Divine Flame Crystal

Chapter 686: Zhongzheng Sword

The hall master stared at him for a long moment, then suddenly said, "If you can write down the posture you took that night and the source of your energy, your punishment will be halved, and you'll be allowed to establish a 'small sword position' outside the Hidden Sword Cliff. If you can't, you'll be given ten strokes of the cane and ordered to copy the sect rules thirty times."

"Yes," he said. That night, beneath the lamplight in his bamboo hut, he bent over his desk and wrote a scroll, "A Record of Standing on the Cliff at Night," detailing when the mountain winds rose and fell, where they bent and returned, how to sharpen a sword with the wind, how to hold the wind with one's breath. The hall master read it the next day and laughed, "What a pity you're not here to write for my Discipline Hall."

In terms of martial arts, Xingluo eschewed many unconventional techniques, remaining true to the Luoshen Sect's orthodox traditions of "The Thirteen Swords Above the Clouds" and "The Secret of Quietly Cultivating the Edge." The difficulty of possessing seven-colored spiritual roots lay in their sheer abundance, but he employed the opposite approach, using the few to control the many. He refined each form's focus and the single method of cultivating the edge to the utmost detail, allowing the seven-colored spiritual currents to converge without turbulence, gradually unleashing his own sword intent.

Outside the Luoshen Sect, beneath the ancient locust tree, an old man in a gray robe stood in the wind for a long time. He watched the young man gradually reduce "more" to "less," watched him transform his envy and jealousy into a colder sword intent, and also watched him be gently pulled back from danger in the bamboo forest by a girl's fingertips.

"Better than before," Kronos murmured. "My heart is steady, and my sword is straight."

However, he also knew that at the ultimate point, there was "Heaven." And the "Heaven" of the human race in this world only stopped at the Mahayana stage. Beyond that, there was an indescribable line that led to the True Immortal level.

He pulled a round stone from his bosom, a miniature image of mountains and rivers reflected within it. The warmth of the nine hundred and ninety-ninth time still lingered. The old man silently clenched his fist, then released it, his gaze once again directed toward the mountain gate.

"Go your own way. Don't rush to go against the will of heaven. First, walk firmly on each stone step under your feet."

On the night of the full moon, the sect opened its "Foundation Building Hall." The elders were present, and seven spiritual cauldrons were arranged in a circle, following the order of the five elements: thunder and wind. Xing Luo sat cross-legged within them, his seven spiritual roots blossoming simultaneously. His dantian surged like a tide, and every meridian in his body felt as if warmed by a warm fire.

"Building a building with seven colors at the same time is unprecedented in ancient times." An elder whispered.

With a loud bang, a sword pillar rose from the bottom of the sea in Xingluo's dantian, and a colorful light tower was formed in the sea of ​​​​qi. The center of the tower was the sword, and the tower body was the mind. The seven colors supported and restrained each other layer by layer, forming a "foundation" as stable as a mountain.

"Foundation laid, completed." The presiding elder said in a deep voice, and the bell rang three times, spreading throughout the mountain gate.

The next day, the ranking list for the Sword Hall was posted, and Xingluo's ranking leaped into the top 100. Some were indifferent, others genuinely impressed. Atlantis arrived with a piece of paper, discussing with him the night before, "How to Change Seven to One." Mo brought wine, but he didn't drink it; he simply placed it there, blocking all the footsteps outside the door. Erwin arrived with piles of books: "The History of the Fallen God," "The Record of the Thirteen Swords," and "The Record of the Hidden Sword Cliff," and urged Xingluo to "stop slaving away and read more." Pandora didn't come, but the next morning, a strand of the extremely rare "Frost Grass" appeared on his sword rack, which had a miraculous effect on the heat of the Seven-Colored Internal Energy.

At the end-of-month competition, Xingluo won three rounds in a row, and in the fourth, he faced Chu Yi, who was ranked thirty-sixth in the Inner Gate. Chu Yi's swordplay was unconventional, mastering the "force outside the force," using twisting and sideways strokes to force flaws. Xingluo held him for a moment, neither impatient nor anxious, allowing him to disrupt his rhythm. In the nineteenth round, Xingluo suddenly shouted, and the seven colors disappeared. The sword light merged into one, and it penetrated Chu Yi directly. Chu Yi felt a chill in his chest, and the sword fell to the ground with a clang.

