"System," Li Shen murmured, his tone calm but his pulse steady and resolute, "show my information panel."
A faint, translucent light appeared before his eyes—lines of blue radiance forming orderly script, floating in the quiet of his room.
Name: Li Shen
Cultivation: Body Tempering – Early
Cultivation Technique: Verdant Breathing Art (Tier I) (Mastered)
Sec Coins: 98
Qi Density: 35.8 Q units
Mental Energy: 0 / 100 units
Cultivation Techniques:
Verdant Breathing Art (Tier I) [Mastered]Cutter's Vital Rhythm (Tier I) [Proficiency: 5%] [Efficiency: 56.4%]
The glowing panel faded softly into the air.
Li Shen leaned back, his gaze thoughtful. So… I've reached the limit of my current foundation. Verdant Breathing has stabilized my Qi flow, but my strength and endurance are still lacking.
His fingers drummed lightly on the wooden table, the faint rhythm echoing in the silent room. "If I want to take the Iron Fang Rabbit Subjugation Mission," he muttered, "I need to be ready."
The mission had been posted on the outer sect's task board for over a week—simple enough to be ignored by stronger disciples, yet dangerous enough to end a careless beginner. Iron Fang Rabbits were small, but their teeth were infused with natural metallic Qi, capable of tearing through unrefined flesh.
He exhaled deeply. "I'll need a weapon… and a battle technique that suits it. But I only have five days."
Outside, the faint glow of dawn crept into the horizon, and the distant clang of the morning bell resounded across the mountain.
Li Shen rose. "Today is Monday. I'll chop wood from Monday to Saturday—build my body, let Cutter's Vital Rhythm synchronize with my breath. Tomorrow, I'll push its efficiency to one hundred percent. " His gaze sharpened, "I'll buy my first weapon and prepare for battle."
A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Let's see what this world can forge me into."
The Forging Hall of the Verdant Cloud Sect lay deep beneath the mountain's third terrace. The air grew warmer as Li Shen descended the stone steps; by the time he reached the arched iron doors, the scent of fire, oil, and metal filled his lungs.
Inside, it was a world of flame.
Molten metal dripped like liquid sunlight. Sparks danced wildly as hammers struck anvils, each impact releasing a sharp, clear ring that echoed through the subterranean chamber like a blacksmith's hymn. Disciples worked with bare arms slick with sweat, their Qi flowing through bellows and tongs, their strikes resonating with rhythm and focus.
Li Shen paused for a moment, quietly admiring the sight. So this is the heart of creation… the place where cold ore becomes destiny.
A young woman in a crimson apron approached, bowing slightly. Her hair was tied neatly, her expression polite yet confident. "How may we help you, sir?"
"I'm looking for a weapon," Li Shen replied evenly.
Her eyes brightened. "Then you've come to the right place. Please, follow me."
They passed rows of weapon racks—swords, sabers, spears, and staves glimmered under the torchlight. Some emitted faint hums of Qi, others rested in serene silence, awaiting the hand that would claim them.
"The artifacts are divided by tier," she explained as they walked. "Mortal-Tier—forged by human hands. They carry Qi but lack will. Most disciples use them in training."
Li Shen nodded silently.
"Spirit-Tier," she continued, "are infused with minor consciousness through special forging under elemental harmony. They respond faintly to emotion and intent—favored by elders and elite disciples."
"And the next?" Li Shen asked curiously.
"Soul-Tier." Her tone softened with reverence. "These possess a true artifact spirit—capable of speech and limited willpower. They can form a soul bond with their master. Only the Sect Master and a few Grand Elders wield such relics."
Li Shen's eyes glimmered faintly. So even weapons have souls. How far must one walk before even steel answers their call?
The attendant smiled faintly, sensing his thoughts. "For your level, I recommend something within Mortal-Tier—reliable, easy to maintain, and resonant with your current cultivation base."
Li Shen's gaze drifted toward a corner where plain swords hung neatly in rows. His steps slowed. The long blades shimmered faintly, not with beauty but with quiet strength.
"I'll choose a sword," he said.
The woman blinked in surprise, then smiled. "Ah, the path of the sword… sharp, proud, and pure." She led him toward a rack and drew one blade from its scabbard. "This is the Iron Spirit Blade—forged from tempered iron. It hums faintly when infused with Qi, light and balanced. Most outer disciples favor it."
Li Shen accepted the weapon, feeling its weight. The blade was unadorned, its sheen simple but honest. As he held it, a faint vibration pulsed through his palm—soft yet alive.
When he infused a thread of Qi, the sword gave a low hum, like a beast awakening from slumber.
Good balance. Resonates smoothly with my Qi. A humble blade, but steady… dependable.
His heart stirred faintly. Before his transmigration, he had dreamed of swords that could cleave mountains and ride the skies. Perhaps this was not one of them—but every journey began with a single blade.
"How much?"
"Twenty sect coins," she replied.
Li Shen reached into his pouch and handed her the payment without hesitation. "I'll take it."
She wrapped the sword in crimson cloth and bowed lightly. "May this blade follow your will, cultivator."
As Li Shen left the Forging Hall, the heat of the forges still clung to his skin, and the faint hum of the Iron Spirit Blade followed like a heartbeat.
He unsheathed it once under the pale sky outside. The steel reflected his own calm yet determined face.
One day, he thought, this sword will carve my path through heaven and earth alike.
He sheathed it with a soft click, adjusting it by his waist. With seventy-eight sect coins remaining, his next destination awaited—the Library of Echoing Wisdom, where the sect stored all recorded techniques.
There, he would choose the art that would define his blade's first dance.
Li Shen turned toward the mountain path. The breeze brushed past, carrying the scent of molten steel and wild pine. The sun was already dipping toward the west, painting the skies in streaks of gold.