A spirit stone! This meant I would not need to venture out for a month.
Gao Han had originally planned to return to the graveyard to cultivate. Though the journey would take nearly ten days, twenty days of cultivation there would match three months of ordinary practice—making the detour well worth it. The only pity was that he would have little time left to study the Seven-Sword Art.
But with the spirit stone in his possession, all his troubles vanished. Absorbing spiritual energy from the stone was slightly slower than drawing in frost energy, yet it saved him the ten days of travel, evening out the difference.
Now that he recognized the stone for what it was, he lost all interest in wandering further. Zheng Ling, noticing his distraction, assumed he regretted spending six hundred thousand taels on the Featherfall Sword.
"Brother Gao, do not trouble yourself over it. Mid-grade or not, the Featherfall Sword is forged of far sturdier material than any common blade. Think of it as purchasing an ordinary longsword," Zheng Ling comforted him.
Gao Han offered a faint smile without explanation. "Brother Zheng, I am rather fatigued today. Shall we return?"
Zheng Ling readily agreed; he had only accompanied Gao Han to guide him through the capital.
As they left Yiwu Pavilion and headed for the Zheng residence, Gao Han's thoughts raced. He burned to test whether the Featherfall Sword had truly been a wasted purchase and confirm beyond doubt that his stone was indeed a spirit stone.
Distracted as they were, neither noticed a thug trailing them from a distance before vanishing into the entrance of a tavern.
On the second floor of the Drunken Sun Tower, Ning Hai — who had confronted them at Yiwu Pavilion — sat drinking alone. He barely glanced at the dishes laid out before him, his gaze empty yet flickering with murderous intent from time to time.
The thug who had tailed Gao Han soon appeared at the staircase. Scanning the room, he spotted Ning Hai and hurried over, bowing obsequiously. "Young Master Ning, I saw Zheng Ling and that stranger leave Yiwu Pavilion. One of my men is tailing them now, marking their path."
Ning Hai froze, his wine cup hovering halfway to his lips. His eyes narrowed. "Lead me to them."
His grip tightened, shattering the porcelain cup. Wine trickled down his wrist as he rose and followed the thug.
Before long, Gao Han sensed someone following closely. When he glanced back, the stalker ducked out of sight — yet no concealment was quick enough to evade Gao Han's sharp eyes. He whispered the situation to Zheng Ling, who flew into a rage.
Gao Han held him back. "If we wish to catch the big fish, we must not remove the bait. We must let out a longer line."
Zheng Ling gritted his teeth. "Let him live a while longer."
They slowed their pace and deliberately turned into a deserted alley. Ning Hai arrived just in time to see them walking ahead, a cold smirk twisting his lips. "You spurn the road to heaven and charge straight into hell. There is no escape!"
Unleashing his second-layer True Essence, Ning Hai surged forward and blocked their path, his gaze icy as he fixed on Gao Han. "You were insolent enough at Yiwu Pavilion. Now even begging for mercy will not save you. I will shatter every bone in your body, then toss you into the mass grave while you still live, so you may watch yourself be torn apart by wild dogs!"
"We shall see," Gao Han replied calmly.
His composure enraged Ning Hai further, who felt his dignity challenged. A low-grade longsword flashed from its sheath, its domineering blade slicing downward. Five overlapping arcs of saber light sealed off every escape route, leaving Gao Han nowhere to hide.
"Brother Gao, beware! That is the Five Tyrant Blades, a top-tier Mortal-Rank art!" Zheng Ling warned.
Activating Thousand Searches, Gao Han's figure weaved through the storm of saber light, seemingly slow yet impossibly swift, carving a path to safety. His Steelpoint Sword flickered free.
Raging Spirit Severance!
A streak of sword light, frigid enough to bite into bone, lunged toward Ning Hai. Startled that Gao Han had evaded his technique, Ning Hai reacted swiftly, or face being run through.
His right leg exploded into a flurry of shadows, whistling through the air toward Gao Han's sword-wielding hand. Gao Han would not let him land the strike.
Thousand Searches! Surging Tides!
This palm strike was the most powerful move Gao Han could muster at present. True Essence roared forth like an unbridled river, wave upon wave crashing into the leg shadows.