"A sword strike of justice." The judge commented in a low voice, "The most difficult sword strike of the Luoshen Sect, and he used it so cleanly."

Xingluo clasped his sword, bowed, and turned to leave the stage. A very soft "hmm" came from the crowd, and Pandora withdrew her gaze and looked away.

After establishing his foundation, Xingluo, besides preparing his sword, began carving out his own small stone platform on the "Sword Hidden Cliff" in the sect's back mountain. This was the "Outer Edge Sword Position" permitted by the Discipline Hall. Every disciple who could write out the principles of self-realization could set up a one-foot-square position, place a small stone table and a bronze lamp, and stand there at night, listening to the wind and practicing with his sword.

He named the platform "Snowfall Platform." As the wind passed by the platform, the chill of cold preceded the arrival of snow. The next night, he wrote on the platform: "If the seven colors disperse, the sword will not gather; if the seven colors gather, the sword will become stiff. Between the gathering and the dispersion, there is a thin line that allows me to move forward, and I call it 'One Thought.'"

The sword masters of the Luoshen Sect would occasionally pass by and read his words, "There is a thought between unity and separation," and most would smile without commenting. Those who understood nodded, while those who didn't still didn't understand.

Xingluo didn't care. He knew he was following a different path from most: first, he would capture the seven colors with as few techniques as possible, then slowly cultivate the necessary "more" within that "few." He didn't seek rapid advancement, only to maintain a steady swordsmanship.

Outside the mountain gate, the gray-robed old man stood beneath the ancient locust tree for another night. At daybreak, he walked away, his hands behind his back, the round stone in his sleeve silent.

"Falling God Sect." He repeated the name softly in his mind, "It's a good name."

From then on, the two words "Luoshen" left a mark in his long river of time.

In the Luoshen Sect's autumn, the sea of ​​clouds thickens, and the mountain winds whisper. Every time this time comes, the sect holds a "Grand Sword Competition," where swordplay is used to determine the rank of each peak's apprentices. Those who place in the top 100 are eligible to enter the Sword Pavilion to comprehend the broken stele; those in the top 30 receive the privilege of cultivating spiritual veins.

This year's competition was even more exciting than previous years. This was because a name had quietly spread throughout the sect.

Seven-colored exiled immortal.

That was the nickname the disciples privately gave Xingluo. Some said his seven-colored sword light was like a celestial being descending from the mortal realm, others said he was born unmortal, and still others secretly connected him to the legend of the "Son of Destiny" in the sect's ancient texts.

Regardless of whether it was true or not, this name was enough to draw countless eyes to him.

On the day of the competition, the roar of swords echoed across the Ten Thousand Sword Arena. Dozens of arenas opened simultaneously, and the disciples battled according to the order drawn. In the stands, the elders took their seats, their gazes sweeping over the disciples.

Xing Luo's opponent is none other than Chu Yi, who has already entered the inner sect of the Sword Hall. This man has reached the perfection of Qi training and is known for his exquisite swordsmanship, known as the "Twisting Sword", who is good at using unconventional techniques to disrupt his opponents.

At the beginning of the fight, Chu Yi's sword was as powerful as the wind, the tip of the sword twisting and circling, trying to force Xing Luo to reveal a flaw. However, Xing Luo remained unmoved, his seven-colored spiritual energy slowly flowing through the sword, but he never released it.

The disciples watching the fight were so anxious that they whispered, "What is he waiting for? Senior Brother Chu's stubbornness is not something that can be easily broken!"

"Could it be that the Seven-Colored Exiled Immortal is just this good?"

Just as everyone was discussing, Chu Yi's sword moves suddenly accelerated, and the sword shadows were like a torrential rain. At this moment, Xingluo suddenly moved.

His seven-colored sword light suddenly converged into a line and stabbed straight out.

This sword move had no fancy moves, only a moderate and peaceful one, yet it managed to break through all of Chu Yi's sword shadows. Chu Yi felt a chill in his chest, and his sword was actually shaken away.

The whole place was in dead silence. After a moment, the referee announced: "Xingluo wins the Luoshen Sect competition!"

The disciples were shocked. Someone murmured, "That sword again... the sword that hits you right."