The nine forms of the sword art were each more profound and more terrifying than the last.
Ye Lin stood where he was, digesting the information flooding his mind.
His body trembled faintly.
Not from fear, but excitement.
A sword art of this level was beyond anything he had imagined.
He was certain this set of sword techniques did not belong to this world at all.
It came from a higher plane of existence, from somewhere beyond the Great Dao.
The motes of light continued to stream in, dancing around him.
Several more motes landed in his palm.
This time, after the motes scattered, they did not turn into words, but scene after scene.
In those scenes, someone was practicing swordsmanship.
The person's features could not be seen—only a blurred silhouette.
He held a sword in his hand, his techniques flowing like drifting clouds and running water, every strike containing the ultimate truths of the Great Dao.
Ye Lin stared at those scenes, utterly entranced.
It was a demonstration of the Primeval Sword Art.
That blurry figure performed the nine sword forms one by one. Every form was incomparably clear, every detail revealed down to the finest hair.
Ye Lin firmly etched every movement, every trajectory of Sword Qi, every circulation of power into his mind.
The scenes faded.
New motes of light fell into his palm.
This time, it was a second item.
A divine ability.
The motes scattered and transformed into a line of words.
"Let me pass on another divine ability to you, named Ten Thousand Swords Return to Origin."
"Ten thousand swords do not mean ten thousand blades, but ten thousand paths of the sword."
"Ten thousand sword paths return to one body; myriad laws become one, and ten thousand Daos return to their origin."
"When