Bearing Ten Directions, Ten Thousand Arts, a Thousand Weapons-The Strongest Sword, Severing Ancient and Modern!

Quick!

That's too fast!

It was so fast that there was no way to avoid it; so fast that his Divine Soul almost shattered under that sword strike.

Boom!

In that instant, Fan Yuan felt as if the sky had fallen and the earth had caved in, and all the blood in his body had frozen.

He opened his mouth as if to utter a sound, but couldn't even utter a single syllable.

That terrifying Sword Intent pressed down on his chest, sealing off all his sounds, movements, and thoughts in place.

With just one glance, his Divine Soul was nearly shattered.

So terrifying.

So powerful.

But this...

It doesn't even qualify as a complete "Sword Intent".

At best, it was merely a lingering fragrance unintentionally emanating from the sword embryo.

But in a short while.

The terrifying sword shadows that Covering the Sky and Sun out the sky vanished like mist, leaving no trace.

Until the backyard, the fireplace, and the boy came back into view.

"Hiss--!"

Fan Yuan gasped sharply, stumbled, and took several steps back.

Although his consciousness had been forcibly restored, the moment he faced life and death had instantly soaked his clothes, and cold sweat poured out like a torrent.

A long time.

He had just recovered from the great terror and shakily took the sword.

Only when he actually held it in his hand did Fan Yuan realize with surprise that beneath the rough surface of the iron blade, there seemed to be flowing gold silently.

The light was extremely faint, appearing and disappearing intermittently. If one did not look closely, one would only mistake it for the afterglow of the firelight from the furnace behind them.

But at first glance, he felt a chill run down his Divine Soul from that pale gold, its noble aura overwhelming.

This is hardly an unfinished, half-finished product...

It's clearly an unparalleled divine sword!

Thinking of this, Fan Yuan's hand gripping the sword hilt began to tremble violently.

"Sir... this... this is too valuable."

His voice trembled and became incoherent.

There was both fear and indescribable shock.

My gaze involuntarily drifted to the pile of "scrap metal" by the wall.

There, leaning against the wall, were seven or eight similar unfinished products, piled up haphazardly like firewood.

'What you see as scrap metal is a divine sword in our eyes...'

Just as Fan Yuan was in shock, he heard the roar of bellows.

Qin Wangchuan didn't even glance at him.

After handing over the sword, he calmly turned around and walked back to the furnace, where he used long tongs to pick up another unfinished, rough sword blank and put it directly back into the fire.

The flames instantly engulfed the iron ingot, and red light crept inch by inch onto the iron body.

"It's just a few pounds of Mortal Iron, an unfinished piece. If you don't mind its roughness, you can take it."

Qin Wangchuan raised his hand and pulled the bellows, causing the fire to leap up with a "whoosh," turning half of his body red again.

Mortal Iron Tie reached Fan Yuan's ears, he felt an almost absurd sense of disorientation.

He glanced down at the pale gold-colored Mortal Iron in his hand, then looked up at the figure busily working in front of the furnace.

The cold sweat on my back kept getting wet and then drying.

The person before me has once again exceeded my expectations.

"... Thank you for the sword, sir."

Fan Yuan carefully sheathed the sword, his voice devoid of any distracting thoughts, filled only with utmost respect and awe.

After a long while, he looked up at Qin Wangchuan's retreating figure, hesitated for a moment, and asked softly:

"May I ask, sir, does this sword... have a name?"

"No."

Qin Wangchuan didn't even turn his head, his voice indifferent, "Mortal Iron, why bother with a name?"

Fan Yuan remained silent.

Looking up, she noticed that Qin Wangchuan was staring absently at the iron ingot that had not yet been picked up.

That gaze pierced through the roaring furnace fire, as if looking through this small blacksmith shop at a height that mortals could never reach.

Time seemed to stand still at that moment.

Only occasionally did a spark in the furnace burst open, producing a slight crackling sound.

Fan Yuan stepped forward upon seeing this.

He looked at the somewhat dazed boy in the firelight, then at the iron blank in the furnace that had already taken the shape of a sword, and asked again in a soft voice, "Then, sir... what about the one being cast in the furnace?"

Does this sword have a name?

Qin Wangchuan's eyes flickered slightly as he came back to his senses.

He didn't answer immediately, but instead lowered his head and chuckled softly.

The laughter was very soft, not because they had heard anything funny.

