“So long as he has not truly severed ties with the Sect, he remains a disciple of my Heavenly Fate Sect,” declared Skyfate, his voice calm despite a darkening visage.

“You of the Heavenly Fate Sect would shield him, but are the deaths of my Great Luo Sword Sect disciples to be disregarded? Of the Twelve Swords of Xiao, only Chenlong survived, the rest slain by this Wang Lin! I will not stoop to bullying the weak; should this Wang Lin withstand three strokes of my sword aura, then the matters of the past shall be forgiven. But if you, Skyfate, interfere, I shall risk all to rekindle our ancient feud!” roared Skyrend, his countenance a mask of fury, though his gaze remained fixed upon Wang Lin.

“This esteemed elder claimed I lacked the right to wield a token. May I inquire, how many strikes of the Sword Sovereign’s aura can you withstand?” Wang Lin asked, his gaze directed at the elder who resembled a mountain of flesh.

The fleshy elder’s face grew ever more grim. He harrumphed, offering no reply, yet his eyes flashed with killing intent.

Wang Lin smiled faintly, turning his gaze to Skyrend. “I await the Sword Sovereign’s instruction.”

Skyrend waved his right hand, and from the four primordial spirit swords before him, one shot forth. The sword flickered with an unearthly light, emitting waves of spectral energy. In a flash, a stream of sword aura erupted from within, slicing through the void.

The sword aura surged like a rainbow!

Such was Skyrend’s cultivation, that even the life-saving sword aura he bestowed upon his disciples in the Demon Spirit Land possessed formidable power. Now, unleashed by his own hand, the sword aura transformed into a draconic manifestation of blades, hurtling towards Wang Lin with a resounding roar.

The heavens themselves trembled with a thunderous cacophony, seemingly unable to bear the might of the sword aura.

The disciples of the Great Luo Sword Sect watched with bated breath, their faces alight with fervent anticipation.

As the sword aura bore down, threatening to tear Wang Lin asunder, a brilliant light flared in his eyes. He clenched his right hand into a fist and struck the empty air.

With a cataclysmic boom, the heavens before Wang Lin’s fist showed signs of collapse. The moment the sword aura arrived, Wang Lin’s fist collided with it in the void.

Boom! Boom! Boom! A series of earth-shattering explosions reverberated through the skies. Wang Lin staggered back, taking two steps, then calmly faced Skyrend and declared, “The first!”

Skyrend’s sword aura shattered, creating a storm of energy that Skyfate dispersed with a mere flick of his sleeve. Skyfate glanced at Wang Lin, a smile playing on his lips.

A cold light flashed in Skyrend’s eyes. Without hesitation, he waved his right hand once more. The primordial spirit sword unleashed a cry that pierced the firmament, then quivered and lunged at Wang Lin.

As the blade neared, Wang Lin threw back his head and laughed. He clenched his right hand, and a boundless power surged from between his brows and into his hand. Crystalline motes swirled into existence and trailed behind Wang Lin’s fist as it shot forth.

At the same time, a fierce glint flashed in Wang Lin’s eyes. He had not intended to be meek upon returning to Skyfate Star. Here, strength alone spoke.

To return to the Demon Spirit Land, to earn the right to wield a token, to gain the recognition of the Skyfate Star’s ancient powers… all rested upon this battle!

With his calculating mind, Wang Lin had analyzed the situation with utmost clarity. As his fist hurtled forth, his left hand rummaged in his storage pouch, and he whispered, “The Swords of Three Nines!”

At his command, streaks of silver light erupted from Wang Lin’s storage pouch. Each streak radiated blinding radiance, and countless phantoms manifested within, their mournful wails echoing through the heavens.

As the twenty-seven flying swords appeared, Wang Lin pointed, and they surged forth amid the spectral howls, charging at Skyrend!

Even Skyfate was taken aback. He could foresee outcomes, but not the intricate paths by which they came to pass. He had only foreseen Wang Lin’s return with increased power beneath a sky painted with the twin hues of Zi and Qing. He had not foreseen Wang Lin’s true strength upon his return!

Though he sensed the power emanating from Wang Lin’s brow, and felt wary of three of those forces!

“I foresaw his return, but not the reasons for it. He dares return to Skyfate Star with assurance. The Vermillion Bird mark on his brow must be one of his crutches!”

Equally stunned was the middle-aged woman who resembled a village maiden. She gasped, instantly recognizing the extraordinary nature of the twenty-seven swords.

A master artificer herself, she murmured inwardly, “The material of these twenty-seven swords is already remarkable, but they also contain boundless killing intent, clearly forged for countless years in a land of slaughter. Any one of these could be a peerless weapon of carnage! Combined into a sword array, their power…” The middle-aged woman inhaled sharply.

