"So hard!"
"That's the point. When your hands are flailing, you're forced to abandon structured techniques and react completely on instinct. But reacting randomly isn't enough—you need to act as you will."
"I get it. It's like, 'no form is the best form,' 'no sword is better than having one,' right?"
"Heh, no form is correct. But no sword? That's a no-go."
"Wait, aren't masters in wuxia novels supposed to be able to harm with flowers and leaves? Swordless but sword-hearted?"
"You've read too many novels. Without sword energy, who exactly are you going to hurt?"
"True…"
"And yet you still have the leisure to chat. You've been training for two days and can only cut half of a single reed tuft before it hits the ground."
Victor Wang looked sheepish as the Wentian Sword chased a particularly evasive tuft, its blade gliding as if dancing with it—only to deliver a merciless kill once it drew close.
From yesterday morning to this evening, he had finally grasped a few tricks for handling the wildly disordered movement of reed tufts—but the Rite of Descension was tomorrow.
"So, the purpose of cutting reeds is to let go of rigid forms, right? I'll definitely reach that level. Can you tell me how to obtain sword intent?"
Across the river, Jiangxue finally looked up. "You're leaving?"
"Yes. I'll probably stay another day or two."
"Hmm… after these few days, how do you feel? Any difference compared to sword training?"
Victor Wang sheathed his sword and thought carefully. "Swordplay has forms and techniques. Cutting reeds has no fixed forms but still requires technique. Training swordplay usually means slicing air or striking wooden posts—but reed tufts are agile, like real enemies."
"Forms are dead. Technique is alive. No one can simulate every situation they might face. Forms can be exhausted, but technique is infinite."
"Yes, exactly! That's what I meant."
"Anything else?"
"Well… forms are learned from others. Technique is your own."
"Still saying the same thing. Got anything else?"
"Uhh… 'There's truth in this, but I can't explain it in words.'"
Jiangxue let out a short laugh.
"There's no helping it. Time's too short. You've probably heard people say 'treat the sword as part of your body.' To grasp sword intent, you must treat the sword not only as an extension of your flesh—but of your will."
"An extension of the will?" Like me and Little Wen?
Victor Wang thought of Wagner's affectionate gaze toward weapons, and goosebumps rose on his skin. Could he be a master of sword intent too?
"Being able to do that is crucial. A sword without 'intent' is dead. A sword with 'intent' is alive."
["Hey! I am alive!"]
Little Wen, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up.
"A sword spirit? That's rare… But I wasn't talking about literal life. It's a metaphor."
"It sounds abstract—but once you cross that invisible threshold, the benefits are tangible. Just like having chemistry with someone. Once your will is aligned with your sword, controlling sword energy becomes as easy as eating or drinking."
"Once you abandon form—so-called 'swordplay'—only then will you truly appreciate how powerful it is. Your Favonius Bladework, for example, wasn't just a set of techniques. It's a vessel of 'intent.'"
"And not just swordplay. You'll start to see intent in everything. In a carved mark, in a stroke of calligraphy—even in a single blade of grass. All things carry intent. The only question is how deep."
Victor Wang listened, heart full of longing.
This is just like those classic scenes where someone learns swordplay from the battle scars of a master or a line of ancient poetry…
Unfortunately… it was time to head to Liyue Harbor. If only teleport waypoints worked…
"By the way, Senior Jiangxue—do you know about the waypoint next to the lift at the top floor of Wangshu Inn?"
"That floating pillar? You're calling that a waypoint?"
"Some ancient book said it connects to ley lines. With the right method, it could enable long-distance teleportation."
"Well, it's an odd-looking thing, I'll give you that—but I honestly don't know. I did hear that when they built the inn, that pillar was originally downstairs. The owner thought it looked nice, so she moved it upstairs."
"If I could figure out how it works… I could train in Dihua Marsh anytime."
"No need to rush. Sword training is all about dripping water piercing stone."
"…"
Even this floor-sweeping monk doesn't know how the waypoint works…
After a tasteless dinner, just as Victor Wang was about to manually grind out Erosion Blast to temper his spirit, Little Wen spoke up quietly:
["Master… I think I've seen someone use a waypoint before."]
"What? Why didn't you say something sooner?!"
