The giant marble tub was filled with mineral-rich water, the steam curling around Ethan’s face as he lay floating, his eyes closed. The two elven spirits were nowhere to be seen. They were likely still in a deep, catatonic lethargy; the [Devourer] hadn’t permanently damaged their foundations, but it had drained them so thoroughly that they would feel like hollow shells for days.
The silence of the room was heavy. Ethan felt every bruise on his ribs, every ache in his ridians, but his mind was far from the training courtyard. He was ntally mapping out the mission ahead. He was an infiltrator now, a ghost in enemy lines. He had seen enough movies back in his old world to know how this usually ended: torture, betrayal, and a lonely death in a dark cell.
"The Kingdom will abandon , won’t they, Crul?" Ethan whispered, his voice echoing off the tiled walls. "If I’m caught, Isabella won’t lift a finger. The White Unicorns won’t sail for . I’m a ghost that never existed."
[Analysis: High probability, Master. Realpolitik dictates that a sovereign nation cannot officially support espionage against a neutral power like the Heavenly Sword Pavilion. You are a deniable asset.]
Ethan tightened his jaw. He had no choice. From the mont he stepped onto the White Rhino, his life had ceased to be his own. He was a piece of wood caught in a violent river, and the only way to avoid drowning was to swim harder than everyone else.
His motivation wasn’t the glory of the Soaring Dragon Kingdom. It was the bargain. He planned to trade every military rit, every drop of blood he spilled, for the help of the royal family to find his wives, and his people. The portal they had fallen through was a makeshift, unstable spell; they couldn’t have crossed the entire continent. If they were within the borders of the kingdom, Isabella’s influence could find them in a heartbeat.
"One hundred years..." Ethan muttered, a pang of grief hitting his chest. "I just have to pray they stay alive. If I desert now to find them, I’m a dead man walking. I have no rights. I have no voice. My life and death are decided by people sitting on golden thrones."
[Master, your plan to use family ties as a bargaining chip is strategically sound] Crul noted. [In this world, loyalty is the most expensive currency. By openly declaring that your motivation is to find your kin, you are performing a ’Micro-Gesture.’ You are showing the Princess and the Council that you are bound by chains they can understand. Kingdoms despise ingratitude, but they trust a man who has a weakness they can exploit. It makes you predictable, and therefore, ’safe’ to use.]
Ethan let out a bitter laugh, sinking deeper into the warm water. "So, by being a loving husband, I’m actually making myself a better spy? That’s so twisted logic, Crul."
[In the eyes of a predator, a man with sothing to lose is a man who can be controlled. It is a masquerade of loyalty that will buy you ti.]
Ethan opened his eyes, the athyst glow reflecting off the water’s surface. If he had to play the part of a loyal dog for a century to ensure his family’s safety, he would do it. But by the ti those hundred years were up, he intended to be strong enough that no one would ever dare to decide his life or death again.
"Let them think they own ," Ethan said, his voice turning cold. "I’ll give them their results. I’ll give them the heads of the Crimson Sect. And then, I’m taking my family and leaving this godforsaken ga."
[Master, I have finished compiling the ancestral combat archives,] Crul’s voice resonated through the steam of the bath. [According to the core logs, Lord Athyst was not just a devourer of energy; he was a peerless swordsman. I am transferring his conceptual mastery to your neural pathways now. Prepare for integration.]
Ethan closed his eyes, and suddenly, the water around him seed to ripple not from heat, but from a phantom sharpness. A flood of mories that weren’t his own surged into his mind. He saw the image of his ancestor standing before a woman of terrifying beauty—the Sword Saint. Her temperant was a raging storm, a woman who cared for nothing in the universe but the edge of her blade.
To earn her respect, Lord Athyst had climbed the ladder of the sword, step by grueling step. Ethan felt the weight of each rank as it settled into his soul:
Sword Intent: The birth of the will. It was the mont a cultivator stopped swinging a piece of tal and started projecting their desire to cut through the air itself.
Sword Aura: The manifestation of power. A shimring, lethal coating that enveloped the weapon. [Master, soone who masters the Aura no longer needs a forge,] Crul explained. [Your fingers, a branch, or even a falling leaf beco a true weapon. The world becos your armory.]
Sword Heart: The internal fortress. This stage required an iron-clad, unwavering spirit. To a swordsman of this level, if they believed they could cut the heavens, the heavens would bleed. Any flicker of doubt, any hesitation in the soul, would cause their Sword Heavenly Path to shatter, leaving them powerless.
Sword Soul: The blade gains a life of its own. The weapon is no longer a tool, but a partner with its own instinct.
Man-Sword Fusion: The boundary between flesh and steel vanishes. The cultivator’s ridians flow through the blade as if it were a limb.
Heavenly Sword: You beco a law of nature. Your strike is no longer a physical movent; it is an inevitable decree of the universe.
Absolute Celestial Unity: The final peak. The user, the blade, and the very heavens are one. At this level, there is no "attack"—there is only the reality that whatever stood before the swordsman no longer exists.
Ethan gasped as the final concepts fused with his brain. He felt a strange, cold confidence blooming in his chest. A swordsman’s power was the fastest and most ferocious in existence because it was fueled by absolute, blinding certainty. If a swordsman believes his blade is unstoppable, then nothing in the physical or spiritual world can halt its path.
"So that’s the secret," Ethan whispered, looking at his hands. "It’s not just about the technique. It’s about the conviction. If I don’t believe I can cut it, I never will."
[Precisely, Master. Lord Athyst spent centuries refining this ’unshakable heart.’ In the Heavenly Sword Pavilion, they will look for this quality above all else. With your current integration, you will not possess the power of a Sword Saint, but you will possess the gaze of one.]
"Conviction," Ethan repeated, his athyst eyes glowing with a cold, tallic light. "I have plenty of that. I’m going to cut through their sect, their secrets, and anyone who stands between and my family."
-------------------
From this mont forward, to avoid confusion regarding cultivation ranks, I will include this footer with the current established levels.
Note: These are only the ranks ntioned so far to avoid spoilers.
Body Refinent Realm
Skin Refinent / Bone Refinent / Organ Refinent
Spiritual Gathering Realm
Spiritual Perception / Spiritual Mist / Spiritual Condensation
Spiritual Core Realm
Core Solidification / Core Awakening / Spiritual Collapse (Half-step Spiritual Core)
Spiritual Soul Realm
Spiritual Soul Awakening / Soul Nourishing / Soul-Core Fusion
Golden Core Realm
Pri Fusion / Core Perfection / Core Destruction
Spiritual Sea Realm
Stage 1 ?? / Stage 2 ?? / Stage 3 ??
Dao Manifestation Realm
Stage 1 ?? / Stage 2 ?? / Stage 3 ??
Spiritual Transcendence
Stage 1 ?? / Stage 2 ?? / Stage 3 ??
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