The old man seated on a gourd sprang to his feet, his gaze fixed upon Wang Lin, a tempest raging in his heart.

“He is far beyond the Initial Nirvana Scryer!”

Even the elder resembling a mountain of flesh was shaken, staring dumbfounded at the twenty-seven swords and the aloof Wang Lin. Beads of cold sweat trickled down his forehead.

“I underestimated him!”

Skyrend, known as the Sword Sovereign, possessed a profound understanding of all things related to the blade. Upon seeing the twenty-seven swords, his eyes gleamed with excitement.

“Such flying swords, such a sword array! Wang Lin, you are worthy to fight me!” Skyrend swung his arms, and the remaining three primordial spirit swords shot forth, spiraling and weaving. Streams of sword aura tore through the void, forming a net of blades that lunged towards Wang Lin.

Under Wang Lin’s divine sense, the twenty-seven flying swords, augmented by his previous fist wind, formed a tempest of blades centered upon himself. Countless arrays surged within, colliding with Skyrend’s four spinning primordial spirit swords.
With each sword that shattered in the air, the fragments would rejoin the swirling dance around Wang Lin, reforming, ever vigilant. Yet, in a heartbeat, all twenty-seven blades reversed their course, retreating as a surge of ancient godly power erupted from Wang Lin, a force born from the might of his inherited lineage.

The ancient might slammed into Ling Tianhou’s four soul-forged swords, sending them reeling back with a resounding clang of displaced power.

To any observer, it appeared a stalemate, a contest of near-equal strength!

But Wang Lin knew the truth. Ling Tianhou had not yet unleashed the true depths of his arcane mastery, only testing the waters with mere swordplay. It was not mercy, but an arrogance born of the belief that Wang Lin, despite his nascent power, was unworthy of his full arsenal.

A flicker of bemusement crossed Ling Tianhou’s face, then vanished as laughter boomed forth. The promised covenant of three moves was forgotten, cast aside like a trinket. With a swift, circular gesture, his hands formed a potent sigil, his silver hair dancing around his head as if caught in a wind only he could feel. A strange light burned in his eyes. “You have earned the right to witness my true power,” he intoned, his voice a low rumble of impending storm. “My arts are distilled into three words: Clarity, Penetration, Destruction! First, the Clarity Sword: The Forging of Blood!”

A gasp swept through the assembled ranks. Ling Tianhou, renowned throughout the realms, leader of the Great Luo Sword Sect, possessed arts whispered to move mountains and shatter heavens. Every scholar knew that his lifelong nemesis was the enigmatic Tian Yunzi!

His true spells were rarely unveiled, reserved almost exclusively for the clashes with his ancient rival.

But now, against Wang Lin, Ling Tianhou would unleash his arcane might! Even in defeat, Wang Lin would be elevated, his name etched in the annals of legend!

As the words left Ling Tianhou’s lips, he thrust his right hand forward. The four soul-forged swords spiraled inward, merging into a single, spectral blade, pulsing with raw, heated energy. The ethereal weapon coalesced, transforming into something akin to liquid light, shimmering with a thousand hues under the sun’s gaze as it hurtled towards Wang Lin.

Wang Lin stood firm, retreating a few steps, then slapped his enchanted pouch. “The Five-Nine Sword Array!” he chanted.

In an instant, a cascade of silver light erupted from the pouch, interweaving with the existing twenty-seven blades. A total of forty-five seven-foot long swords spun into existence, forming a maelstrom of steel around him. With his long hair whipping around him like a storm, Wang Lin wove his hands into another complex sigil, slamming them forward with a force that shook the very ground.

“The Severing of the Celestial!”

At that command, the energy within Wang Lin surged to its zenith, each pulse of power channeling the mystic art of the Severing of the Celestial into the whirling vortex of blades. The entire swirling mass shuddered, gathering its might, then roared forward to meet its foe.

These were the swords of the realm of death, blades that Wang Lin, on his journey to the Tian Yun Sect, had reforged and imbued with his own essence. None but those who dwell in that cursed realm would recognize their origin.

The vortex of steel, brimming with the power of the Severing of the Celestial, collided with Ling Tianhou’s spell in a cataclysmic explosion. Heaven and earth twisted and groaned, reality itself seemed to fray at the edges.

A deafening roar resonated through the skies, an echo of destruction that swallowed all other sounds. Without the swift intervention of Tian Yunzi, who swept his arms wide to contain the outward thrust of energy, Tian Yun Star itself would have been scarred beyond recognition. As the tremors subsided, Wang Lin was flung backwards, his forty-five blades battered but unbroken, circling him protectively as he retreated.

