A Mortal's Journey to Immortality: Starting as a Sword-Forging Servant and Ascending to Immorta

The hammering didn't stop.

Old Qin sat in front of the bellows, and his hand, which had been pulling the pump, unconsciously slowed down.

He had seen many swordsmiths and also quite a few sword cultivators.

Swordsmiths pursue precision, paying attention to the timing and hammering techniques, with each strike having a clear purpose.

Sword cultivators emphasize the unity of man and sword, pursuing artistic conception and momentum.

But these two things never happen to the same person, at least he has never seen them.

But the old man in front of me had somehow mixed up the two things.

The sword blank on the anvil is already taking shape. The refined iron becomes thinner and thinner through repeated forging, impurities are forced out with each layer, the sword spine is straight, and the blade surface is smooth.

Judging from the finished product alone, this is a standard weapon-refining technique, and there is not a single flaw to be found.

You can watch the process...

Old Qin slowed down the bellows operation, his eyes fixed on the hammer.

He swung the hammer. He chopped down. The angle at which the hammer struck the iron blank was exactly the same trajectory as the longsword's diagonal slash.

Sheathing the hammer. Twisting the wrist. Lightly tapping the edge of the iron billet to shake off the oxide scale; the wrist rotation is exactly the same as when wielding a sword.

Swing it again. This time it's a sweeping motion. The arc of the hammer brushes past the anvil, flattening the other side of the iron billet evenly.

Old Qin swallowed hard.

He sensed it.

A subtle yet sharp aura was constantly emanating from Zhou Lingxuan.

Intermittent, sometimes there, sometimes not, like a lamp about to be lit. But whenever the rhythm of the hammer's blows quickens, its sharpness intensifies.

Sword energy.

Although faint and completely out of control, it was indeed sword energy.

An old handyman in the Body Tempering Realm, a guy whose spiritual root was practically ruined, managed to unleash sword energy while forging iron.

Old Qin opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but dared not interrupt.

He was afraid that if he opened his mouth, the whole thing would fall apart.

Zhou Lingxuan himself couldn't explain what his body was doing.

He was still conscious, and he knew exactly where to strike and how much force to apply with each blow.

Nearly a century of sword-making experience is no accident; he can hammer a piece of fine iron into a standard sword blank even with his eyes closed.

But the extra things his body did were not part of his plan.

The steps were moving. The breathing was adjusting. Power flowed throughout the body, and each swing of the hammer was smoother than the last, as if something was drilling out from between the bones.

In the center of his mind, the pure sword intent drawn from the Shenfeng Stone was trembling slightly.

It didn't instruct Zhou Lingxuan to do anything, but its very existence was like a measuring stick.

What is a sword?

Attack. Cut. Pierce. Parry.

There are no fancy moves, no added emotions, and no so-called Tao.

A sword is just a tool, held in someone's hand, used to do the simplest things.

The hammer in Zhou Lingxuan's hand was the same at this moment.

A hammer is a hammer. It falls and shapes the iron into the desired form.

Nothing else is needed.

when!

Another blow.

The iron billet has been folded twelve times at high temperature, resulting in a dense and uniform internal structure, and all visible impurities have disappeared.

Zhou Lingxuan put it back into the furnace to heat it up, and took the opportunity to stretch his wrists.

His breathing was steady, and there wasn't even a bead of sweat on his forehead. If it were that frail body of a month ago, let alone training continuously for so long, just lifting the hammer would have strained his back.

The color of the flames changed.

The subterranean fire surged into the furnace chamber through pipes, and with Elder Qin's continuous infusion of spiritual energy, the temperature was several times higher than that of an ordinary blacksmith's charcoal fire. The refined iron billet was completely translucent, almost to the point where it could be directly cast.

Zhou Lingxuan took out the sword embryo.

This time, he didn't bring down the hammer immediately.

He stared at the piece of white-glowing metal on the anvil, pausing for two breaths.

Then he raised the hammer.

when!

The moment the hammer fell, Old Qin's hair stood on end.

He clearly felt a sharp aura explode from the point where the hammer struck the iron blank, sweeping across the entire forging table, even causing the teacup in front of him to jump.

Sword energy!

It was no longer a faint, imperceptible outflow, but a sword aura that truly burst forth from the iron blank!

Old Qin suddenly stood up, kicking over the bellows.

"this……"

He couldn't finish his sentence.

Zhou Lingxuan did not stop. The hammer blows continued, the intervals between each strike becoming shorter and shorter.

