Dawn came soft to the Great Zhou Mountains.
Mist clung to the slopes like breath that hadn't quite left the world yet. Pines dripped clear water, resin-scented and cold. Far behind him, the waterfall where he'd beaten Zhu Yan had shrunk to a constant, distant thunder—no longer a challenge, just part of the mountain's pulse.
Ren walked.
He didn't hurry. His steps were unhurried, hands loosely tucked into his sleeves, cloak of neutral chaos wrapped tight around his core. From the outside, he was just another wandering youth with a cheap sword and a relaxed smile, the kind of nobody the world stopped noticing after a single glance.
Inside, his Dao ran like a deep river.
The Heretical God Force's first three stages were settled—Strength, Flesh, Viscera. Muscles and bones hammered into tighter resonance, flesh hardened into a living armor, organs beating and pulsing like perfectly tuned furnaces. The first layer of Burning Heat had condensed into something clean and obedient, no longer a wild blaze, but a controlled flame resting in the corner of his comprehension, ready to surge forth the instant he called.
Within his Inner Void, the Magic Cube hovered in silent rotation. Mo Eversnow's presence lingered there—cool, distant, watchful. She didn't probe him, didn't intrude; her spirit was like a cold star hanging at the edge of his perception.
Good.
He wanted her watching.
Today wasn't for sitting under waterfalls or sinking into ancient laws. Today was for tendons and steel, for instincts sharpened on live blades and breathing opponents.
Ren let his senses extend—not the overwhelming sweep that could map continents, but a narrow band, folded down tight. True essence currents sliding through the mountain stone. The scuff of feet on stone paths. The thin, fading traces of battles fought in these ranges over the years.
Voices drifted up on the morning wind.
"…I heard Senior Brother Zhu Yan still hasn't woken up."
"Shh! You want to die? Don't say his name so loud!"
"What's wrong with saying it? It's not as if we hurt him. They said a wandering expert struck him—one sword, and he was smashed straight into the cliff. Even the Martial House elders don't know who it was…"
"An expert like that, wandering around Sky Fortune Kingdom… do you think he's from some great sect?"
"Idiot, of course. How else could he defeat Senior Brother Zhu Yan like that? They say the sword in his hands burned the sky and shattered the waterfall…"
Ren's lips tugged upward.
So that's how the story's growing.
He stepped up onto a moss-slick boulder, then another, following the voices by sound alone. The youths themselves were somewhere below the path he walked; he had no interest in their faces, only their words.
"Senior Sister Lan Yunyue fainted when she heard the news."
"And the Sky Fortune Princess too. They say His Highness almost flew into a rage and wanted to mobilize the imperial guards—"
"Enough! If someone who can wound Senior Brother Zhu Yan like that wants to walk through Sky Fortune City, even the royal clan has to think twice before offending him. You want to drag our families into this?"
Ren hopped down from the last rock, boots crunching softly on the narrow mountain path.
Zhu Yan in critical condition, huh.
From his perspective, he hadn't hit that hard.
He rolled his shoulder once, as if easing stiffness that wasn't really there.
In Martial World—and in so many other worlds—it was always the same.
A lower realm's geniuses struggled and bled. They smashed into walls, broke some, were caged by others. The lucky ones climbed, step after step, until they reached the peak of that realm's sky.
And then?
The sky split open, and they discovered it had only been a ceiling.
Above that, stronger realms. Above those, even higher heavens. Divine Realms. Holy Lands. Empyrean Heavens. Each layer came with its own "bottom" and "top," its own crowd of geniuses clawing upward only to find that the ladder they'd climbed was bolted to something someone else had built.
He understood the reasons.
Jealous heavenly daos. Sects guarding their legacies like starving dogs over bones. Strong cultivators rising on the corpses of those who failed. That was the nature of the road most of the time.
But as he walked along the path curling around the mountain's side, listening to the waterfall's thunder fade behind him, he found that he really didn't like the idea of this world staying so narrow.
He thought of lower-realm martial artists who would never even glimpse the higher skies. Divine Realm talents burning out because their foundations were thin and no one had carved a proper road for them. He thought of his own Heaven, hovering over another universe, opening a path for devils and angels and humans who'd never had one before.
His Dao Heart pulsed once, steady.
"I don't mind ceilings," he murmured. "I just don't like locked doors."
