The Daoist Sect

"Little Friend Chu, you have rendered the Sword Sect a great service."

He paused, raised a hand, and pointed to the towering sword peak behind him, to the rocks bristling with Ancient Swords, and to the sword intent flowing through them.

"We old men will remember it in our hearts. If not for you, little friend, the Sword Sect would have long since been swallowed by Heaven-Burning Valley. This foundation, passed down for tens of thousands of years, would have been destroyed in a single day. The entire Sword Sect will never forget this debt of gratitude."

His tone was exceedingly sincere—so sincere that the gratitude in his words could be clearly heard.

The sea of swords in his eyes gradually calmed as well. The surging sword light slowly settled, leaving behind only faint ripples.

"But that Dao Rhythm fragment."

His tone shifted, and his voice sank further.

"It is something the successive sect masters of the Sword Sect guarded with their lives."

When he spoke the words "with their lives," his tone weighed heavily, like a sigh.

As those two words left his mouth, the auras of the seven elders behind him all sank slightly at once, as though something had pressed down upon them. "Over the past thirty thousand years, seventeen sect masters of the Sword Sect have passed away upon this sword peak.

"The last thing they did before passing away was pour their lifelong sword intent into the Sword Tomb, reinforcing that seal.

"Because they knew that if that fragment fell into the hands of evil men, the consequences would be unthinkable."

His gaze moved away from Chu Ming and toward the depths of the sword peak, toward the entrance sealed behind layer upon layer of sword intent.

"Therefore, it cannot be handed over lightly."

When