The sword blank is quickly shaped on the anvil, and the blade edges on both sides become thinner and thinner as it is hammered, while the lines of the spine remain straight.

Old Qin dared not pick up the bellows anymore.

He just stood there, watching Zhou Lingxuan hammer a piece of refined iron into a sword, one hammer blow at a time.

Footsteps came from behind.

Old Qin suddenly turned around.

Qin Zhaoyun was already standing at the courtyard gate at some point.

His face, which always looked sickly, showed little emotion; he simply frowned slightly, his gaze fixed on Zhou Lingxuan, motionless.

Old Master Qin opened his mouth as if to call him "Young Master," but Qin Zhaoyun raised his hand to stop him.

He didn't approach; he just stood ten steps away.

The hammering continued.

The last burrs on the sword blank were smoothed out, and the blade became clear through repeated quenching and hammering. Zhou Lingxuan's movements began to slow down, not because he lacked strength, but because the sword was almost finished.

Qin Zhaoyun's brows relaxed.

As he watched Zhou Lingxuan's actions, something in his mind was being gradually dissected.

Every strike the old man delivered was precise and powerful.

A chop is a chop. A thrust is a thrust. A sweep is a sweep.

Clean and neat, returning to simplicity.

There was no trace of the Dao.

It wasn't the grandeur of a surging river, nor the oppressive power of a dazzling starry sky, nor even the invincible will that had been poured into his Izumo sword, a weapon imbued with his life's blood.

There's nothing here.

Only swords.

Qin Zhaoyun suddenly felt something loosen in her chest.

From the moment he picked up his first sword, he was told to forge his own path in swordsmanship.

So he cultivated the invincible sword path, using only one sword throughout his life, pouring all his cultivation and will into it, wanting to make the Izumo sword the strongest sword in the world.

Until it was shattered by a single sword strike.

The sword shattered, and so did the Dao.

For the past few years, he has been wondering if his Dao is not strong enough, or if the sword intent of the Izumo Sword is not refined enough.

I never thought about that other question.

What is a sword, in itself?

"So pure."

Qin Zhaoyun's voice was very soft, as if she were talking to herself.

Old Qin turned his head to look at him, his pupils shrinking.

The chilling, sickly aura emanating from Qin Zhaoyun was dissipating.

It wasn't driven out by any force, but rather it crumbled from within.

That kind of dejected, gloomy feeling, like ice on a river in winter, is gradually melted by the warm current flowing underneath.

Old Qin's hands began to tremble.

He had followed Qin Zhaoyun for so many years, searching for weapon refiners and sword masters all over the world, and begging countless people.

Everyone shook their heads, saying that with the sword's heart shattered, there was no way to reverse the situation.

At this moment, no one touched Qin Zhaoyun, no one forced him to take medicine, and no one helped him repair anything.

He stood there watching the blacksmith for a while, and the deathly aura around him began to dissipate.

Old Qin felt a lump in his throat, took a deep breath, and suppressed the tears welling up in his eyes.

On the anvil.

The final blow.

Zhou Lingxuan exhaled a breath of stale air and put down the hammer in his hand. He used pliers to pick up the completed sword and immersed it in the cold water tank beside him.

laugh--

White steam rose, and the water surface churned violently for a few breaths before returning to calm.

Zhou Lingxuan took the sword out of the water.

There was no scabbard, no hilt, and it wasn't even sharpened.

But when the three-foot-long iron sword was raised in front of him, a clear, ringing sound emanated from the blade and echoed throughout the courtyard.

hum-

It's not a magical artifact. It has no spiritual power, no array markings, it's just a sword made of ordinary iron.

But it can make a sound.

Zhou Lingxuan gripped the sword and looked down at it.

The sword is dark silver in color, with faint patterns left by folding and forging on the surface, resembling flowing water or clouds.

It had no special brilliance and looked extremely plain.

But he could sense that the sword was still alive.

It's like a seed that has just sprouted, containing a certain possibility.

Without a doubt, this was the best sword he had forged after forging a million swords.

Despite being made of ordinary iron, it has the potential to carry spiritual power. As long as a sword cultivator refines and infuses it in the future, how far it can go depends entirely on the person who uses it.

Zhou Lingxuan turned around.

Old Qin stood there, his expression somewhat dazed. Qin Zhaoyun remained standing at the courtyard gate, her complexion much better than before, even bearing a faint smile.

Zhou Lingxuan glanced at him twice and paused for a moment.

