Martial Ancestor Ascends
The pale golden Martial Arts Origin and the shimmering white Power of Ascension surrounding Cang Xuan intertwined and swirled, like two intertwined ribbons of light, slowly ascending along the pillar of light reaching the heavens. With each inch the ribbons rose, tiny particles of light peeled away—these particles carried the warmth accumulated from three thousand years of Martial Dao, and the lingering warmth of every battle he had fought. Falling onto the battlefield below, they instantly transformed into a faint mist of Spiritual Qi upon touching the ground. This mist lingered among the rubble and broken grass, even the withered blades of grass seemed to... Awakened, he slightly stretched his curled-up edges, the tips of the grass still clinging to the faint light of the remaining particles, like a dying life regaining its breath. Where the band of light swept across, the void rippled with layers of tiny fragments, and within these ripples, fragments of his three-thousand-year Martial Dao career were clearly reflected—the morning light of his youth practicing swordsmanship on the back mountain of the sect, dewdrops clinging to his hair, dripping down his clothes, the sound of a wooden sword striking a tree trunk accompanied by the crisp chirping of birds, the scratches on the tree trunk growing deeper and deeper, from the initial shallow ones. From crooked to sharp, straight, his Dao Heart grew stronger with each passing moment; there was the Blood Moon that protected the city in his middle age, its crimson light spilling onto his Mysterious Iron Battle Armor, its scales stained with the Black Blood of Devil Race, congealing into dark purple lumps; thick Black Blood flowed from his sword, dripping and corroding tiny pits on the ground; behind him were the heart-wrenching cries of the people and the terrified pleas of children, yet his back remained as upright as a mountain, never retreating a single step even when Devil Race's claw struck his shoulder; and... On Snow Mountain night, trapped at the bottleneck of ascension, snowflakes covered his shoulders, accumulating into a thin layer, even frosting his eyelashes. He stared blankly at the entrance to the void, his longsword deeply embedded in the snow, the tassel frozen into icicles. His eyes were filled with resentment, yet also concealed a stubborn unwillingness to give up. His fingertips unconsciously traced the Battle Markings on the scabbard, the marks of his life's battles. These images flowed and dissipated in the ripples, as if quietly drawing a conclusion to this journey spanning a thousand years.
He looked down at Ren Xiaoyao on the ground. The fierce fighting spirit of the decisive battle had faded from his deeply wrinkled face, leaving only a gentleness and expectation that transcended the years. In those eyes that had seen countless lives and deaths, the faint light of the pillar of light now reflected, like two clusters of inextinguishable stars. Even the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes seemed to be tinged with warmth, as if one could see the spirit of his youth, the composure of his middle age, and the steadfastness of his later years. His voice trembled slightly, almost imperceptibly due to excitement, yet it pierced through the lingering energy of the battlefield, clearly resonating in every inch of space—even the birds in the distant mountains stopped flapping their wings and listened quietly, and the chicks in their nests ceased chirping, as if in silence for this farewell and inheritance. "Ren Xiaoyao, the path of Martial Dao is long, and I will go first. The great path of this world is never just a single ladder to heaven. Some break through all laws with force, some prove the Dao with benevolence, and some Mind-Guarding Power with devotion. In the end, it is up to you and me to walk our own paths. Do not fail the path you have guarded day and night."
Ren Xiaoyao watched the figure gradually ascend into the air. His Dark Robe Hem fluttered gently in the breeze, still bearing traces of dust and Spiritual Qi energy from the battle—a pale golden Martial Dao Origin Imprint shaped like a sword, and silver-black Power of Creation resembling vines, intertwined and entwined, becoming the most direct witness to this epic battle. He raised his hand in a fist salute, his arm taut and knuckles slightly white from the effort, his gaze unwavering, as if he wanted to etch Cang Xuan's figure, the faint light of the pillar of light, and this expectation of inheritance into his very soul. "Senior, rest assured, I will not fail the Great Dao, nor will I fail the enlightenment I gained from this battle with you today! If I too can ascend in the future, I will definitely go to the Immortal Realm to learn the True Meaning of Martial Arts from you again, to discuss the Great Dao once more, and to determine who is superior!"
