Primordial Era: Starting with Self-Created Mythical Great Luo Law

Chen Yu's eyes were sharp and cold, his swordplay steady yet ruthless, each move like thunder splitting the sky, without any hesitation.

Wang Feng's sword intent was as heavy as an ancient mountain pressing down on the battlefield. Every move seemed to have been meticulously crafted over many years, concealing its sharpness in its simplicity. His every move possessed a profound and effortless mastery.

Liu Fei's speed was astonishing; his sword shadows danced like eagles soaring through the sky, unpredictable and elusive. Every strike he made was beyond his opponent's expectations and defied common sense.

The three leaped between the valleys, their swords whistling through the wind and their sword beams tearing through the clouds; every move was the culmination of their hard work.

They dissect, verify, and clash with each other, not to compete for superiority, but to illuminate their true selves—the sword's path becomes brighter with each polishing, and the will becomes harder with each tempering. They constantly question the essence of swordsmanship, repeatedly pushing themselves to the edge of a precipice before leaping into the unknown, all in order to gain a little more insight into its true meaning.

The mountain wind howled in my ears, and muffled thunder rolled in the clouds, as if heaven and earth were holding their breath and watching the battle.

Sword light cleaved through the thick clouds, sword energy swept through the forest and valleys, and the three figures stood out even more in the interplay of silver and gray light, like pines, halberds, monuments, and flags.

This path is not one of asceticism, but of burning passion; not one of solitary journey, but of dancing together. The explosion of sword light carries warmth, and the surge of sword energy echoes.

They used their iron will to support the spine of their swords, and their passion to nourish the soul of their swords, carving their names stroke by stroke on the long scroll of swordsmanship. Every clash was like a silent pilgrimage, washing away impetuosity and leaving only sharpness.

The Tongtian Sect Leader stood atop the high cliff, his gaze as deep and still as a stream, watching them ascend the steps, make mistakes, gain enlightenment, and set off again.

He didn't make a move, yet he offered guidance at every turn; he didn't teach verbally, yet every word resonated deeply. The three walked side by side, serving as each other's mirror and support—neither mocking in defeat nor envying in victory, offering a sword in times of trouble, and lighting a lamp when lost.

Their swordsmanship is not like a solitary peak, but like three pine trees growing side by side, their roots tightly intertwined in the shadows, their branches reaching for the sky in the wind.

The Tongtian Sect Leader strolled out slowly, his white hair like snow, yet his face was like that of a child in early spring, his smile gentle and kind. The two swords at his waist hummed softly, as if in response to his steps.

His voice wasn't loud, but every word seemed to sink into the crevices of the valley: "Back then, I said that whoever formed the Nascent Soul first would be my personal disciple—the one I loved the most." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the three of them, "Now it seems like I set a difficult problem for myself."

The three were stunned for a moment, their throats slightly choked. This master never put on airs, yet he commanded their deepest respect; when teaching them swordsmanship, he imparted all his knowledge, even breaking down and explaining the secret techniques of killing moves that had been hidden for a hundred years; now that they were facing obstacles in their seclusion, he would still come under the moonlight late at night, sitting for half the night, listening to them talk about swordsmanship, and sitting with them in silence.

"Your disciple will never forget your teacher's kindness, which is as high as a mountain."

The Tongtian Sect Leader nodded slightly, a hint of approval flashing in his eyes, before he calmed down again: "You are the best I personally selected, and your names will surely be known throughout the myriad realms in the future. But right now—the sword is too straight, the intent too full, the momentum too overwhelming. Extreme rigidity is easily broken, and extreme sharpness is easily damaged. If you can hide a spring breeze in the thunder, and bury a seed in the raging fire, then you will be a true 'living sword'."

"I will obey my master's instructions."

The three bowed their heads in agreement, then focused intently on examining the weapons in their hands, stroking the spines of the swords with their fingertips, as if seeing their patterns, their cold gleam, and their breath for the first time.

"The master guides the way, but the cultivation is up to oneself."

The Tongtian Sect Leader gazed at them, his eyes clear and bright, reflecting the light of the sky and the shadows of the clouds.

"Please rest assured, Master, your disciple will certainly live up to your expectations."

The three responded in unison, their voices not loud, but as steady as a rock.

