In the south, in the Nine Peaks Mountain Range, stood the Sword Hermitage.
This mountain range was renowned throughout the world. Countless swordsmen dreamed all their lives of climbing its peaks and seeing what lay atop those towering heights. Yet the holy land of their imaginations was astonishingly humble.
On a summit lush with grass, Sword Wudao sat quietly inside a thatched cottage as plain and unadorned as a cowshed. Its furnishings were equally simple: a low table and a few stacks of books.
Even the table was crudely made, as though someone had casually whittled it from a tree stump.
Its sole virtue was that it was level-perfectly level.
At that moment, incense curled from the burner on the table. Sword Wudao sat with his eyes quietly closed, looking like an eighty-year-old man, his hair and beard white, though his complexion was rosy as a child's.
He held a volume of the Sword Manual in one hand, but the title on its spine read "Sword Dao Fundamentals Explained."
His other hand tapped lightly against his knee, as though he were silently reckoning something, turning it over in his mind.
"Master."
Suddenly, a call came from outside the thatched cottage.
Sword Wudao opened his eyes to see a white-robed young man spring lightly into the Sword Hermitage. Golden light flickered in his palm, transforming into a floating sheet of golden paper.
"Master, a new Grandmaster has appeared on the Merit Board!"
He pointed to the last name on the golden paper. "Chong Er. What a strange name. I wonder which sect's Grandmaster he is. He actually destroyed a Nether Domain Level Mo River. That alias doesn't sound like someone from the Mo River Division."
Sword Wudao's expression remained flat. "What does that have to do with you?" he asked coldly.