As his words fell, Cang Xuan's figure had already risen to the middle of the pillar of light. His Martial Wings had completely transformed into a luminous white, the Martial Arts Runes on his wings merging with the Power of Ascension. Each rune shimmered with a warm light—the runes contained the domineering aura of slaying the Mountain-Splitting Rhinoceros, the resolute determination to resist the Devil Race race, and the solitude of his arduous cultivation in the Snow Mountain. It was as if he had sealed his three thousand years of battle spirit and the memories of countless battles within this flowing light. With each flap of his Martial Wings, he scattered countless fine dust particles of light. These dust particles fell like stars, landing on the battlefield soil, instantly giving rise to fine... Tiny green sprouts—the tips of which bore transparent dewdrops, shimmering in the sunlight, the dewdrops reflecting the pillar of light—like Hope of Life, breaking through the soil and growing towards the sun after this earth-shattering battle. Where the wingtips swept past, star-like patterns of light appeared in the void. These patterns were like the marks left by heaven and earth for this three-thousand-year- Martial Artist, lingering for a long time. Even the distant clouds seemed to be attracted, slowly rotating around the pillar of light, forming a faint cloud ring. The cloud ring was also mixed with tiny particles of light, like a path paved for his ascension.
On the battlefield, the rocks that had been shaken to the brink of collapse by the Energy Impact were now visibly healing. At the edges of the craters flattened by the shockwaves, moist soil was piling up again, carried by the remaining energy waves. The rubble at the bottom of the craters, nourished by Spiritual Qi, was gradually binding with the soil. Tiny earthworms even emerged from the earth, weaving among the rubble, their bodies covered in damp soil, stirring up new life. On the rocks where the "Extinction" runes had carved deep fissures, faint, shimmering white Spiritual Qi Spiritual Qi seeped from the cracks. This spiritual energy, like fine needles, stitched together the jagged cracks, blurring the previously deep, bone-revealing wounds. A thin layer of grayish-white stone membrane grew along the edges of the cracks, with tiny runes faintly flowing across it. The runes resonated with the Martial Arts Origin of Cang Xuan, firmly enveloping the cracks, as if protecting this hard-won repair and preventing the scars of past battles from tearing them apart again. Even the rubble that had rolled down from the Kunlun Mountains in the distance seemed to be drawn by Invisible Power, slowly rising from the valley and returning to its original position along its original trajectory. When larger boulders landed on the gaps in the mountain, they emitted a dull "boom" sound, which echoed in the valley, like the earth's response, expressing its respect for the Guardians. Although the mountain could not be completely restored to its original appearance, emerald green moss grew in the cracks between the rocks. The moss, carrying moisture, exuded a warm feeling of revival, making the gray rocks come alive. From a distance, it looked as if the mountain range was draped in a light green veil.
The wind between heaven and earth softened, no longer carrying its previous chill, but instead carrying the fresh scent of grass and trees from the distant mountains and forests—the richness of pine needles, the sweetness of wildflowers, and the tenderness of new leaves. The three fragrances intertwined and followed the wind across every wound on the battlefield, like a gentle caress, soothing the wounds left by the fierce battle.
As the wind swept across the sword marks left by Cang Xuan, the Martial Arts Origin remaining within the marks intertwined with the wind, emitting a subtle "humming" sound, like the longsword murmuring, seemingly recounting past glories, past passions, and unwavering perseverance; when the wind brushed against Ren Xiaoyao's hair, it also carried a trace of Cang Xuan's aura—the profound weight of three thousand years of Martial Dao heritage, bearing the sedimentation of time and the charm of the Great Dao, seemingly silently conveying the expectations of the predecessors for the successors, and also seemingly witnessing this cross-generational handover of the Great Dao.
