SSS-Rank 10x Reward System: Accepting Disciples to Live Forever Chapter 24: Sword Heart Pulse

[Class Skill: Sword Heart Pulse learned.]

[Sword Heart Pulse – Level 1: Unleashes a shockwave of condensed sword aura within a fixed radius. Damage scales with strength and mana. Deals true damage to opponents whose will is weaker than the user’s.]

"Just the skill I needed."

Wang Chen almost laughed. Finally—a skill that filled the void in his arsenal. Doomclock and the Three-Turn Sword Art were devastating, but neither could strike many at once. This, however, was different. This was range, efficiency, and precision combined.

He could hardly wait to test it.

Yet before he could delve deeper into thought, a sharp, desperate voice cut through the silence behind him.

"Hey! Don’t leave alone!"

Startled, he turned.

A young girl stumbled toward him through the smoke—hair disheveled, clothes torn, face streaked with dirt and sweat. Rin Luan’s chest heaved as she ran, each breath shallow with panic. Beneath the gri, her snow-pale skin caught the faint light, outlining a fragile beauty at odds with the scene around her.

Fear glead in her eyes—raw, human terror. She wasn’t running for glory, only survival.

By the ti she reached him, she could barely stand. But instead of begging for rcy, she looked straight at him and gasped, "Please... tell how I can beco strong like you!"

Wang Chen froze.

For a heartbeat, he said nothing. He had expected pleading. Cries of helplessness. That was what always ca next in these trials. He had trained himself to ignore them all. Helping every passerby was aningless in this illusionary world—these people were part of the Tower’s design, transient fragnts of so greater lesson.

What mattered was the mission: destroy every abyssal demon, fulfill the Tower’s conditions, and move forward. The faster he killed, the more lives he saved in the worlds beyond. Compassion would only slow him down.

That belief had beco his anchor in this endless, blood-stained climb.

But this girl—she didn’t ask for saving.

She asked for strength.

For a mont, his expression softened. Then, a faint smile curved at the corner of his lips.

"Good," he said quietly. "From now on, you are the First Sword of my Sword Heaven."

"First... Sword of Sword Heaven?" Rin Luan blinked, confusion flickering in her eyes. She had no idea what that ant, or if it was even real.

Still, instinct pushed her to accept. If this man wielding power beyond reason was willing to na her so, perhaps that na carried aning—a promise of protection, or a path to sothing greater.

"I... understand," she whispered.

For a fleeting mont, the chaos of burning fields and fallen corpses seed to fade away. The wind shifted, and amidst the scent of ash and blood, sothing faint began to stir—an unspoken connection ford between a broken girl seeking strength and a calm swordsman walking the razor’s edge between detachnt and purpose.

Ti flowed like water—sun lting into moon, day fading into night.

In what felt like a single blink, a full year slipped away.

During that ti, Wang Chen beca a living blade, a relentless force forged in battle. He fought without pause—slaying abyssal demons, saving fragnts of humanity wherever he went. His sword danced through blood and shadow until even the heavens seed to whisper his na.

Across war‑torn lands, tales of the Sword Saint of Heaven spread like wildfire. Refugees, cultivators, and wanderers alike flocked to his banner, drawn by hope—or perhaps by fear.

Thus was born Sword Saint Heaven, an order with one commandnt: to exterminate every abyssal lifeform scarring the Green Sky World.

He knew well that killing demons one by one would take centuries. Alone, he could not cleanse the world. Only through unity, only through power wielded in countless hands, could the Tower’s impossible task ever be achieved.

Amid a city reduced to ash, two figures walked side by side.

Rin Luan no longer resembled the frightened girl Wang Chen had t a year ago. The transformation was striking.

Clad in robes woven with feather‑light silk and faint patterns of gold and pearl, she bore herself with a serene, almost celestial grace. The moonlight shimred across her colorful boots and jeweled hairpins; a small crown rested upon her brow like frost catching dawn. She radiated both dignity and restraint, her aura calm yet commanding.

The helpless survivor had beco sothing far greater—an echo of divinity born from the crucible of war.

Beside her, Wang Chen seed unchanged. His robes were still plain, his composure steady. Only his eyes betrayed the passage of ti—tired, profound, their depths carrying the weight of countless slain foes.

He gazed upon the shattered skyline, its ruins veiled in smoke. The silence pressed in, heavy with mory. His mind wandered to the Phoenix and Dragon Courtyard—the disciples waiting for him outside the Tower. How much ti had passed in the real world? Had Bloodfang’s army invaded already? Could his disciples stand against it without him?

A flicker of resolve dispelled his doubts.

"I need to finish this mission as fast as possible," he murmured.

But then, the Tower’s latest notification resurfaced before his eyes—cold, mocking lines of light.

[Twelve Winged Soul Parasites killed: 12,000 / 1,000,000]

His jaw tightened. A full year of slaughter... and he had only scratched the surface.

A soft voice broke his thoughts.

"Master... there’s sothing on your mind again, isn’t there?"

Rin Luan’s tone was gentle, reaching for him without intrusion. Months ago she had quietly started calling him Master. Wang Chen never corrected her. Titles ant nothing in the face of endless war.

"Nothing," he replied with his usual calm detachnt.

"Nothing, huh..." she echoed under her breath, though her eyes dimd. Her clenched fists trembled slightly, a mixture of frustration and helpless understanding.

It wasn’t the first ti he had answered her that way—always distant, always behind an invisible wall she couldn’t cross.

Silence stretched between them. The moon hung like a broken coin in the smoky sky.

Then Rin Luan let out a quiet chuckle—soft and self‑mocking.

"Well... I suppose a single year isn’t long enough for him to trust completely," she whispered.

Her words scattered with the wind, vanishing into the dark horizon as the two continued walking—shadows moving through the bones of a dying world still burning.