Before him, Ling Tianhou’s amalgamated blade, a symphony of light, shattered, reforming into the original four. The Sword Master stood unmoved, his eyes blazing with newfound respect. He laughed, a sound like the clash of steel on steel. “Wang Lin,” he declared, “the feud between you and my Great Luo Sword Sect is hereby extinguished! The token, I relinquish. Seize your destiny, for when you reach the Immortal Sanctum, a share of its treasures shall be yours!”

With that, Ling Tianhou turned and strode away, his Great Luo Sword Sect disciples trailing behind him, still reeling from the clash of power, yet following their master with unwavering loyalty as they vanished in a flurry of shimmering sword light.

“Ling Tianhou’s actions… hold a deeper meaning,” Wang Lin murmured, his gaze fixed on the departing figure, his mind already dissecting the implications.

Silence descended upon the battlefield. Disciples of the Tian Yun Sect, as well as those brought by the visiting dignitaries, stared at Wang Lin in awestruck silence.

“Wang Lin… possesses the strength to contend with Ling Tianhou!” Bai Wei’s eyes shone with excitement, still struggling to grasp the reality of what she had witnessed.

Zhao Xing Shai, his face the color of ash, stared at Wang Lin with a fear that banished all thoughts of treachery.

Even the enigmatic Fourth Sister, who had previously observed the world with a detached indifference, saw her eyes sharpen with purpose as she gazed upon Wang Lin.

“If he could aid me…” the woman murmured, her decision made.

Not only them, but nearly all who had known Wang Lin in his past were stunned into a state of disbelief, their memories of the past melding with the image of the white-robed figure before them.

Wang Lin did not recall his circling blades. Instead, his gaze swept across the assembled figures, coming to rest on the mountain of flesh that constituted one of the elder guests. “Senior,” he asked, his voice steady and calm, “Do I possess the qualification now?”

The corpulent elder hesitated, then snorted. “Tian Yun Daoist friend,” he boomed, bowing to the Sect Master, “Li has a batch of pills that require his attention. Farewell.”

Turning to the four disciples who bore his immense bulk, he barked, “Return to the mountain!”

The four scurried to obey, carrying their burden away with surprising speed.

The elder perched atop his gourd took a long, thoughtful look at Wang Lin, then chuckled. “Daoist friend Wang, your depths are well hidden! I am Qi Meng Tan. If you find yourself with free time, you are welcome to visit my Dream Star.” With a final bow to Tian Yunzi, he took his leave. Accompanying him was the gaunt, corpse-like elder, whose face remained a mask of cold indifference. He offered no farewell, simply stepping into the void and vanishing.

Last to depart was the woman who resembled a simple village maiden. She smiled warmly at Wang Lin.

“Daoist friend Wang’s blades are imbued with a formidable aura, but such potent energy can be difficult to control. If you have the opportunity, consider a visit to the Purple Radiance Star.” She bowed to Tian Yunzi, then led her four female companions away.

As she left, the girl in the pink dress turned back to Wang Lin, her eyes sparkling, a sweet smile on her face. “My Master excels in the art of crafting artifacts,” she called out. “And her prices are quite reasonable!”
“You little imp!” The beautiful woman chuckled, her mirth echoed by the three maidens at her side, each concealing her amusement behind delicate hands. Yet, few observed the verdant-clad maiden amongst them, whose gaze lingered upon Wang Lin as they departed, a look unlike any other.

“He likely recalls not even my name…” she sighed inwardly. “For him, it was but a fleeting trifle, a raindrop in the vast ocean. But for me…it was a debt of life repaid.”

“Elder Sister Qianqin, art thou unwell?” a maiden in rose-hued silks inquired softly.

Qianqin shook her head, offering no explanation.

At the behest of Celestial Fortune, the disciples of the Fortune Sect dispersed, leaving the plaza to Wang Lin and the Celestial alone. When all others were gone, Wang Lin, his face a mask of serenity, turned to face his master.

Master and apprentice, separated by centuries, stood face to face once more.

“What are thy intentions?” Celestial Fortune finally broke the heavy silence.

“This disciple seeks entry to the Land of the Demon Spirit,” Wang Lin replied, his voice laced with respect.

“Thou art worthy. Be it the true Thunder Immortal of Luo Tian, or the Chosen of the Vermillion Bird Clan of the Four Sacred Sects… I am aware that in this generation, but three bear the mantle of the Vermillion Bird!” Celestial Fortune spoke, his words measured, his hands clasped behind his back.

Wang Lin paused, considering. The matter of the Vermillion Bird Chosen was unknown to him. This revelation stirred his heart, yet he betrayed no such emotion upon his face.