Chapter 69: One Sword Shatters Ten Thousand Spells, Fishing for Dragons

More than half a month later, Zhong Shenxiu quietly returned. Upon seeing him, Chen Yang realized that he had already restored his cultivation to the Golden Core realm. However, the boy’s cultivation method was rather peculiar.

The Golden Core was no longer a golden pellet, but a five-colored golden pill with nine apertures.

This pill continuously breathed out countless talismanic sword auras, each as keen as a flying sword.

A faint ripple stirred in Chen Yang’s heart. He secretly cast a spell and saw a flash of sword light appear and vanish in an instant.

The shadowy magic Chen Yang sent out was immediately severed by the sword light.

“What a fine disciple—a natural genius in the way of the sword. Compared to him, all those so-called prodigies—Li Yingqiong, the Three Heroes and Two Clouds—none are even fit to carry his shoes.”

Though this disciple had not yet surpassed his own boundaries, he had undoubtedly forged his own path.

This five-colored golden pill was the result of merging flying sword, natal spirit, and primordial spirit into one.

Henceforth, cultivating his spells was cultivating his sword; cultivating his sword was cultivating his spells. As his strength grew, this flying sword would only become sharper, until one day it would break all shackles and split open the heavens with a single stroke.

Delight filled Chen Yang’s heart, though his face remained impassive. He said coolly,

“Not bad.”

“Mm.” Zhong Shenxiu didn’t think much of creating a sword art unique to himself. After acknowledging the praise, he continued,

“I have some difficulties I wish to consult with Master.”

Though this disciple was supremely gifted, his time in cultivation was still short and could not compare to a seasoned sorcerer like Chen Yang.

Chen Yang nodded. Zhong Shenxiu then laid out his ideas for his new technique, as well as the problems he’d encountered.

To Chen Yang, these were minor issues. After a brief consideration, he explained them thoroughly, providing even broader and loftier perspectives.

As the master and disciple exchanged questions and answers, Zhong Shenxiu, who had harbored some doubts, suddenly saw the light. The myriad sword auras merged into one, spontaneously forming a brilliant sword radiance.

This sword light was pure to the extreme, its sharpness impossible to conceal. Just a glance would send chills through one’s brow.

Once the sword light, formed from infinite sword qi, solidified, Zhong Shenxiu didn’t hesitate. He invoked his tribulation: first came the burning by true fire, then the sweep of the yin wind, then a peal of thunder.

Nine minor tribulations tempered the sword light, refining it to an ever-sharper edge.

The sword light quivered slightly, instantly turning into a thread so fine as to be nearly invisible. Wherever this sword thread passed, tiny rifts appeared, blacker than black, devouring all light.

Even space itself was severed by this sword thread.

To develop his sword art and form his Golden Core, then immediately pass through the Dao Foundation, Tribulation, and Tempering stages—although his cultivation had already reached this level and he was now retracing his steps like Chen Yang, this speed was still astonishing.

The Celestial River True Method was unrivaled in its mighty spiritual power, but this unnamed sword art Zhong Shenxiu had created was pure above all else.

He did not bother to accumulate vast reserves of power; he simply honed this immortal sword light, walking the path of breaking ten thousand spells with a single stroke.

For him, there was no need for overwhelming spiritual power—one sword strike, and the enemy would be beheaded. What use was excess strength?

Seeing his disciple about to ascend and directly attain the Primordial Spirit, Chen Yang stopped him at once.

“The Tempering stage is not like Dao Foundation or Tribulation. It is the basis for your future attainment of the Dharma Body and even union with the Dao. You walk the path of the sword that breaks all spells, so there’s no need to amass spiritual power, but tempering your sword qi is indispensable. Be patient and hone it for a while longer.”

Zhong Shenxiu nodded and swallowed the refined sword light, refraining from pushing towards the Primordial Spirit.

Chen Yang was about to instruct his disciple further when a commotion erupted outside, followed by knocking at the door.

“Daoist Chen, Daoist Chen!”

Chen Yang swallowed his words and rose to open the door. He found Daoist Xu, face alight with excitement, exclaiming,

“Hurry, Daoist Chen, hurry! The clan chief and the Dragon-Fishing Clan have joined forces and caught a true dragon. They’re bringing it to the ancestral land right now...”

As he spoke, he tugged impatiently at Chen Yang’s sleeve.

Coming from Mount Shu, Chen Yang had never thought much of these unusual beings. He didn’t see what was so impressive about a true dragon. Even the legitimate Dragon Kings of the Four Seas, officially recognized by Heaven, were bullied into moving homes—what could a so-called true dragon here amount to?

He was, however, slightly puzzled. If the Fengyang and Dragon-Fishing clans could capture a true dragon, how could the other spirit clans dare rebel?

He followed the crowd of lower realm cultivators and some Fengyang experts, flying for half a day. In the distance, he saw two giants, one ahead and one behind, carrying a golden flood dragon nearly a thousand feet long. Only then did Chen Yang realize the truth.

They called it a true dragon, but it was only a dragon kind. Still, this flood dragon’s bloodline was extremely pure. Though not quite a true dragon, it was little inferior to a great ascendant.

The two giants exuded an overwhelming presence, making no effort to conceal themselves. Chen Yang’s heart stirred.

“It seems the Fuxi clan really is in a precarious position, resorting to such displays to intimidate the rabble.”

Chen Yang, ever perceptive, immediately understood the purpose behind this ostentatious spectacle. Still, a show of strength only lasts so long; without real power, it’s just a temporary reprieve.

The two giants rushed along with the flood dragon’s carcass at great speed. The Fengyang clanspeople lined the way, cheering, creating a lively, jubilant scene.

Arriving at the ancestral temple, the giants first paid homage to the ancestral gods of Fuxi and their forebears, then began to drain the dragon’s blood, behead it, extract its tendons, and skin it—all in the most primal, savage fashion.

It was as if the era of the Three Sovereigns had returned, when humanity warred with heaven and earth to found its legacy.

That evening, even those who had ascended from the lower realms received a piece of flood dragon meat. Not much—only some dozens of pounds per person. Given the number of Fengyang clan members, even with such a large dragon, to be allotted any at all showed just how highly the clan regarded these ascended cultivators.

“Where are Yuanyang and Zhong Shenxiu?”

Chen Yang was no aloof recluse—he enjoyed joining in the festivities. As he joked with the other lower realm cultivators about how best to prepare the dragon meat, a middle-aged man of the Fengyang clan approached.

“I am Yuanyang,” Chen Yang replied, dusting off his robe with a smile. Zhong Shenxiu also looked over.

The man nodded. “The clan elder invites you to a gathering. Please follow me.”

“So the old man still hasn’t given up? He insists on stealing my disciple?” Chen Yang didn’t even need to ask to know who it was. Once was enough, but again and again—did they take him for a pushover?

Slightly irritated, he nodded and led his disciple after the man. As soon as they left, the cultivators who had gotten to know Chen Yang erupted into speculation. Some had been here for years, even decades, and except when they first arrived, had rarely seen any of the clan’s elders.

Normally, there was no chance to meet them, let alone be personally invited like Chen Yang.

Everyone began to wonder if Chen Yang had some important background.

Meanwhile, Chen Yang and his disciple followed the man to the ancestral temple. There, a giant bonfire burned, its flames streaked with golden light. A large chunk of flood dragon meat was skewered and roasted, sizzling with fat.

“Over here.”

When the old man of the Feng clan saw the two arrive, he whispered something to the clan chief beside him, then beckoned them over.