The collision of violent forces sent a shockwave rippling outward. The thugs, mere fifth-layer Qi Condensation cultivators, were slammed against the wall.
Gao Han stepped back once. Ning Hai flew ten paces backward, his eyes burning with hatred as he roared. "Die! Ghost Shadow!"
His right leg blurred into invisibility, moving so rapidly that Gao Han could barely track it — a hazy fog of kicks surging toward him.
"This is the Nine Ghost Fire Kicks! I know not its rank!" Zheng Ling shouted.
Gao Han cursed inwardly; warning him of an unknown technique was useless. He could not even pinpoint Ning Hai's position — how was he to fight back?
He continued to use Thousand Searches, edging closer each time, hoping to break the technique. Yet before his sword could draw near, Ning Hai shifted his stance, unleashing another wave of blurry kicks that forced Gao Han to retreat. The kicks slammed into the nearby walls, turning the solid stone into a honeycomb of craters.
As he fell back, Gao Han noticed a crucial detail: Ning Hai's left leg remained firmly planted, rooted to the ground each time he unleashed the Nine Ghost Fire Kicks.
That leg was the technique's fatal flaw.
Knowing the weakness, the rest was easy. Activating Thousand Searches once more, Gao Han did not target the kicks themselves — he struck at the gap in Ning Hai's stance.
He closed in, his sword gliding lightly toward Ning Hai's left leg. Ning Hai scrambled to defend, but his speed was no match for Gao Han's blade. Blood sprayed as the sword sliced through flesh.
Ning Hai crumpled to the ground, screaming in agony. "I will kill you! I will tell my aunt to end you!"
"Do as you wish. Trash," Gao Han said, sheathing his sword. He turned and left with Zheng Ling.
Upon returning to the Zheng residence, Gao Han requested a quiet place to cultivate. Zheng Yunqing assigned him a secluded chamber — a necessity for a clan that stood against the royal court. Many prodigies who had sought refuge with the Zhengs trained within such chambers.
The Zheng clan's underground chambers formed a labyrinth, spanning half the size of the estate itself, ten zhang beneath the surface. The walls were hewn from special stone harder than ordinary metal, impervious to all but the most relentless attacks from Spirit Fusion experts.
Gao Han's chamber spanned roughly a hundred square meters, illuminated by luminous pearls. Several refined steel pillars stood within; Zheng Yunqing explained they were forged to withstand strikes from ordinary True Essence cultivators, even armed ones, used to test the fruits of one's training.
Alone at last, Gao Han pulled the spirit stone from his robes. It matched the one he had seen at Yiwu Pavilion, only slightly larger.
"I cannot fathom how a bandit possessed a treasure as rare as a spirit stone. When I first ventured into the world, I knew not what it was. If I had known, I would have uncovered its origin," he marveled.
He first took up the Seven-Sword Art and began to study it.
The art contained seven strikes, each with its own essence:
The first was the Drawing Strike: channel true essence along a unique path, rest a hand upon the hilt, and unleash the energy to slash at the enemy with inconceivable speed. By the time the sword returned to its sheath, the foe would be dead.
The second was the Hidden Sword Stance: the blade moved unpredictably, leaving the enemy unable to trace its position — darting left and right, even vanishing from sight while standing directly before them.
The third was the Sword-Breaking Strike: guide the blade along the flow of the enemy's attacking essence to pierce their techniques or shatter their body-protecting true essence.
Given his cultivation, Gao Han could only practice up to the Sword-Breaking Strike, starting with the Drawing Strike. Nearly everyone who had attempted the art failed even at the first form, rendering the manual useless to them.
Gao Han flipped through the pages. The characters themselves seemed like swords leaping from the parchment. He closed his eyes, not yet practicing, but comprehending the writing itself. Whoever had inscribed this manual must have been a supreme swordsman, for each character radiated sword intent.
The characters flashed through his mind, each bearing a crushing sword pressure that stole his breath. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he replayed the passage for the Drawing Strike again and again.
Abruptly, the characters dissolved, replaced by a blurry silhouette that drew its sword and slashed, repeating the motion endlessly. Each strike carried formidable sword intent.
