard had invaded his spiritual world last ti and gotten one of his crow avatars crushed by Luke. That was part of his spiritual power—probably enough to keep him hurting for a while.
But Luke knew it was only one of countless avatars. The real Three-Eyed Crow was still hiding inside that weirwood tree, inside so unknown cave.
A cold smile curved on Luke's lips.
He turned and walked toward the villa. As he passed the patrol squad he casually waved. "Good work tonight."
The lieutenant and soldiers snapped to attention in perfect unison, right arms raised straight at a 45-degree angle in a crisp West Sea military salute, eyes shining as they watched their lord disappear into the night.
On the training grounds, only the decapitated dummy and the pile of shattered stone remained, quietly bearing witness under the street lamps to everything that had just happened.
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