["Hmph! You never asked!"]
"I'm asking now. Tell me everything!"
["I'm not entirely sure. I saw people standing next to it, then they just vanished. Maybe they got eaten by invisible monsters?"]
"How exactly did they disappear? Any gestures?"
["Umm… they just put their hand on it, I think? But I've only ever watched. I never understood exactly what they did…"]
"Just put a hand on it… Were they Vision holders?"
["No! It was long, long ago. I never saw them wear those pretty orbs—but they could still use elemental powers."]
"An era before Visions? Do you remember how many years ago that was?"
["Way too early! Back then, I didn't even grasp the concept of time. Honestly, I still don't. Sometimes I wake for a bit, sense the world, then fall back into slumber. Sometimes I stay awake for a long while."]
["I only know the time when someone tells me. Otherwise, one nap might feel like two days—even if it's actually months or centuries."]
"Sounds like you've had a rough past…"
["Right? But everything's better now!"]
Victor Wang had stopped messing with that thing ever since touching it once and getting no reaction. Frustrating stuff—touch it too much, and you might not grow tall.
Now he stood before the waypoint again, carefully inspecting it. The structure had two parts.
The top half—cone-shaped or perhaps a pestle—was the main body, made of gray-white stone and a semi-opaque blue gemstone, with some parts inlaid with golden metal.
The base was round, but with three protruding corners that made it appear triangular. Inside each of those corners was a ring. The three rings should have overlapped—but the center was hollow, replaced by a swirling vortex of deep blue.
That vortex emitted soft blue light, forming a glowing pillar that held up the upper part—causing it to float gently, rising and falling like Bishui River below.
Strangely, viewing it through elemental sight revealed no trace of elemental energy. The vortex and lights were still visible—but the energy seemed purely visual, like touching air.
Still, as decoration? Not bad.
Victor Wang reached toward the waypoint. As expected, nothing happened.
He tried injecting elemental energy—something he hadn't been able to do before.
The waypoint absorbed it. But it vanished like a stone in the sea—no ripple, no reaction.
How did people in the past do it? How did Lumine do it?
"Little Wen, think carefully. Did they do anything else besides touch it?"
["Hmm… hmm… they all had their eyes closed. Other than that—nothing."]
Eyes closed? That routine?
Victor Wang formed a triangle with his hands at chest level, and silently thought: Teleport!
Still nothing.
So, it's not the same as Domains or Artifact resonance. Could it be… alchemy?
Ether as container, waypoint as material, touch as ritual—initiate Alchemical Space!
He tried pulling the waypoint into a spiritual space—but it wouldn't budge. Like an ant trying to move a mountain.
He attempted injecting pure spirit—only to be repelled hard.
"Tch… what is the trick? Lumine's the protagonist, sure—but those other people could use waypoints too. There must be a method…"
Eyes closed… likely tied to spirit. But waypoints reject spiritual energy… what about this?
He wrapped his spirit in elemental energy before injecting it.
Crack!
A crisp shattering sound rang out—and the world changed.
His vision zoomed out, like accessing a map menu in a game. But there was no map—just a single visible waypoint. Everything else was pitch black.
As his awareness approached the waypoint, he could view the area around it—within a three-meter radius. He could clearly tell—it was the Wangshu Inn waypoint.
It worked… How could it be this simple?!
This is like inventing room-temperature superconductors by accident... These waypoints have always existed in Teyvat. Surely someone has studied them... Why only me?
No matter. What's next?
He tried removing the elemental wrapping—his spirit was instantly ejected and returned to reality.
Clearly, that wasn't teleportation.
He re-entered, again wrapping spirit in elemental energy. No shattering sound this time—just a smooth entry.
He focused on the only visible waypoint. In the live preview, he could see himself touching the waypoint. He tried entering the preview—but nothing happened. It was just an image.
Only one option left.
Spirit enters the overview > hovers near waypoint > enters that waypoint preview > then once more dives into the image of the waypoint inside it.
Whirl!
The world spun violently.
Victor Wang landed somewhere near the waypoint—but noticeably offset.
"Ugh—"
He staggered to the railing, leaned over—and dry-heaved.
Then puked up what little was left of dinner.
"I… I got motion sick from teleporting... Ugh—!"