Gao Han gradually understood: like Phantom Stride, the Seven-Sword Art required the comprehension of sword intent to master.
He opened his eyes, resolved to delve into enlightenment. He would devote part of his focus to absorbing the spirit stone's spiritual energy — he would not waste a single moment.
Fully prepared, Gao Han sank into deep comprehension. The characters sliced through his soul like sharp blades, yet he persisted.
A few days after Gao Han began his seclusion, Zheng Kong fully recovered. Learning that Gao Han would enter the Spirit Kingdom Tournament, he resolved to compete as well. He refused to be outdone, even if only in spirit.
A strange rumor spread through the Zheng residence: the second young master, once reckless and unruly, had devoted himself entirely to cultivation.
Unable to find a staff technique to his liking, Zheng Kong chose a body-refining art: the Golden Elephant Art. Once mastered, it would vastly strengthen his defense and boost his physical strength.
Ten days passed. The characters no longer stabbed at Gao Han's soul — they had merged into it, condensing into a slanted line of incomparable sharpness. Within his soul also lay a horizontal black shadow, faint and shifting, splitting into two then merging back into one.
Sensing the sharp aura of the slanted line, the horizontal shadow trembled violently, growing more indistinct. The slanted line responded by sharpening further, extending a faint tip in the opposite direction, balancing the two forces.
Gao Han watched passively as the two energies stirred within his soul. From the slanted line, he grasped the meaning of sword intent. The horizontal shadow, he knew instinctively, was the shadow intent he had long cultivated.
He had comprehended sword intent. Now he could master the Drawing Strike.
He replayed the blurry swordsman's movements in his mind. The silhouette turned transparent, revealing its meridians and the flow of true essence, until everything vanished — leaving only a single, enormous ancient character: Draw.
Though Gao Han could not read ancient script, he understood its meaning without effort.
His eyes snapped open. A flash of sharp sword intent sliced through the air before fading away. Gao Han leaped to his feet, gripped his sword, and slashed toward the steel pillar. In the blink of an eye, the blade returned to its sheath as if it had never moved.
One second later, a deep, slanted gash appeared on the pillar, as though carved by an invisible hand.
Gao Han half-drew his sword once more, sharp sword intent radiating outward with a piercing whistle. He now understood its nature: sword intent was evolved sword qi, devastating in attack and terrifying in its ability to intimidate. Against a weaker foe, releasing sword intent alone could shatter their will to fight.
The Drawing Strike erupted with sword intent in an instant, pushing speed, power, and intimidation to their limit. Even an opponent slightly stronger than himself would be stunned — and that split second would decide victory.
Gao Han's success owed everything to his powerful soul. Spiritual strength dictated one's capacity for comprehension. What he did not know was that his soul had absorbed the frigid energy from the graveyard, which, while bitterly cold, also possessed the property of freezing the soul. For someone with his unique ice physique, this freezing effect tempered his soul instead of harming it. The sword intent carving into his soul left an imprint, which he then absorbed, allowing him to comprehend sword intent in mere days — a feat that would have taken even a prodigy like him two years otherwise.
In truth, only one who wielded sword intent could truly be called a swordsman. Sword intent was the very foundation of the sword. If merely unleashing sword qi sufficed, any True Essence swordsman would qualify.
Gao Han stared at the Seven-Sword Art manual in astonishment and relief. None had known that the original manuscript accelerated the comprehension of sword intent. Had he held only a copy, he would likely have failed, abandoning the art after two years of fruitless effort just as Zheng Yuntian had.
Having mastered the Drawing Strike, he moved on to the Hidden Sword Stance.
Its essence lay in the word hidden: concealing the blade completely from the enemy's perception. The manual detailed the precise flow of true essence required, yet Gao Han discovered that sword intent remained essential — without it, the concealment was imperfect.
Another ten days slipped by in cultivation. Gao Han successfully mastered the Sword-Breaking Strike, the most powerful of the forms he had learned thus far. A single thrust drove three centimeters deep into the refined steel pillar.
Moreover, his Phantom Stride had improved as well. When activated, it erased his shadow entirely, a mark of his heightened shadow intent. Gao Han was certain that if he faced Gu Ang again, he might not defeat him, but he would never be outmatched in speed.