It was Fan Yuan's question that suddenly brought back some distant memories for him.

For example, when I first received a sword full of cracks, I thought the stupid system had malfunctioned again.

"Have."

Extending the fire tongs, I steadily picked up the sword blank.

Bathed in the crimson glow of the fire, Qin Wangchuan gazed at the glowing red iron ingot and slowly spoke:

Its name is the Ten Directions Profound Sword.

After saying that.

Clang--!

The hammer fell, sparks flying everywhere.

Qin Wangchuan didn't stop moving; he raised the iron hammer in his hand again, holding it high above his head.

The firelight climbed up the hammer, making those golden eyes shine brightly.

His tone carried an unquestionable air of superiority and arrogance:

"Borrowing from all the laws and weapons of the ten directions, this is... the strongest sword that transcends time!"

The moment the words left his mouth.

The hammer, carrying immense force, crashed down!

Clang--!!

Another deep thud.

Sparks flew and red light spread, making the young man standing in front of the furnace look like a god of fire descending to earth.

Fan Yuan stood there, stunned, his throat dry.

The strongest.

Anything associated with these two words seems rather vulgar.

Which swordsmith doesn't claim their sword is the strongest? Which swordsman doesn't boast of the peerless weapon at their waist? Which Cultivator's prized treasure isn't the strongest?

After hearing it so many times, only four words come to mind: utterly arrogant.

But at this moment.

Fan Yuan at the figure in front of the furnace, then looked at the "Mortal Iron" weapon in his arms.

The sword's blade is pale gold, flowing silently.

He suddenly realized...

The words "the strongest sword".

It might be true.

He left the courtyard carrying his sword.

Despite receiving the priceless treasure, Fan Yuan's lips did not curl into a smile; instead, he appeared bewildered, as if he had not yet come to his senses.

I really didn't expect that.

I just wanted to make a trip and get a prescription.

In just half a month, they acquired such a treasure.

It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that it was a stroke of fortuitous opportunity!

"Master! Master?"

A hand waved in front of Fan Yuan's eyes.

Fan Yuan suddenly snapped out of his daze, looked up, and saw Zhou Heng.

The young man had somehow gotten close and was looking him up and down with a suspicious expression.

"Oh, it's you, kid."

"What are you doing, Master? Just standing there spacing out." Zhou Heng's gaze fell on the sword in his arms, and his eyes lit up instantly. "Where did this come from? Did Qin Wangchuan give it to you?"

As he spoke, he reached out to touch it.

"Smack."

Fan Yuan reacted quickly, slapping his hand away.

"What?" Zhou Heng rubbed the back of his hand, looking puzzled.

"I'm warning you," Fan Yuan said sternly, "Keep your eyes closed and don't look around."

"This isn't something a kid like you, who's only been cultivating for a few months, can understand."

"Huh?" Zhou Heng's expression clearly said, "Are you kidding me? What, would it kill you to just take a look?"

"You'll die."

Fan Yuan's answer was not a joke in the slightest.

It should be noted that Zhou Heng is not an old Cultivator like him who has cultivated for hundreds of years.

The sword strike that had just landed on his Divine Soul had made him feel as if he were facing Heavenly Tribulation.

If it were Zhou Heng--

That sword strike, even if it didn't kill him on the spot, would certainly not have been a good outcome.

Zhou Heng clearly didn't take this seriously, and scoffed, "Alright, alright, Master, you're just bragging."

Fan Yuan lazy to argue with him, so he put the sword back into his robes and said in a deep voice:

"What do you want?"

"Oh--! Right!" Zhou Heng slapped his forehead, as if he had just remembered something important, "Someone came to the martial arts gym looking for you."

"They say... what was it called again... Soaring Tower?"

"Sounds like an organization?"

"It wouldn't be the organization you belong to, Master, would it? Or do we have some kind of powerful backer?"

The Soaring Tower.

Fan Yuan paused in his steps.

Although he didn't belong to that organization, he understood the weight behind those three words.

More importantly--

The other party would never come knocking on your door for no reason.

Could it be that they discovered something while I was away?

Where is he?

"He's still at the martial arts gym." Zhou Heng scratched his head. "He says he's an old acquaintance of yours and won't leave until he sees you."

Old acquaintance?

Fan Yuan sneered upon hearing this, his expression gradually turning cold.

He had no old acquaintances in the Soaring Tower.

Only enemies.

"Walk."