The solitary tomb split open, and Gao Han shot upward like a shooting star, soaring dozens of meters into the sky before gradually descending. This leap was fueled solely by his physical strength.
His physical power had now reached the First Layer of True Essence, placing his martial body at the major attainment stage of the first tier.
The tiered classification of martial bodies was rather general, used primarily by body-refining cultivators to gauge their progress. Qi-refining warriors, by contrast, assessed physical strength by the aura it radiated; one whose physical aura matched the First Layer of True Essence was deemed a First Layer True Essence body-refining expert.
Such measurements were not entirely precise, however. When physical strength erupted in full, it often surpassed its apparent tier. A First Layer body-refining expert was typically invincible among peers, and those at the peak could even contend with Second Layer Qi-refining warriors.
Yet body-refining demanded ever-greater suffering as one advanced, and progress in cultivation grew agonizingly slow.
The first-tier martial body focused on tempering the skin and muscles. Disciples from wealthy clans could purchase spiritual herbs to force their physical strength into the first tier.
But to reach the great perfection of the first tier, relentless training was essential—only then could hidden impurities within the flesh be fully purged.
Gao Han's first-tier martial body had been forged solely through frost tempering, with no formal physical training whatsoever. To attain great perfection, he would have to undergo unceasing discipline from now on.
Otherwise, even if he absorbed frost endlessly until his body threatened to burst, he would make no further progress.
Many warriors shunned body-refining precisely because they feared such hardship, choosing instead to walk the path of Qi-refining.
Gao Han held a different view. To him, Qi-refining warriors must also refine their bodies.
If true essence was a liquid, then physical strength was the vessel that contained it.
Only a vast vessel could hold more liquid; only a sturdy vessel could contain a mightier force.
Body-refining was therefore indispensable to any martial artist. A frail physique could not withstand rampaging power, and would explode under the strain.
Gao Han's seclusion had lasted less than two days. Word of such a feat would have left any cultivator's jaw hanging in disbelief.
To forge a first-tier martial body to major attainment in under ten days was unheard of. Even clansmen bathing in spiritual herbs daily required three years to achieve such a state.
Yet Gao Han had done so in under a month—he was nothing short of a monstrous genius.
This was not entirely inexplicable. First, he had refined his body using elemental frost energy; without his innate Ice Physique, he would have frozen to death long ago.
Second, during those ten days of body-refining, he had subjected himself to frost far colder than his flesh could bear. The slightest carelessness would have turned him into a block of ice. Even Gao Han shuddered at the memory.
"Shatter!"
Boom!
Gao Han landed and slammed his fist into the ground. The thick ice sheet cracked open, fissures spiderwebbing outward. From above, it looked as though the entire layer had split into pieces.
He exhaled a long breath and turned, gazing toward where Fan Xiaoniu and Yue'er rested.
Night had fallen. A hundred meters away, the pair stared upward, terror etched into their features as they watched the spot where Gao Han stood.
Though he could not make out their expressions clearly, he could see they shared a single quilt.
"Avert my eyes; such sights are improper." At sixteen, Gao Han understood the intimacy between men and women, and knew full well what they were about.
Blushing, he turned and leaped back into the tomb to await the dawn.
With time to spare, he sat cross-legged, closed his eyes, and recalled the fourth form of the Seven-Sword Art: the Illusory Sword Art.
Illusion was emptiness, unreality. It forged false images through blistering speed and unorthodox sword paths, blending real strikes within phantoms. The true blade hid amid illusions, shifting between false and solid so seamlessly that foes could not distinguish truth from fiction until they were pierced.
This art built directly upon the Hidden Sword Technique, which served as its foundation.
Moreover, Gao Han discovered that the Illusory Sword Art was intertwined with the Intent of Shadow.
Between its lines, he detected a wisp of shadow intent—faint, yet unmissable.
Just as he had analyzed the Draw-Sword and Shattering-Sword forms, Gao Han pored over every character of the Illusory Sword Art, dissecting the thread of shadow intent within it. He had already come into contact with shadow intent; its presence within the sword art was a perfect breakthrough point.
Shadow belonged to all things: human shadows, flower shadows, tree shadows, the shadows of buildings.
Yet every object cast but one shadow. How, then, could one create multiple phantoms?
Gao Han pondered deeply, drawing his sword and tracing patterns in the air absentmindedly. Unconsciously, he wove the faint shadow intent he had comprehended into his movements.
Sword phantoms materialized in the air, swirling around the true blade, layer upon layer. Though the sword moved slowly, phantoms drifted forth endlessly, as though dozens of swords hung in the air, blurring the line between real and false.
Closer inspection revealed a fatal flaw: the genuine sword remained firmly in Gao Han's grip. No matter how vivid the phantoms, this single weakness rendered the technique useless.
Gao Han's eyes snapped open. He moved with his sword, weaving through the tomb, practicing relentlessly.
Any observer would have seen layers of shadows trailing behind him—eight distinct phantoms, to be exact.
When Gao Han halted abruptly, the shadows continued surging forward, as though he himself had become the illusion, and his phantoms the true body.
"Hidden Sword Technique!"
Gao Han activated the art at once, merging his body into one shadow, his sword vanishing into the same darkness. He shifted from shadow to shadow, his sword hiding alongside him.
In this way, he transformed endlessly. Any of the eight shadows might become the real body commanding the others—but by the time an enemy struck, that shadow would dissolve into illusion.
He had taken another step toward the true Intent of Shadow. Once ten steps away, he was now but nine.
What was more, having drawn closer to shadow intent, he could now unleash the second stage of Phantom Stride: Like Shadow, Following Form.
He had mastered the Illusory Sword Art and broken through in his movement technique alike. Truly, this was a day of fortune.