In just a few steps, Ye Lin arrived before the Scripture Depository.
He stood before the Scripture Depository and raised his head to look at the colossal structure before him.
The closer he got, the more overwhelming the shock became.
The Scripture Depository was not particularly enormous. At least compared to the sword peaks he had seen earlier, which stretched for thousands of miles, it could not be called gigantic.
Yet it possessed a strange sense of presence.
It was as though all the Sword Intent in the entire sacred land converged upon it, then spread outward again with it as the center, as if the sources and destinations of countless rivers had been condensed into this single pavilion.
Ye Lin looked upward.
The Scripture Depository had twelve levels, each one narrowing as it rose, its outline resembling a heavy sword thrust from the earth toward the heavens.
The corners of every eave slanted sharply upward, each tip holding a wisp of solidified sword light, like sword radiance extending outward, unscattered through the years.
Twelve levels meant twenty-four eave corners, twenty-four streaks of sword radiance pointing diagonally into the sky. Beneath the sacred land's daylight, they gleamed with a cold, secluded silver sheen, like twenty-four miniature sharp swords being drawn from their sheaths at once.
The walls of the pavilion were dark, neither wood nor stone, but a muted deep blue-green like bronze and black iron mixed together and naturally oxidized over the ages.
The walls were covered in countless dense, intricate patterns. At first glance, they looked like ancient relief decorations.
But after only a few breaths, Ye Lin recognized them for what they were: sword marks.
Countless sword marks crisscrossed the surface of the walls. Some cut several inches deep into the structure, some were only shallow scratches.