In their hearts, the Tongtian Sect Leader was not only a mentor—he was someone who offered help in the cold night, someone who lit a lamp for those who were lost, and the only family member they recognized in this life.

In their hearts, the Tongtian Cult Master was like an inextinguishable star, illuminating the path ahead.

Ok.

The Tongtian Sect Leader responded softly, his gaze slowly sweeping over Chen Yu and the other two, a gentle approval appearing in his eyes.

He had long observed the diligence and perseverance of the three, and secretly placed heavy expectations on them—in terms of innate talent and comprehension, they were not much inferior to his own disciples.

He had long seen through them: all three were stubborn to the end, single-minded, and devoted all their passion to the sword, rather than casually cultivating their skills.

The valley was silent. Before their master had finished speaking, a burning determination ignited in the hearts of Chen Yu and the other two.

They were no longer satisfied with the advantages of techniques and the sharpness of blades; they were determined to break through that thin layer of paper and carve out a new world in the depths of sword intent.

Chen Yu closed his eyes, his breath sinking into his dantian, and his sword intent surged suddenly within him, like ten thousand horses trampling through a frozen plain!

His figure suddenly shifted, the sword light exploded like thunder splitting the sky, the sword energy tore through the wind like a rainbow piercing the sun—a fierce and unparalleled sword move came out of nowhere, and in an instant, the entire valley trembled, the grass and trees bowed, and the rocks hummed.

The other two disciples stepped forward simultaneously, showing no sign of backing down.

One sword strike was like a cascading waterfall, while the other's sword intent was like a blade of frost. The two cold lights clashed and burst forth, their sword energy colliding into a ball of blazing white flame, as if two ancient sword souls had met on a narrow path in the valley, engaging in a silent battle.

The Tongtian Sect Leader stood with his hands behind his back, his expression calm, yet his eyes were as gentle as spring water and as sharp as the spine of a sword.

He saw not murderous intent flickering on the swords of the three men, but an almost burning sincerity; he saw not anxiety in their brows, but the silent tension before breaking free from their cocoons. This was no ordinary sword practice; it was clearly a tough battle to draw the sword inward, to sever slackness and delusion.

Suddenly—a bright silver sword mark tore open the sky!

The sword intents of Chen Yu and the other two resonated together, their light flashing like lightning, their energy like thunder, their brilliance like falling stars, piercing straight into the sky, as if they had broken free from the shackles of a thousand years of dust and cleaved open the old shell of the heavens.

"The sword heart is just beginning to shine." A slight ripple stirred in the heart of the Tongtian Sect Leader, the corners of his lips subtly turned up, and a warm light flashed in his eyes.

The sword light was clear and cold, and the sword energy was vast and boundless. A sense of ancient and distant atmosphere floated in the valley, as if one could hear the ancient sword cry traveling through time and space, echoing endlessly in one's ears.

As the three sword intents quietly converged and permeated each other, they seemed to be gently awakened by a long-dormant sword vein.

His swordplay became increasingly agile, like a swimming dragon; sharp, like a shattered mountain; profound, like an ancient pool; and dazzling, like the dawn breaking through the morning sun.

"Master, please look!" Chen Yu sheathed his sword, clasped his hands, and held up a wisp of condensed, undispersing azure sword intent in his palm, which shimmered and flowed.

The Tongtian Sect Leader nodded and smiled: "Good! The sword essence has been established, and the sword momentum has been formed. But do not forget that the way of the sword is like the sea, unfathomable; cultivation is like climbing a thousand-foot peak, and only at the summit will another sea of ​​clouds surge. Go deeper, refine the sword intent into your breath, and forge the sword heart into your spine—only then can you become a true master."

The three straightened their backs, their hearts filled with a sense of clarity, as if the clouds had parted to reveal the sun.

Even if the road ahead is fraught with towering peaks and winding mists, they only grip their swords tightly, taking one step at a time, steadily marching towards the realm of grandmasters.

Deep in the valley, sword light cleaved the sky, sword energy surged, and sword beams wove a net. Three figures moved like cranes and swirled like pines, their sword intent rising and merging. A brand new scroll of swordsmanship was slowly unfolding amidst the surging wind and thunder.