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Two figures stood on an unremarkable little hill eight thousand miles from the Great Qin’s imperial city.
The first was a middle-aged man in plain robes. He leaned on a walking stick.
The other was a young man in a tall hat, broad belt, and loose, billowing azure robes. He carried two empty sword sheaths on his back, one black, the other white.
A crystalline, translucent spirit pearl hovered in midair, casting a dreamlike, ethereal rain of light that obscured their presences completely.
“His sword has yet to leave the sheath, but that was already enough to injure Wen Zhong. Is that guy perhaps a Buddhist sword cultivator?” exclaimed the young man in azure.
Wen Zhong was just an honorary disciple of the Heart-Tempering Sword House. He wasn’t anyone important.
What really surprised the young man was seeing such a powerful Immeasurable Realm sword cultivator in a backwater like the Blue Peak Continent.
“Yes, he’s a Buddhist sword cultivator. It’s clear from his swordsmanship. He’s strong, too,” said the middle-aged man with the walking stick. “In the Five Great Continents, he might not amount to much, but by the standards of the Blue Peak Continent, he’s quite impressive. That said, I suspect...
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