He wanted this world's martial path to be broader. To have more minds walking it. To let geniuses bloom like wildflowers in all seasons, not just in a single, sheltered valley.
If he was going to walk here, he wouldn't just be a shadow nudging events from behind. He would carve a legend. Not as some hidden monster who descended in lightning and vanished, but as an expert who guided the Dao with his own hands.
An expert whose name people in Divine Phoenix Island, the four Divine Kingdoms, even the Asura Divine Kingdom would someday sit down and discuss as they pondered the Dao.
He smiled faintly to himself.
"All right," he said to the mountain wind. "Let's start with your backyard, Martial House."
He didn't consciously speed up.
He simply… drifted.
...
By the time the sun had climbed past the first layer of mist, the mountain air had warmed. Resinous pine scent thickened, and the damp chill began to retreat from his bones.
It was closer to mid-morning when he heard the swords.
Not the crude chopping of ordinary training. These cuts had rhythm. True essence pulsed along steel; breath and movement linked into a clean, unbroken pattern.
Ren followed the sound down a side path, boots whispering over damp earth and scattered needles.
A small valley opened before him.
Mist lay low here, coiling around knee height. The valley's walls rose steeply, forming a natural arena a hundred or so meters across. Grass grew in tough, short tufts over uneven stone, cut in places where blades had grazed it. Sword marks marred the walls—some shallow scratches, others deep grooves where someone had carved half-finger-wide trenches into rock.
A group of disciples in Seven Profound Martial House uniforms ringed the center, talking quietly, attention fixed on the clash within.
At their heart, two girls were crossing swords.
One wore light-colored clothes, her figure slender but steady, long hair tied back in a simple tail. Her swordwork was orthodox: guard tight, footwork precise, every thrust and cut like a careful brushstroke—no wasted motion, no pointless flourishes.
Bai Jingyun.
Ren had heard the name in passing from disciples' gossip the day before. Heavenly Abode disciple. Ranked in the top thirty on the Ranking Stone. One half of the "Seven Profound Proud Pair," the other half being—
"Jingyun, your right wrist's stiff again! I told you, don't lock it at the end of the cut!"
The second girl hopped lightly back, sword resting on her shoulder. Peach-blossom eyes sparkled with mischief, the corners of her lips curled into a carefree grin. Where Bai Jingyun's aura was restrained and cool, hers was lively, almost noisy, like a spring stream that refused to stay inside its banks.
Murong Zi.
Of the two, Murong Zi's cultivation was a hair higher; the ground beneath her feet bore faint indents where true essence had pressed into it again and again. Her body had already stepped into Altering Muscle, muscles and tendons tempered to a new flexibility by Martial World's laws. Bai Jingyun lagged only half a sliver behind, but her sword intent was sharper, her will more focused.
To the surrounding disciples, both girls were distant stars.
To Ren, they were good sprouts that had grown in a narrow flowerpot.
He stood in the shadow of a pine at the valley's edge, arms loosely folded, watching in silence.
"Again," Bai Jingyun said, expression steady.
Murong Zi rolled her eyes. "You'll burn out your true essence at this rate. If you keep going like this, this sister will have to carry you back."
"This level is nothing," Bai Jingyun replied. "If I can't bear this, how can I talk about stepping into Pulse Condensation in the future?"
Her voice was clear, the kind that could carry across a hall if needed, but she didn't raise it more than necessary. Beneath that calm tone lay a thread of stubborn iron.
Murong Zi snorted, eyes softening despite herself. "Fine, fine. Then this sister will be a bit more serious."
They clashed again.
Sword light blossomed in overlapping layers. Murong Zi's style held more flourish—small spins, sudden feints, rhythm changes that would have bent a lesser opponent's balance. Bai Jingyun's responses were strict, sometimes too strict; she met force with force where she could have diverted, absorbed and countered in the same motion.
Ren's Immortal Soul Bone traced every arc almost lazily.
He watched the way Bai Jingyun's shoulder tightened a breath before she cut. The micro-hesitation in her right wrist. The moments when Murong Zi's footwork left small, exploitable gaps that Bai Jingyun's orthodoxy didn't quite take advantage of.
Get used to how they move first, he told himself. Don't eat the whole dish at once.
He stepped forward.
"Looks like I picked a good valley," Ren said lightly.
Heads turned.
The disciples around the ring stiffened, hands flying toward weapons or tightening on them.
