Forging Great Sun Sword Cultivators from Corpses

Upon the plains, beneath the morning sun, before the eyes of the tribespeople, four grassland warriors began a life-and-death slaughter.

On one side was an early Inner Qi cultivator, accompanied by two peak Body Tempering centurions. They were relatives by marriage of the chieftain, fiercely loyal, sharing his glory and disgrace. They had no choice but to step forward, or the new chieftain would not spare either of them.

On the other side stood only one man: a young swordsman at the early Inner Qi stage.

The chieftain had been unwilling to take the risk and had tried to rally support. Yet, just as when he had challenged the previous chieftain more than twenty years ago, the herdsmen merely watched coldly and refused to involve themselves. Their usual vows of loyalty were nothing but a joke.

Blood sprayed through the air. An arm clutching a sword flew away and struck the ground, while a warrior howled in agony.

Jiang Ding watched the scene indifferently.

This was a custom unique to the mortals of the Great Sun Sword Sect's grassland realm, a system like that of ancient knights: the stronger swordsman possessed everything, while the weak deserved to die.

Between life and death, powerful potential could be stirred forth, bringing breakthroughs in a swordsman's will. This was the creed of the Great Sun Sword Pavilion.

In their eyes, cultivators and mortals who died because of it were no more than soil. Their deaths evoked no resonance whatsoever. The defeated were not disciples of the Sword Pavilion; this was only natural.

This was not some martial-arts routine, flashy and brimming with countless poses.

After barely a dozen exchanges, Chieftain Tuhe had already collapsed to the ground, one thigh severed at the root, blood covering the earth. He wailed miserably and begged, "Mercy!