Chapter 14: Unskilled

In the quiet, the sensation of being watched suddenly dissipated. Vane shifted his gaze, scanning the surroundings.

The woods were tranquil, the sunlight warm; occasionally, a piercing scream would drift from the distance.

He tilted his head to glance at Zora again.

She was still asleep.

Utterly lacking in vigilance, following her every whim.

Earlier today, upon entering the Voidwave Realm, he had been separated from Zora. Vane’s luck was good; he had landed right in a patch of grass beside a sword.

He glanced at the longsword radiating a chilling light, then looked up to assess the environment.

There was no one, nor was there that unpleasant feeling of being watched that had plagued him on the Cloud Stairway.

Only then did he lower his head to look back at the clear, cold sword. Though it was merely a weapon, it carried an air of aloofness and pride.

The moment his fingertips touched the hilt, the sword let out a sharp ring of rejection. His hand was violently repelled, and a sting on his fingertip revealed he was bleeding.

Vane lowered his eyes, staring at the bead of blood on his finger, his gaze dark and unreadable. With a gentle pinch, the blood dissolved between his fingers. The pain was like ants gnawing at his flesh—tiny, persistent, and multiplying.

He said nothing, nor did he show any sign of resentment. It should be said that when alone, the expression on his face was always much colder; he kept others at a distance and cared for nothing but himself.

The youth stepped through the undergrowth, the fallen branches beneath his boots making a crisp, snapping sound.

The Voidwave Realm was boundless, a world of perpetual daylight without night. Vane found several more weapons—silver needles, an iron hammer, a red whip, and even a bronze bell—but without exception, they all fiercely resisted him.

The Demonic Seed had not yet been activated, lying dormant in his dantian, but spiritual tools were more sensitive than cultivators. Even if they couldn't discern the root cause, they instinctively refused to be held in his palm, fearing they might be tainted by even a hint of malevolence.

Throughout it all, the youth remained calm and composed.

He didn't care about the rejection from the spiritual tools of the Immortal Cultivation Realm. Rather, it was precisely because this was the Immortal Cultivation Realm that he wasn't surprised by the resistance.

Only he knew what kind of person he truly was.

A moment later, a suppressed roar of agony sounded nearby. Vane paused but didn't rush out. He used the dense forest to hide his figure, reaching out to slightly part the leaves and branches. His bright, dark eyes peered through the gaps.

A group of people surrounded a sword—a scene that could be found everywhere in the Voidwave Realm.

A few gave up on the sword and went to find other weapons, but others remained.

The roaring came from a disciple collapsed on the ground. The fabric of his sleeve had been shattered, his flesh torn open. Vivid red mixed with stark white bone, and blood flowed steadily into the soil.

A divine sword would not kill, but repeated shocks were more than enough to cause severe injury.

"Ahhh, my hand!" The disciple was drenched in sweat, his expression contorted.

"I can lift it... I can lift the sword... Why do you refuse me!"

He was clearly unwilling to settle for just a nameless blade.

From his hiding place, Vane’s gaze dropped to the disciple's wound.

"..."

It had been a long, long time since he had seen such gruesome carnage. Zora killed with a single fatal blow, habitually snapping necks or drawing a thin line of blood across the throat.

And whenever Vane had the impulse to toy with a dying person, she would display a look of pure confusion—"Do you not know how to kill? You're so slow"—acting as a silent urge that forced him to end things hastily.

The severed meridians and the torn flesh revealing layers of vivid red—and deeper still, the flawless white bone—trembling with the rhythm of living breath, truly made it hard for him to look away.

After staring for a while, the youth blinked slowly. The darkness in his eyes shed its ferocity and coldness, turning into pure, focused concentration. It was like he had found something interesting, revealing a predatory gaze.

Just as he took a step forward, the disciple was teleported out by the formation due to his life-threatening state.

"..."

The area around the divine sword remained crowded with disciples. Outside the woods, there was a faint sound of a branch being crushed. Someone turned their head, only to see swaying branches in the forest, as if they had just been brushed aside.

...

Finally, he saw a long spear thrust straight into the sandy ground. There was no life in the plants around it; over time, the area had turned into a patch of desert.

In the middle of the lush green forest, a barren land lay hidden.

