Chapter 20: The Summit of the Sacred Mountain

"You, how is it possible..."

Staring at the gaping, blood-oozing hole in his chest, the Shendan-stage assassin gazed at Lin Fan in utter shock, his eyes filled with disbelief and deep resentment.

For someone at the Tiandan stage to consecutively unleash multiple high-grade mortal-tier spirit arts—just how vast and profound must his spiritual energy be?

Watching his enemy slowly collapse, Lin Fan finally let out a sigh of relief. This battle had dragged on for so long that he feared the readers might have been tempted to abandon the story altogether.

"It’s a pity. I didn't anticipate learning a peerless cultivation technique like the 'Burning Heaven Refining Qi Art' back then; otherwise, I should have tried to master that Xuan-tier spirit art from the Lin family."

Lin Fan glanced at the scorched vegetation surrounding them and shook his head helplessly. This paradise-like realm had been marred by the arrival of the two intruders. Had he been stronger, or had he practiced a Xuan-tier spirit art, the battle would never have been this harrowing.

Regardless, he was the one who had the last laugh. Being able to defeat a Shendan-stage expert head-on while at a lower level was, in itself, something for Lin Fan to take pride in. After all, even in his past life, when he was hailed as the greatest prodigy of the Tianfeng Empire, he had never succeeded in a cross-level challenge—let alone killing an opponent as experienced and ruthless as this assassin.

"Is this the iron badge of the Blood-Oath Organization?"

Rummaging through the corpse, Lin Fan retrieved several unknown fruits and an iron token. The front of the token featured an engraving of a bloody blade, while the back bore the character "Iron." He was familiar with this organization; their assassins were ranked by metal—gold, silver, and iron. Gold-ranked assassins could hunt down Shenpo-stage experts, while silver-ranked ones were responsible for assassinating Yuanfu-stage powerhouses. As for the lowest-tier iron-ranked assassins, they handled all targets below the Yuanfu stage.

Lin Fan did not discard the token; keeping it on his person might prove useful later. He tucked it into his robes and turned his attention to the spirit fruits. He had never seen these before, nor were they mentioned in any books he had read. Yet, through his keen perception of spiritual energy, he clearly sensed that the energy contained within them was no less than that of a sixth-grade spirit herb.

"Could it be that this fellow improved his strength by consuming these?"

Lin Fan frowned. He was not one to recklessly ingest unknown substances. Even knowing they were comparable to sixth-grade spirit herbs, he dared not consume them lightly. "Fine, I’ll wait until I get out and ask the Enchantress." Since stepping into this territory, the Enchantress had seemed to vanish from his mind; no matter how he called out, there was no response.

"The birds and beasts were all fleeing in that direction. That must be the core of this paradise, right?"

Lin Fan glanced toward the distant peak that pierced the clouds and muttered to himself. While clashing with the assassin, he had noticed that as the creatures fled the sea of flames, they all headed toward that mountain which seemed to reach into the heavens. Now that the battle was over, he refocused his attention on that peak. His intuition told him that if he wanted to leave this sanctuary, he had to reach that mountain.

...

"This world has no sun or moon cycle!"

As he traveled and finally arrived at the foot of the sacred mountain, he looked up at the eternally azure sky, a wave of shock and confusion washing over him. What kind of power could cause time to stagnate here, or perhaps shroud the rotation of the heavens themselves?

A staircase emerged before him, seemingly leading directly to the summit. After a moment of hesitation, Lin Fan stepped onto it. The moment his feet touched the stairs, the environment around him shifted so suddenly he could hardly believe his eyes.

Each step seemed to correspond to a subtle shift in time and space. As he ascended, the scenery began to distort and warp, as if reality and illusion were weaving together. The air was filled with a strange fragrance—at once fresh and ancient, a scent from another epoch. Lin Fan felt his senses magnified several times over; he could hear the sound of water droplets leaping in a distant stream and feel the caress of every speck of dust in the mountain breeze.

As he climbed higher, the azure sky grew deeper, and stars began to twinkle in the daylight, as if true night were about to descend. Yet, the sun and moon remained unseen, seemingly obscured by some mysterious power or entirely absent from this dimension. Lin Fan’s heart raced; curiosity drove him forward, but a seed of unease grew deep within him. What did this unknown power, this subversion of natural laws, truly signify?

A long time passed—perhaps a fleeting moment, perhaps many years. After witnessing countless vistas along the path, Lin Fan finally reached the summit.

There stood a thatched cottage. It was incredibly simple, surrounded by a fence. Between the fence and the cottage lay a patch of soil where flowers and plants that Lin Fan had never seen before were growing. His gaze traveled from the outside in, and he spotted an iron sword leaning casually against the door of the cottage.

The sword was covered in rust, neglected for so long that it appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary, unremarkable piece of iron. Beside the door hung a pair of couplets:

"One sword sweeps the void, severing the galaxy; walking the world alone, laughing at the common fate."
"A wave of the hand commands the firmament, defining heaven and earth; a sword pointing anywhere, defying the celestial path."

There was no horizontal scroll. It was as if all the adjectives in the world were unworthy of adorning these lines. There was no flamboyant calligraphy, only simple and archaic brushstrokes, yet they seemed to contain a supreme Dao of the sword.

Lin Fan stared at the couplets, a sense of profound awe and shock surging within him. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the turbulence in his heart. His gaze returned to the iron sword. This time, he no longer viewed it as an ordinary weapon but tried to perceive the spirit within it.

He stepped forward and slowly reached out to grasp the hilt. He was no longer a bystander; he was a student, preparing to comprehend, to understand, and to trace the path once walked by the wielder of this sword.

The blade trembled. The rust on its surface transformed into mysterious runes that merged into his brow, branding themselves deep into his soul. He saw a blurred figure, a man swinging a sword—persistently wielding that plain, ordinary blade. Day after day, year after year, from the initial simple strike to the shifting of winds and clouds, and finally to the trembling of the stars...

He witnessed the man sever the galaxy with a single strike, and dictate the fate of the universe with another... Every movement was so simple, so unadorned.

The world spun, the sun and moon shifted, and Lin Fan seemed to experience endless ages in an instant. When he finally regained his senses, he was standing in a desert of yellow sand. The rusted iron sword in his hand had transformed into a sword token.

"This man... he could truly be called a God of the Sword," Lin Fan sighed deeply, looking at the token in his hand.

"He's alright, I suppose. In the way of the sword, he did indeed reach the limits of this world. However, to dare call oneself a god... I fear he was tired of living."