"Who—"
"Who's there?"
He didn't release any aura. He didn't need to. A man walking out of the mist with a crude sword at his hip and a relaxed half-smile shouldn't have felt threatening at all.
But several of the more sensitive disciples felt their backs prickle.
The world around him seemed… aware.
Mist parted just a little to either side of his shoulders. The sound of swords, breath, and rustling grass in the valley smoothed out, as if some invisible hand had straightened wrinkled cloth.
"Ah?" Murong Zi lowered her sword and tilted her head. "Which hall are you from? I haven't seen you before."
Her gaze flicked over his plain clothes, his lack of insignia, the cheap sword at his hip.
Bai Jingyun's eyes were sharper.
He doesn't move like someone at the Human Hall level.
Ren offered an easy smile, the kind that made strangers feel like they'd known him for years.
"Just a passerby," he said. "I heard swords and came to look. Seven Profound Martial House really lives up to its reputation—finding a little valley like this for disciples to train in, not wasting the mountain's qi."
A few disciples relaxed at the praise. Their chests puffed up slightly; it was their Martial House being complimented, after all.
One male disciple stepped forward, clasping his fists.
"This is a training ground reserved for Martial House disciples," he said. "Senior Sisters Bai and Murong are sparring. If you're not part of the House, please—"
Ren glanced at him.
Not cruelly. Not with killing intent.
Just… weighing him.
The youth's throat seized for half a heartbeat. Instinct screamed that this man's "just a passerby" was complete nonsense.
Ren looked back to Bai Jingyun.
"You've got good control," he said. "Your basics are firm. But your right wrist really does lock up at the end of your cut."
Murong Zi burst into laughter.
"See?" she crowed. "I told you!"
Bai Jingyun shot her a look, then fixed her gaze on Ren again.
"You said you're a passerby," she said slowly. "Then you must have some confidence in your own sword to speak about others."
Her tone wasn't rude, but there was a thread of pride there. As one of Seven Profound Martial House's top younger disciples, she had the qualifications.
"A little," Ren admitted.
"Then," Murong Zi chimed in immediately, grin widening, "how about a match? This sister loves watching experts fight."
"Murong Zi," Bai Jingyun said, helpless.
"What? He pointed out your flaw with one glance. Isn't that interesting? And he came alone. He doesn't look like some arrogant young master with servants. If he can't handle losing, you can just hit him harder."
Several disciples coughed. That… did sound like Murong Zi.
Ren laughed.
"Your friend has a point," he said. "I was the one rude enough to speak up first. If I walk away now, that'd be too shameless. How about it, Miss Bai? Will you indulge a stranger in a few moves?"
He didn't pile on honorifics or flowery phrases. His tone was calm, words simple, but there was warmth there, a faint, teasing edge that made it hard to dislike him.
Bai Jingyun studied him for a few breaths.
He stood casually, but his balance was perfect. His hand resting on his sword hilt was relaxed, not tense. His eyes were clear—not the arrogance of someone looking down, nor the desperation of someone looking up, but the gaze of someone who stood on level ground with the world.
Almost without realizing it, she nodded.
"…Very well. A spar is also a kind of cultivation. However, if you are truly only 'a passerby,' then do not blame me if you suffer injuries."
Ren inclined his head.
"Naturally."
They moved to the valley's center.
Murong Zi skipped backward to the edge, eyes shining. "Everyone, pay attention! If you blink and miss something good, don't cry to this sister later!"
The disciples spread out nervously. Whispers sparked at the edges of the ring.
"Do you think he's from another hall?"
"I don't recognize his insignia…"
"He doesn't have one, idiot. Maybe he's from some hidden family?"
"His sword looks so cheap…"
"Idiot. Look at his eyes. That's not someone we can easily offend."
Ren drew his sword.
Steel slid free of the scabbard with a rough whisper. No name, no spirit, no glow. Just ordinary forged steel that had tasted more bandit blood than anything else.
Bai Jingyun's brows twitched.
He really is using that?
"Please," she said, raising her own blade, true essence wrapping her in a thin, steady layer.
Ren smiled.
"Ladies first."
She didn't refuse.
She stepped in, sword tip like a falling star—fast, straight, without hesitation.
Ren moved.
He called only on the Strength and Flesh stages of the Heretical God Force. True essence condensed into muscle and tendon, body moving with unadorned physical power. His sword rose in a simple block.