Every weapon occupied a certain territory, forming its own unique living environment, but it was rare to see a domain lacking even water and grass.

It reminded him of the Demon Realm.

The youth walked over. The fine yellow sand around the spear began to drift upward, forming small vortexes that flowed like the wind.

The soles of his boots sank into the sand and then stepped out.

As the youth’s hand gripped the spear's shaft, the sand blinded the eyes, dancing in a sudden frenzy.

The spearhead was pulled out. The red tassels had been tainted by yellow sand, looking somewhat weathered and ancient. But the moment the entire spear saw the light of day again, it was instantly revitalized.

Having lost the spear’s suppression, the sandy patch was abruptly reclaimed by the surrounding greenery. Flowers and trees grew in an instant, trees blotting out the sky and grass turning the ground green. The shifting yellow sand was pierced and covered by newly fertile soil.

The environment was completely transformed. Vane stared at the spearhead; under the rising sun, the tip was sharp and brilliant, surrounded by a chilling killing intent. Ancient spiritual power rose from it. Unlike the aloofness of a sword or the violence of a whip, its malice was hidden in the deepest depths, crawling slowly like a venomous snake hidden in the dark, letting out a hissing warning.

Once it recognized its master, golden characters outlined the spiritual tool's name in mid-air before rippling away.

—

Mystic Dust

.

Speaking of which, she didn't seem to have mentioned what her weapon was called.

Vane sat in the tree, a thought suddenly occurring to him.

Zora was sleeping soundly, her head resting against the tree. Her buns were being pressed, gradually causing her head to tilt away.

Vane couldn't sleep, nor could he leave. Just as he shifted his gaze away from her to look into the distance, he saw the girl's silhouette leaning further and further away in his peripheral vision.

"..."

Seeing that she was about to tumble backward, Vane reached out with quick reflexes to support her back. Zora opened her eyes.

She wouldn't have actually fallen; even before she was fully awake, her legs would instinctively hook onto the branch. Even if she fell backward, she would have ended up hanging upside down.

Zora straightened up and rubbed her eyes. "Is it time to go out?"

"..." Vane replied, "There should be another hour."

Zora looked at the sword in her arms.

"What is it?"

Zora said seriously, "I was thinking about what to name it."

"..." Vane fell silent for a moment, then spoke with some difficulty. "...Every spiritual tool has its own name from the moment it is born. It will appear when it recognizes a master."

"...?"

What?

Zora searched through the knowledge transmitted by the system. Unfortunately, the person from whom the knowledge was taken was not a sword cultivator and didn't own a weapon; there was no information at all regarding the rules of weapon recognition.

This was likely a matter of common sense in the Immortal Cultivation Realm—something people grew up hearing. It was different for an absolute outsider like Zora.

Vane: "Try to actively sense it, to master it."

Zora, from a materialistic world, looked at Vane quietly. "..."

What was he talking about?

Zora looked away. "Let's go down."

Vane glanced at her and was the first to jump down. The youth became a passing shadow, landing easily on the ground in an instant.

He looked up and reached out his arm. Although Zora could climb down the tree herself, she thought about her mission.

Give the servant a chance to do his job.

So she took his hand. Vane applied a bit of force, and Zora jumped down in front of him.

Zora’s palm happened to press against the tiny wound on Vane’s fingertip. A faint, prickling pain surfaced, but as time passed and combined with the tempering of his body, the pain of the wound had long turned into an itch that begged to be scratched.

Vane couldn't help but lower his eyes for an instant, pursing his lips.

Zora, completely unaware, let go of his hand. She gripped the hilt of the sword, thought for a moment, and then closed her eyes to concentrate.

The chilling aura surrounding the sword seemed to slowly seep into her mind.

Golden characters abruptly appeared in the air, then rippled and vanished.

Gradually, a myriad of connections indeed formed between her and the sword—a mysterious, profound feeling that defied description.

The moment Zora opened her eyes, she happened to miss the golden characters that had flashed by. But she knew the recognition was successful. She looked over every inch of the sword and frowned. "Where is the name?"

Vane, the only one who had seen the sword's name just now, hesitated to speak. "..."

She gave the sword another shake and urged him.

A sword that had recognized its master would naturally not refuse its master's request, let alone a sword without a consciousness.

The golden characters shivered and appeared once more.

—

River Snow

.