The first layer of the Sword God Body Tempering Art wasn't about building muscle, but about healing. It taught how to accelerate recovery from wounds.
"Feel the flow of blood in your body. Guide it. Control it. Let warmth circulate."
Adrian Black followed the instructions carefully. Almost at once, he sensed it — the rhythm of blood flowing through his veins, a current he could grasp and move. It was effortless, almost natural.
"Could it be because of my bloodline?" he thought.
His late parents had told him their family carried the blood of the Crimson Lineage — an ancient heritage cursed by history, coveted as slaves by the Celestial Dragons. That was why his family had lived in hiding on Falcon Isle.
Since childhood, Adrian had noticed his body was different. He remembered once cutting his palm with a kitchen knife. The bleeding had stopped in seconds, the wound sealing fully in a matter of hours. His recovery was monstrous.
"Crimson Lineage… a cursed name, but a gift all the same," Adrian murmured with a faint smile. Then he focused back on cultivation.
He guided the flow of blood as the manual described, and immediately felt his body grow lighter. The lingering soreness from his battle with Cole and the others faded away as if it had never existed.
At the same time, visions stirred in his mind. Every sword technique he had studied in both lives replayed before him like a film. Mistakes, blind spots, subtle flaws he had never noticed revealed themselves in sharp detail.
When he stopped cultivating, that heightened clarity vanished. It was as though the Sword God Body Tempering Art itself sharpened his perception of the sword.
"So that's why it's called the Sword God Body Tempering Art," Adrian whispered. "Not just to temper the body — but to elevate the path of the sword itself."
He clenched his fist, confidence burning. "With this, I'll master both body and blade. Nothing will stop me."
The manual's next passages opened before his mind:
The second layer focused on digesting food with perfect efficiency.
The third layer granted control over the entire body — a power like the Life Return technique whispered of on the seas.
"These first three will be simple enough," Adrian muttered.
He dropped into the dirt and began training his body — push-ups, sit-ups, frog jumps. Crude exercises, but his frame was still weak. For now, this was enough.
"Hm?"
A shadow fell over him. Master Louis watched quietly, expecting to see his disciple practicing sword forms. Instead, Adrian was drenched in sweat, pushing his body to its limits.
"Master," Adrian said between breaths, noticing the look in his teacher's eyes. "I understand now. The sword is my path, but without a strong body, I'll never reach its peak. The blade and the flesh must grow together."
Louis studied him in silence, then finally nodded. "If this is the path you've chosen, then follow it without regret."
"Yes, Master. I'll keep my promise. One day, I will stand as the world's greatest swordsman."
Louis's lips curved in the faintest of smiles, but he said nothing more and left Adrian to his training.
From then on, Adrian's days settled into rhythm: mornings of physical training until exhaustion, followed by cultivation of the Sword God Body Tempering Art to restore his strength. Afternoons of relentless sword drills.
He didn't waste time on Ironblade's advanced forms. Instead, he drilled the basics: thrust, chop, parry, slash, cut, intercept, press. The foundation stones of every style in existence. He believed that the stronger his roots, the higher he could climb.
And he climbed. For six months, Adrian lived and breathed nothing but sword and steel. His body hardened, muscles filling out his once-skinny frame. The Art kept him from collapse, healing him each time training pushed him past his limits.
But eventually, a bottleneck came. Within the walls of the dojo, he could no longer advance. He needed more.
"It's time," Adrian muttered. "My strength isn't absolute yet, but unless the Steel Fang master himself comes, I can face anything they throw at me."
So he left the dojo, gathering ten senior apprentices to aid in his next stage of training. Among them stood Marcus, the massive youth who had once been Ironblade's brightest student before Adrian's arrival.
Marcus frowned as he and the others surrounded Adrian in a clearing, whips in hand. Adrian stripped off his shirt, his scarless skin gleaming in the sunlight.
"Senior Brother… do we really have to hit you?" Marcus asked, his voice uneasy.
"Of course," Adrian said sharply. His gaze swept across them like a blade. "And if any of you hold back, you'll be punished with ten thousand practice swings back at the dojo. No food until you're done."
The apprentices hesitated. Some shifted uncomfortably.
Marcus sighed, tightening his grip on the whip. "Then… forgive me, Senior Brother."
Crack!
The whip snapped across Adrian's back. He hissed, teeth gritted against the burning pain. But then the Art flared within him, circulating warmth through his blood. The agony dulled, then faded.
Adrian smiled grimly. "The Sword God Body Tempering Art… truly powerful."
He straightened, eyes hard. "What are you waiting for? All of you. Strike!"
The apprentices raised their whips.
Marcus muttered under his breath. "Then… we'll really hit you."
And the air filled with the sound of lashes.