Chapter 80: Seeking the Sword

Burial Sword Peak, though it was a mountain floating upright in midair, was shrouded in utter blackness. The earth upon its slopes was clearly no ordinary soil, and many of its cliffs were precipitous beyond compare. Not long after Qin Feng set foot on Burial Sword Peak, a sudden cry rang out as someone, careless for but a moment, slipped and plummeted from the heights.

Yet what startled Qin Feng most was that disciples of Mount Shu Sword Sect, riding their swords nearby, witnessed it all, but none made a move to save the falling youth. Though the broad-faced steward had warned them in advance, rescuing someone was hardly any effort for them. Such cold indifference left Qin Feng deeply chilled.

Was this truly the Mount Shu Sword Sect he had longed for in his heart?

Staring at the silhouette fading into the clouds below, Qin Feng felt lost for a moment.

The death of one made everyone else cautious, and order among the crowd improved considerably. Clearly, the stewards of Mount Shu Sword Sect had intended this outcome.

Qin Feng pressed forward quickly. As expected, none of the flying swords around him so much as trembled in his presence, let alone responded to him. It seemed his own aptitude was truly poor—so poor that even these swords looked down on him.

Still, some were luckier. A few steps in, one person drew a sword and now waved it about, showing off to those around him with unconcealed delight.

Qin Feng smiled sincerely, genuinely happy for those with such fortune. After all, not one in a hundred could boast such luck.

He followed the direction of Old Man Qiu, trailing him from a distance. He watched as the old man scurried to a remote, sparsely populated spot, compared something on a slip of paper to the sword before him—one that glowed with a fiery red light—and, upon confirming it was the sword he sought, began to recite an incantation and form hand seals. Clearly, he was using a sword-collecting technique.

"Why does that hand seal look so familiar?" Qin Feng was surprised to see Old Man Qiu perform the Sword Collection Seal. What left him truly speechless, however, was that he recognized this technique—it was precisely the same one Zhan Bai had used in the Blood Qi Temple.

Did the broad-faced steward teach Old Man Qiu this technique? That must be the case!

At this point, Old Man Qiu reached a critical moment. Sweat streamed down his brow and his already swarthy face turned purple from strain. Yet the little old man was ruthless enough—in the final instant, he bit through his own tongue, activating a rare secret art that instantly boosted his strength. With a great shout, he called, "Collect!"

With a resonant hum, the slender fiery sword before him leapt into the air, circled once, and then hovered before Old Man Qiu.

He collapsed onto the ground, his face so flushed with excitement it looked ready to bleed.

He had waited twenty long years for this moment, trying every method, and finally, fortune favored him. The bitterness, hardship, and pain of the past were all washed away. Nothing else mattered. From this moment on, he was a formal disciple of Mount Shu Sword Sect!

Old Man Qiu threw his head back and laughed, utterly heedless of his injuries, laughing and coughing up blood all the while.

Qin Feng witnessed the entire scene, his gaze lingering especially on a crack near the tip of the sword. Suddenly, he understood.

It was a half-broken sword—its spirit greatly damaged, making it much easier to collect. That explained everything.

Qin Feng shook his head. In his effort to obtain the sword, Old Man Qiu had already damaged his own meridians. Given his advanced age, even if his meridians healed, lasting harm would remain, likely hindering his future cultivation.

"Was it worth it?"

Qin Feng wondered silently, not for himself, but on Old Man Qiu’s behalf.

A damaged sword was one thing, but was Mount Shu Sword Sect truly as wonderful as he had hoped? In the end, they were all human, and humans are never free of desire.

Qin Feng shook his head and continued on, his eyes occasionally flickering with purple light.

Along the way, more and more people drew swords. Qin Feng noticed that the vast majority of them had bribed the broad-faced steward the night before; only a handful had succeeded purely by luck. Most, however, still had not found their swords.

This only fueled the others’ frenzy. While everyone else competed to draw swords, Qin Feng wandered in circles, minute after minute passing with no sign of the sword he sought.

"Could it be that it’s not here?" he wondered.

To his surprise, the Demon of Heaven responded, "It’s here. I can already sense a trace of its aura. Keep searching!"

This confirmation jolted Qin Feng to attention and he immediately changed direction, heading toward the lower slopes, where the cliffs were steep and few dared venture, for a single misstep could mean death.

Qin Feng was reluctant to go as well, but he had already searched every safer place and found no sign of the treasure the Demon spoke of.

On the way, Qin Feng paused, his gaze fixed on a gleaming blue sword he was loath to leave behind. It was simply too beautiful—if he could wear it on his back, he would be the very image of a new Sword Immortal.

But a discouraging voice sounded in his mind, "Ah? So this sword is here too. That Purple Sky Eye of yours is truly remarkable. This is a fine ancient relic called Blue Radiance. Unfortunately, it doesn’t suit you. Its last master was a peerless beauty, and so this sword has a special attachment to women. Don’t waste your energy here."

"Your sword is ahead. Keep going. Its aura is growing stronger."

Left with no choice, Qin Feng obeyed. The Demon had told him that while many swords rested here, only one truly suited him. Strangely, the Demon could faintly sense its location, which astonished Qin Feng.

Could the Demon have some connection with Chong Wu?

Qin Feng grumbled to himself as he pressed on.

He passed countless swords, his eyes dazzled by their variety. Some were no less fine than Blue Radiance, but the Demon rejected them all. In truth, it wasn’t even the Demon’s opinion that mattered—these swords themselves spurned Qin Feng.

He traversed several sheer cliffs, climbing by hand, gripping sword hilts for support. After a long trek, he finally arrived at a massive hollow.

Within that vast pit, there was only a single sword.

Outside the pit, all the other swords seemed to fear this one, keeping as far from it as possible.

And this sword—when Qin Feng saw it, his eyes widened in disbelief.

The first thing he felt was its size—so large it was absurd, exuding an imposing, domineering presence.

The second thing he noticed was its strangeness—the blade was covered in overlapping scales like a serpent, twisted up onto a broad hilt etched with patterns that depicted a ferocious beast coiled in wait.

The third impression was one of familiarity—his very blood and soul began to tremble.

He was utterly stunned.

He could no longer look away.

This must have been an ancient sword—broad, thick, and exceedingly long, its surface shimmering with a somber black luster, ancient runes carved upon it lending an air of deep mystery.

A heavy sword!

Qin Feng stepped forward and measured it. Once fully drawn, this sword would be much longer than his own height, and its blade was as wide as half a door.

How could this possibly be a flying sword? Could it even fly?

Qin Feng was left speechless. This was a massive, super-heavy sword—completely different from the elegant long swords he had once imagined slung across his back. If he rode this sword into the air, it would certainly be impressive, but he would stand out in the strangest way.

Yet, Qin Feng liked it.

To wield a sword that could move mountains and dominate the world—such a man was truly worthy of the name hero.