Steel rang.
The impact shook the air. Several watching disciples felt their ears buzz.
Bai Jingyun's eyes narrowed.
That wasn't a casual block.
Her true essence had been neatly diverted—bled off the edge of her sword by about ten, maybe twelve percent before reaching his blade, then smoothed along a curve she hadn't anticipated.
Ren felt the line of force, catalogued it, then let it go.
"Again," he said mildly.
She obliged.
This time she added a slight twist to her wrist at the last moment, attempting to catch him off guard. Ren met it with the same lazy-looking block, but his sword angle shifted just enough that the twist rebounded through her palm.
Her bones hummed. For a heartbeat she almost lost her grip.
Murong Zi's eyes widened.
This guy… is infuriating.
Bai Jingyun pulled back, circling, breath steadying.
"What is your cultivation?" she asked, voice even.
Ren thought about it for a moment.
"You can sense my aura, right?" he said. "It's just Viscera Training. Third stage of Body Transformation."
Gasps escaped a few throats.
Viscera Training?
Murong Zi had stepped into Altering Muscle. Even Bai Jingyun had sharpened her body beyond the third stage. For someone at Viscera Training to block her like this…
Bai Jingyun tightened her grip.
"If you're mocking us—"
"I'm not," Ren cut in gently. "My path's a bit special. Direct comparisons are messy. But don't worry. I'll stay within the realm you can feel."
His smile didn't change, but something in his eyes shifted—like a sword that had been sheathed suddenly choosing to acknowledge the world.
The air between them thickened.
Bai Jingyun's heart gave an involuntary thump.
This… is him taking it seriously?
"Then…" She exhaled softly, letting stray thoughts fall away.
Her sword rose again.
On the sidelines, Murong Zi leaned forward, lips curling. "Jingyun's going all out," she muttered. "This'll be fun."
...
Bai Jingyun attacked.
Her sword shadow blossomed—thrusts, cuts, short arcs woven into a tight net. Her style came from Seven Profound Martial House's inner legacies, refined by generations of tutors: no wasted steps, no showy gestures, every move serving the next.
Ren stepped into that net.
He still didn't use any named sword art. His blade moved in plain lines—blocks, flicks, clean cuts that looked almost clumsy beside her refined sequences.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Each time steel met steel, Bai Jingyun's arm jolted, breath rhythm shifting by fractions. Her footwork, usually so steady, began to miss half-steps. Not enough for ordinary eyes to see, but enough that her movements no longer matched the patterns she'd drilled.
He's reading me.
The thought rose unbidden, uncomfortable.
It was like facing a mirror that had woken up and decided to correct her.
On the fifth combination, she changed tactics.
A low sweep, followed by a rising cut aimed at his wrist—an execution sequence that had once won her a duel against an older Heavenly Abode disciple.
Ren's eyes traced the arc.
He saw the angle of her knees. The timing of her breath. The faint tightening of her shoulders just before she committed, the way her weight settled too firmly into her rear foot.
His Spirit Sense pulsed.
In his mind, her movement unraveled into a diagram—lines of force, nodes of tension, flows of essence.
He followed that pattern with his own body, borrowing what was good, smoothing what was rough.
His sword dropped along the exact same path, half a heartbeat behind hers.
For an instant, it looked like he'd simply copied her.
Then his follow-up shifted.
Where her rising cut would have aimed for an opponent's wrist, his rose a fraction higher, catching her guard at its weakest angle and flicking it outward with a snapping twist that made her shoulder sting.
Her blade flew from her hand.
Steel spun once through the mist and stabbed into the valley floor with a solid thunk.
Bai Jingyun froze.
Silence swallowed the valley.
Ren stopped with his sword resting lightly across her collarbone. Not enough pressure to pierce skin—just enough to remind her exactly where it was.
"Your foundation is excellent," he said quietly. "Your sword paths are clean. But you're too honest with your intent. From your very first step, your body has already decided what the last cut will be."
He lowered the sword and stepped back.
Her heart hammered.
He'd improved her move while using it against her.
Murong Zi stared, mouth slightly open.
"Damn your—" she began on instinct, caught herself halfway, then muttered, "…grandmother. What kind of freak are you?"
Some disciples flushed at her language. None of them corrected her.
Bai Jingyun looked down at her empty hand, then up at Ren.
"Just now…" she started.
Ren tilted his head slightly.