Cang Xuan ascended to the entrance of the void, the Power of Ascension around him grew increasingly intense, almost solidifying into a tangible Light Cocoon. Fine Ascension Runes appeared on the surface of the Light Cocoon —the runes were pale gold, as if engraved with immortal power. They slowly rotated along the Light Cocoon, each rotation emitting purer immortal power. The immortal power merged with the Heaven and Earth Spiritual Qi, forming a faint halo. Within the halo, one could see a blurry scene of the Immortal Realm, with immortal mountains and pavilions, Spirit Spring herbs, seemingly beckoning this thousand-year-old Martial Artist.
He suddenly stopped climbing, turned around, and took one last look at the land he had protected for three thousand years—the distant mountains stretched endlessly, clouds and mist swirling around the peaks, like a white veil draped over the green hills, making them appear even more magnificent in the haze; he could vaguely see the eaves and corners of the sect gleaming in the sunlight, the copper bells under the eaves swaying gently in the wind, the patterns on the bells still bearing the marks of his own hand-carving in his youth. Although he couldn't hear the bells, he could almost imagine their crisp sound, like the unbroken rhythm of the sect's heritage; in the fields at the Foot of the Mountain, people led their oxen slowly by, the oxen's hooves leaving deep imprints on the ridges, children chasing each other along the edge of the fields with bamboo baskets filled with freshly picked wild fruits, red and yellow, exuding a fresh scent, their laughter drifting on the wind to the sky, as crisp as wind chimes, full of the vibrancy and warmth of human life.
This scene overlapped with what he saw three thousand years ago, yet it possessed a renewed vitality—the city from three thousand years ago had long since expanded, the low walls had become towering city walls, still bearing the battle scars of his past Repel Foreign Enemies; the earthen houses had been replaced by brick and tile houses, the roof tiles gleaming in the sunlight; the saplings he had planted by hand had grown into towering trees, their branches and leaves providing shelter for passersby, and children were chasing and playing beneath them, just like he had in his youth; even the people's clothes were brighter than before, no longer the monotonous coarse linen, but with the sheen of silk, exuding an air of abundance, and their faces were full of peaceful smiles.
He took a deep breath, inhaling the essence of this land—the fragrance of the soil, the fresh scent of grass and trees, the warmth of people's daily lives, and the Spiritual Qi flowing between heaven and earth. These flavors intertwined, becoming his most precious memories that he had guarded for three thousand years, the most solid foundation of his Dao Heart, and the core obsession of his Martial Dao.
The Power of Ascension around him suddenly surged, and the Light Cocoon light transformed into a dazzling white stream of light. As the stream of light pierced through the void, it left a brief but brilliant trail of light, like a shooting star carrying a thousand years of anticipation and perseverance, and completely rushed into the entrance of the void.
The golden pillar of light at the entrance gradually dimmed, slowly dissipating from its top. The surrounding Ascension Runes, as if having completed their mission, transformed into tiny specks of light—spots of light that scattered like stars across the sky, landing on every corner of the battlefield, on the green shoots to make them grow stronger, on the rocks to make their stone armor more solid, and on the shoulders of cultivators to make their aura more stable. In the end, only a faint spatial imprint remained, like a faint scar in the sky, seemingly proving that this ascension spanning a thousand years had finally come to a successful conclusion, leaving behind a memory and a legacy for this land.
Ren Xiaoyao withdrew his gaze and looked down at the Creation Spear in his hand. The three patterns of "Life-Annihilation-Devour" on the spear shaft had returned to calm, leaving only a faint golden, silver, and black luster flowing slowly along the shaft, like three sleeping dragons, occasionally trembling slightly, as if savoring the heat of the collision with the Black Iron Sword and the excitement of the clash with the Martial Arts Origin. The Black Hole at the spear tip had long since closed, but a trace of Cang Xuan's pale golden Martial Arts Origin aura remained. When his fingertips touched the spear tip, he could still feel that warm power, as if it still carried the fighting spirit and warmth of that senior. It was as if Cang Xuan's sword shadow still lingered at the spear tip, echoing and communicating silently with this Creation Divine Weapon from afar.