Most of the cold, yin energy on this person's body has dissipated.

The dejection that had just permeated him now seemed to have been stripped away, leaving only a thin shell. His eyes regained their light.

Zhou Lingxuan was silent for a moment, then suddenly smiled.

"It seems I don't need to repair your Izumo sword."

Qin Zhaoyun stepped closer.

He didn't rush to respond, but instead glanced at the new sword in Zhou Lingxuan's hand and then at the iron filings scattered on the forging table in the distance.

After a long silence, he finally spoke.

Thank you.

Two words, no unnecessary formalities.

Old Qin finally came to his senses and hurriedly ran to Qin Zhaoyun's side, looking him up and down several times.

"Young Master, you...you have..."

"Mm." Qin Zhaoyun nodded, without explaining further.

Old Qin grew anxious: "What exactly happened? Your sword heart!"

Zhou Lingxuan placed the new sword on the anvil and wiped the dust off his palm.

"Young Master Qin's sword heart has not shattered."

Old Qin was stunned.

"Didn't it break before? The Izumo Sword broke into three pieces, his."

"The Izumo Sword is broken."

Zhou Lingxuan interrupted him.

"But Kenshin is not the Izumo sword."

Old Qin looked completely bewildered.

Zhou Lingxuan organized his thoughts.

"Young Master Qin used to put everything on one sword. The Izumo sword was his way, his heart, his everything. As long as the sword was there, he was there; if the sword broke, he was gone."

"But the essence of swordsmanship has nothing to do with any specific sword."

Zhou Lingxuan looked at Qin Zhaoyun.

"You've felt like you're finished these past few years, not because you're really useless, but because you've tied your swordsmanship to the Izumo sword. When the Izumo sword shattered, you assumed that your swordsmanship was also shattered."

"But you stood there watching me forge iron just now, and you realized something."

Qin Zhaoyun continued, "A sword is a sword."

"That's right." Zhou Lingxuan nodded. "It doesn't need to be a specific sword. Your path used to be one sword for life, and Izumo was you. Now you've figured it out, you yourself are the sword, you don't need an external object to carry you."

Old Qin only half understood what he was hearing, but he could see Qin Zhaoyun's condition.

The young man who had been listless for several years now stood up straight, his shoulders and back relaxed, and even his breathing was much smoother than before.

Although his cultivation level has not yet recovered, his overall spirit and energy have completely changed.

Old Qin opened his mouth, but in the end he couldn't hold back and turned away to wipe his face hard.

Qin Zhaoyun ignored his old servant's embarrassing behavior and turned his gaze back to the newly forged sword on the anvil.

"This sword—"

"This is for you."

Zhou Lingxuan picked up the sword and handed it over.

Qin Zhaoyun didn't take it, frowning: "Are you willing to part with it?"

"What's there to be reluctant about?" Zhou Lingxuan shoved the sword into his hand. "I'm a swordsmith, not a swordsman. This sword will remain a piece of iron in my hands for the rest of my life."

He paused, then added, "To be honest, I don't know how much longer these old bones of mine can hold on. I've finally managed to forge a decent weapon, so I need to find someone who can use it."

Qin Zhaoyun looked down at the sword in his hand, his thumb gently stroking the spine of the blade.

"You just gave away the first good sword you forged?"

"Stop dawdling." Zhou Lingxuan waved his hand. "If you feel bad about it, just consider it part of the deal. Don't be stingy when it's time to give me a reward later."

Qin Zhaoyun gripped the sword hilt and looked up at Zhou Lingxuan.

A moment later, he smiled.

"OK."

"I'll remember this favor."

He turned and walked towards the courtyard gate, but after a few steps, he stopped.

"Your name is Zhou Lingxuan?"

"Um."

"If you need anything in the future, just come to me."

Qin Zhaoyun didn't look back. Gripping the scabbardless iron sword, she strode away from the courtyard.

Old Qin finally finished crying and came over with red eyes.

"Brother Zhou, you...I..."

"Alright, alright," Zhou Lingxuan waved his hand. "Don't give me that."

Old Qin sniffed and patted Zhou Lingxuan's shoulder forcefully.

"What do you want? Spirit stones, pills, cultivation techniques, weapons—just name your price!"

"No rush." ​​Zhou Lingxuan glanced at the sky; the sun was already setting. "I need to go back and deal with today's waste first. We'll talk later."

"You still care about that junk!"

"If you promise someone something, you have to finish it."