In the bedroom's cramped space, Zhao Cheng paced back and forth with agility far beyond that of an ordinary person. He stepped forward and back, occasionally using his hand as a sword to strike through the air. Every blow tore the air apart, yet not a single airburst rang out.
It was not that he could not produce an airburst. Rather, the absence of one was proof of an exceptionally high level of control.
Zhao Cheng did know a little about swordsmanship—though only what he had picked up from online encyclopedia entries. As for why he had looked into it, naturally, it was because of his old chuunibyou phase.
And judging by his current performance, in the realm of traditional swordsmanship, he would have more than enough skill to found his own school. He was undeniably at the pinnacle of mortal men.
Yet within the scope of the Heavenly Moon Heart-Slaying Flow, he had only barely entered through the door.
If it were quantified by levels, he probably had not even reached Lv. 2.
And the ceiling of this extraordinary sword art was level twenty.
Nor did that mean level twenty was the ultimate limit. Level twenty was the limit of the sword art, not the limit of a person. It was simply that after reaching max level, every further level would become ten or a hundred times harder to advance. It was not something a mortal could accomplish.
Though, honestly, anyone who could train this extraordinary sword art to max level would hardly count as a mortal.
Even so, with this sword art still below level two, Zhao Cheng wielded it without the slightest awkwardness, as though he had already practiced it for more than a decade.
All Zhao Cheng could say to that was that his superpower was