He raised his hand and gently stroked the gun barrel, his fingertips tracing the intricate patterns. Each Dao Patterns bore the mark of this decisive battle—there were subtle scratches left from the collision with the Cang Xuan Sword Rainbow, within which lay faint golden Martial Dao imprints, their sharpness palpable even as his fingertips brushed against them; there were remnants of energy from the "Devouring" pattern absorbing the essence of Martial Arts Origin, with golden light subtly flowing within the black patterns, seemingly telling the story of the wondrous fusion of energy; and there were traces of vitality from the "Life" pattern as it nurtured vines, with green Spiritual Qi appearing and disappearing between the patterns, carrying the gentle warmth of reviving vegetation.
The slight tremor from his fingertips stirred a flood of thoughts within him: Cang Xuan had ascended to immortality through three thousand years of sword enlightenment, completing his Martial Dao journey and embodying the word "perseverance" throughout his life—perseverance in Martial Dao, perseverance in protection, and perseverance in his original aspirations; while his own Dao of Creation had only just found a new direction in this decisive battle, moving from a simple cycle of "Life-Annihilation-Devour" to a new realm of integration with Martial Dao. It was no longer an isolated "creation," but a "Creation Martial Arts" supported by "Martial Dao," truly embarking on his own unique journey.
Suddenly, the Creation Chaos Cauldron in the dantian trembled slightly, and a new pattern slowly emerged next to the original three patterns of "birth, Life-Annihilation-Devour" on the cauldron's body. When the pattern first appeared, it was very blurry, as if covered by a thin mist. As the Chaos Energy in the dantian circulated, the mist gradually dissipated, and the pattern became clear.
The lines are half the sharp lines of martial arts battle lines, the lines are as sharp as a long sword slashing, with an indomitable edge to cut through all things, every stroke reveals the strength of martial arts, seeming to be able to cut off all obstacles; the other half is the gentle curves of the runes of creation, the curves are as soft as flowing water, revealing the warmth of nourishing all things and endless life, each trace hides the secret of creation Tolerance seems to be able to accommodate all forces. Two completely different breaths blend with each other in the lines without any conflict. Instead, they form a natural pattern of "Rong" - each stroke of the word "Rong" seems to contain the ultimate truth. The horizontal strokes of Tibetan martial arts are strong, and the vertical strokes contain the softness of nature. There is a balance between hardness and softness, which is unique and unique.
Ren Xiaoyao's heart stirred, and he immediately circulated the Chaos Energy in his dantian, channeling it into the cauldron through his meridians. The Chaos Energy flowed like a rushing stream through the meridians, nourishing them and making them more resilient. The minor cracks caused by the fierce battle were also rapidly repaired under the influence of the Chaos Energy.
The "Rong" pattern lit up instantly, and a pale golden energy flowed along the cauldron, spreading throughout the body like a clear stream along the meridians. Wherever it passed, the meridians felt warm, and the fatigue from the previous battle and the minor damage to the meridians instantly dissipated. Even the soul seemed to have been cleansed, becoming clearer—the Central Plains the mind became clear, as if the fog had been cleared and the path ahead had been seen.
He could clearly feel that the fusion of the True Meaning of Martial Arts and the Power of Creation was becoming increasingly close. The true meaning of "Creation-Fusion Martial Dao" that he had not fully comprehended before was now as clear as the sun breaking through the clouds—it was no longer a simple superposition of power, but two great paths permeating and complementing each other, each You in Me the Me in You. He could nourish Martial Dao with the Power of Creation, making the sword more resilient and the spear more vibrant. Even when exhausted from battle, he could quickly recover with the Power of Creation and continue his journey. He could also use the sharpness of Martial Dao arts to drive creation, making the destructive power of the "annihilation" pattern stronger and the absorption power of the "devouring" pattern greater. This made the Power of Creation no longer limited to protection and repair, but also added a bit of the sharpness to break through the deadlock and the courage to overcome difficulties.
