They merely emitted an extremely low hum from deep within their blades, the sound gathering into a deep chorus, as though whispering among themselves.
One broken sword struggled halfway out of the earth, and a cloud of murky yellow light surged from its fractured edge. Within that light, a blurred human figure condensed.
It was the image of an old man, stooped in posture and indistinct in features, with only his eyes clear and blazing like torches.
The old man glanced at Ye Lin and spoke in a hoarse voice.
"Young man, the aura of Sword Dao on you... you haven't hidden it deeply enough. This old man caught its scent. Whose disciple are you?"
Ye Lin gave him an indifferent look.
"I am no one's disciple."
The sword soul in the old man's form let out a string of rasping laughter, like a dead tree creaking in the wind.
"Heh heh, the aura of your Sword Dao is quite ancient, and its origins are anything but simple. Are you saying that Sword Dao aura belongs to you alone, that you cultivated it yourself?"
The old man chuckled, clearly disbelieving Ye Lin's earlier words.
Ye Lin did not argue.
He merely stopped walking, faced the old man's sword soul formed by the broken sword, and calmly extended his right hand.
With his palm facing upward and his five fingers slightly spread, a tiny transparent sword condensed from Ye Lin's own Sword Dao floated above his palm.
The instant the tiny sword hovered over Ye Lin's palm, the humming throughout the entire sword zone abruptly ceased.
The sword souls of every shattered ancient sword fell silent at once, as though some invisible force had seized them by the throat.
The smile on the old man's sword soul froze on his face,