As Ye Lin stepped onto the blade's hilt, he encountered no obstruction whatsoever and easily reached its summit.
At the peak of the hilt was not the lavish palace he had imagined, but a smooth, mirror-like gray platform shrouded in an invisible force field.
Cloud and mist curled around the platform's edges. Looking down, he could take in the entirety of Blade City and even the sweeping veins of mountains and rivers across much of Divine Province Commandery. The wind howled fiercely.
At the center of the platform, a figure sat cross-legged with his back to Ye Lin.
He wore coarse hemp clothes washed pale with age, his long hair casually draped down his back. A sheathed longsaber lay horizontally at his side.
The scabbard was ancient and even somewhat worn, utterly out of place atop this lofty perch amid the clouds.
Not the slightest oppressive aura emanated from the man. He was like an ancient, unyielding rock that had existed since time immemorial, so quiet he seemed almost extinguished.
Ye Lin stood at the edge of the platform.
His heart gave a violent thump.
He could not sense the slightest pressure, yet he felt an overwhelming sense of presence—as though the place where that man sat was the center of heaven and earth.
It was not a display of power, but the natural, seamless harmony of the Dao.
"This junior, Ye Lin, pays his respects to Senior."
Ye Lin cupped his fists in salute.
"A sword cultivator?"
A calm, unruffled voice rang out.
"Your Sword Qi is drawn inward, your edge concealed. Your foundation is quite solid."
"You also carry the aura of that old fellow Sword Demon. Have you met him?"
Ye Lin stepped forward a few paces and saluted again respectfully.
"This junior, Ye Lin, has come