Around the battlefield, the cultivators who had been watching from the mountains rose to their feet. Whether they were disciples dressed in the robes of the Righteous Sect —their robes embroidered with their respective sect's Totems, some sword-shaped, some cauldron-shaped, some lotus-patterned, the Totems now glowing faintly in the sunlight, resonating with the Heaven and Earth Spiritual Qi; or Rogue Cultivator in coarse cloth clothes, carrying weapons—their weapons perhaps still rusty and chipped, yet exuding the resilience of weathered trials, their companions on their adventures—they all bowed respectfully toward the entrance to the void, their movements uniform and reverent, without the slightest hesitation, even their breathing soft and gentle.
The tension and wariness that had been there before were gone from their faces, replaced only by reverence for the strong. Some had escaped death when Cang Xuan protected the city and still remembered the figure of the old man in black standing in front of them, as reliable as a mountain. Others had broken through their bottlenecks under Cang Xuan's guidance, and the adage "Martial Dao are in the heart, not in the realm" still echoed in their ears, guiding their Dao Path. Even cultivators who had once been Cang Xuan's enemies were moved by his three thousand years of perseverance and final ascension, acknowledging that this unwavering dedication across millennia and this purity of Martial Dao were enough to inspire awe in anyone and transform past hostility into respect.
When everyone looked up, they saw a faint three-color light glowing around Ren Xiaoyao. The gold, silver and black light belts slowly rotated around him, like three protective haloes - the golden light belt revealed the fierceness of martial arts, like an unsheathed sword, exuding inviolable majesty; the silver light belt concealed It embodies the vitality of creation, like a newly born bud, showing vigorous hope; the black light belt is wrapped in the tolerance of chaos, like the deep starry sky, which can accommodate the power of all things. The three colors are intertwined and entwined, forming a small world of its own. There are also faint runes flowing between the sky and the earth, which are the derivatives of the word pattern of "fusion".
The Creation Spear and the Creation Chaos Cauldron floated before him. The "fusion" pattern on the cauldron echoed the three patterns on the spear. The Chaos Aura emanating from the cauldron intertwined with the sharpness of the spear, forming a unique energy barrier—a pale gold barrier with tiny runes flowing across its surface. The runes moved like living things, neither dazzling nor intimidating, yet exuding an unassailable majesty. This aura, though not fierce, possessed a profound weight that could encompass all things and embrace the Great Dao, as steady as heaven and earth. The surrounding cultivators couldn't help but hold their breath, afraid to disturb this tranquility and solemnity; even the mountain wind seemed to slow its pace.
"Everyone," Ren Xiaoyao's voice echoed across the battlefield, gentle yet carrying an undeniable power. Like a spring breeze, it dispelled the last Killing Intent, warming everyone's hearts like the Warm Sun after a harsh winter. "Senior Cang Xuan has attained enlightenment and ascended to immortality. This is a blessing for Martial Dao, and a blessing for this land. And there is never just one path in this world—whether it's the Martial Dao that uses brute force to break through all laws, the ever-renewing creation, or other myriad Dao Path, some cultivate Buddhism seeking salvation, wishing to resolve conflict with compassion; some cultivate demonic arts to Mind-Guarding Power, wishing to face the world with their true nature; some cultivate ghostly arts to protect their beliefs, wishing to safeguard their loved ones with unwavering devotion. As long as one adheres to their true self and does not betray their original intentions, they will eventually reach their own unique peak on their own path."
As soon as he finished speaking, the Spiritual Qi in the world suddenly became violent, as if summoned by an invisible force, surging towards Ren Xiaoyao from all directions. In the eastern mountains and forests, emerald green spiritual Spiritual Qi gathered upwards along the tree trunks, forming streams of green Spiritual Qi, carrying the fragrance of leaves and the fragments of bird feathers. In the western rivers, blue water vapor transformed into spiritual mist, drifting towards the battlefield, the mist carrying the moisture of water vapor and the subtle scent of fish and shrimp. On the southern Plains, golden earth-elemental Spiritual Qi rose from the soil, the Spiritual Qi containing the weight of the earth and the fragrance of crops. In the northern Snow Mountain- capped mountains, white, frigid air, carrying spiritual energy, rushed in with the Spiritual Qi, the frigid air revealing the purity of ice and snow and carrying fragments of Ice Crystals.
