In the Immortal Sect's world, amid the Friendship Tribulation, a black-and-white dot stood out starkly.
As if startled, it vanished in an instant.
In a single instant, it shifted billions of times, from left to right, from top to bottom, taking every imaginable shape. Sometimes it appeared inside a friend's body; sometimes it became a bird, then a speck of dust... Its endless transformations dazzled the eye. It changed at every moment, never remaining in one place.
It was so mysterious, so difficult to track, that luck was useless on this battlefield.
Yet why was that black-and-white dot so clear?
No matter where it went or what form it took, why did it stand out so starkly?
It changed faster and faster, plainly growing frightened and panicked. It tried to alter its course, but nothing worked. It could not shake the black-and-white dot clinging to it like a maggot to bone.
A force kept it locked on with perfect precision.
The black-and-white dot accelerated again, pushing past its limits. Its panic could no longer be concealed.
Clang!
The Great Sun Sword Heir slowly drew his sword. Its ringing was long and melodious.
"Fellow Daoist,"
"I have heard that no sword art or formation under heaven is perfect. With the same amount of mana and divine sense, trying to cover every angle leads only to mediocrity, to being as fragile as an eggshell."
The Great Sun Sword Heir spoke slowly.
"But if one plays to one's strengths and avoids one's weaknesses, concentrating that same mana at a single point, one can pierce an entire surface."
"A blade's edge, a sword's edge, owes its sharpness to being thin, to being fragile. Without that fragility, there is no sharpness—only a lump of iron the size of a fist, useless for felling trees or