"The idea behind that sequence is good," he said. "Footwork's solid. But you commit your weight too fully at the end. Once you start, you can't change. If you want that combination to work against stronger opponents, you need a branch. A second path your body can choose at the last moment."
He stepped closer before she could respond, every movement unhurried.
"Here," he said. "Raise your sword."
She obeyed almost on reflex, accepting his presence inside her space.
Ren moved behind her, not touching, but close enough that she could feel the faint warmth at her back.
"First step," he said softly. "Land a little lighter. Your true essence is pressing you too deep into the ground; you'll lose speed."
Bai Jingyun adjusted.
"Good," he murmured. "Now, when you cut low—"
His sword tip traced the air along her normal path.
"—don't lock your wrist at the end. Leave it loose. Like this."
He let his blade flick up in a small, quick arc that could either continue into the original rising slash or hook sideways into a completely different line.
Bai Jingyun's breath hitched.
She followed his motion once.
Twice.
By the third time, her body had begun to understand.
The revised move felt different. Lighter. The familiar structure was still there—but now there was a second road crossing it, a hidden option that let her change at the last instant.
Ren smiled and stepped back, giving her space.
"Try it on your own," he said.
She moved.
The low sweep cut across the empty air. At the pivot point, she loosened her wrist. Her true essence flowed smoother; the rising slash felt like drawing a bowstring instead of lifting a weight.
When she completed the sequence, it felt as if another door had opened somewhere in front of her.
She turned back, cheeks faintly flushed.
"…Thank you," she said, bowing slightly. "This junior was careless. Your guidance is… valuable."
Her tone had shifted. The pride was still there, but instead of brittle, it had found something firm to lean on: respect.
Several disciples swallowed.
This man had taken Senior Sister Bai's signature sequence, surpassed it, then handed it back to her cleaner than before.
Who was he?
Ren shrugged, expression easy.
"I told you," he said. "I was the one rude enough to criticize. If I don't at least offer something useful in return, what face would I have?"
Murong Zi marched over, burying her shock under bluster. She planted her sword into the ground with a huff.
"Passerby my ass," she grumbled. "You dare call yourself a passerby with skills like this? If Martial House doesn't recruit you, I'll quit and become a farmer."
"Murong Zi!" Bai Jingyun hissed, appalled.
Ren laughed.
"Being a farmer's not so bad," he said. "But I appreciate the vote of confidence."
He glanced between them, eyes softening as he took in their auras again—the orthodox steel, the lively flow, the stubbornness under both.
"You two have good eyes and good hearts," he said. "Seven Profound Martial House is lucky."
Murong Zi's ears turned faintly pink.
"Tch. Flattering people already…"
But she didn't look displeased.
Bai Jingyun cleared her throat lightly, trying to smooth the warmth in her cheeks.
"If you intend to stay in Sky Fortune City," she said, "you should visit our Martial House formally. There are procedures, and the elders are strict, but with your talent…"
"I'll think about it," Ren said.
He slid his sword back into its scabbard, the cheap steel rasping against the wood.
His gaze lifted briefly to the distant mountain peak, then back to the group.
"I've got some things to handle in these mountains first," he added. "But I might drop by Martial House later. If I do, I'll see if I can lend a hand."
He smiled, the expression half-teasing.
"Try to remember my face until then."
Murong Zi snorted. "As if this sister could forget a freak like you."
Bai Jingyun's lips curved, just a little.
"If you come," she said quietly, "I will personally welcome you."
Ren inclined his head.
"Then I'll look forward to it."
He turned and walked away, boots soft on the damp ground.
Behind him, the disciples exploded into hushed conversation.
"Did you feel that? When he corrected Senior Sister's move—"
"His sword intent didn't feel like any of our Seven Profound styles."
"Could he be someone from the main sect?"
"Idiot, if he were from Seven Profound Valleys, why would he be wandering around alone like this?"
Murong Zi watched his retreating back, eyes narrowing.
"Jingyun," she said softly.
"Hm?"
"That guy… when you fought him, did you feel like you were standing in front of a mountain?"
Bai Jingyun hesitated.
"…Yes," she admitted at last. "A very distant mountain. Taller than these."
Her heart gave one hard, unreasonable beat.
She closed her fingers more tightly around her sword hilt.
"If he comes to Martial House," she murmured, half to herself, "I won't let the chance pass."