Among these Spiritual Qi are the faint golden Martial Arts Origin remaining from Cang Xuan, carrying a sharpness that can cut through everything, as if that senior is still by his side, blessing him and witnessing his progress; there is also the emerald green vitality of the battlefield's revival, exuding vigorous energy, as if this land is responding to his Dao and acknowledging his choice; and there is the Chaos Energy hidden between heaven and earth, carrying a profound weight that encompasses all things, as if the Great Dao itself is guiding him and helping him achieve his goals.
Three forces converged before Ren Xiaoyao, forming a three-colored interwoven stream of Spiritual Qi —the energy flowed like a rushing river, swirling before him. Within this river-like Spiritual Qi were tiny specks of runic light, which twinkled like stars. Each speck represented a fragment of a great Dao: the sword shape of Martial Dao, the vines of creation, and the flowers and leaves of nature. All of these converged towards him, as if all Daos were returning to their origin.
Ren Xiaoyao raised his hand and made a grasping motion. Spiritual Qi energy slowly condensed in his palm, rotating faster and faster, forming a small vortex. The light at the center of the vortex grew brighter and brighter, gradually condensing into a palm-sized pale golden Dao seal. The outline of the Dao seal became clearer and clearer, and the surface luster became more and more warm and smooth, as if it had been cast with a thousand years of Spiritual Qi and the understanding of the Great Dao.
The edge of the Tao Seal is surrounded by three-color light ribbons of gold, silver and black. The light ribbons are intertwined with each other, like three little guardian dragons. The golden dragon belt exhales martial arts sword energy, the silver dragon belt exudes the vitality of creation, and the black dragon belt is wrapped in the mist of chaos. They depend on each other and do not conflict with each other. The word "Rong" in the center of the Dao Seal is clearly visible, with a faint aura flowing between the strokes, and the shadows of martial arts and creation can also be seen intertwined in the aura. , which not only contains the fierceness of martial arts, but also carries the vitality of creation, just like the path he is taking at the moment - taking the power of creation as the foundation, allowing the power to be endless, no matter what kind of difficulties he faces, he can find life and survive in desperate situations; integrating the true meaning of martial arts into the edge, making the moves more lethal, while protecting, he can also break the situation, open up new paths, and take a unique path of "the martial arts of creation".
In the distance, birds soared across the mountains, their wings slicing through the clouds, leaving faint trails. Their clear calls echoed through the valleys, as if cheering for the end of the final battle, or celebrating the birth of a new path. At the Foot of the Mountain, streams murmured, their waters crashing against rocks, splashing up sparkling droplets that fell onto the muddy banks, nourishing the newly sprouted grass. Nourished by the water, the grass grew taller, its leaves still glistening with the lingering light of the splashed water. The vegetation previously affected by the battle now sprouted tender green buds, their tips tipped with translucent... Dewdrops, reflecting the blue of the sky and the white of the clouds, unfurled on leaves under the sunlight, their veins clearly visible, like patterns drawn by nature, each line concealing the mysteries of life and the Principle of heaven and earth; the clouds gradually dispersed, and warm sunlight pierced through the sky, gilding this battlefield, which had just experienced Peak Confrontation, with a layer of soft golden light. The golden light fell on the pebbles, making them gleam faintly, less cold and more warm; it fell on the green buds, making them appear more delicate and vibrant, and the entire battlefield was immersed in this warmth and vitality.
Looking at the vibrant scene before him, Ren Xiaoyao smiled faintly, his eyes filled with anticipation for the future—gone was the confusion and hesitation of before, replaced only by determination and composure. He seemed to already see himself walking this new path: perhaps he would meet new companions to explore the Great Dao together; perhaps he would protect more living beings and practice the Way in his heart; perhaps he would climb higher mountains and reach new peaks.