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

A very soft cough suddenly rang out from behind the partially collapsed earthen wall.

The sound wasn't loud, but in the depths of the desolate hall, where all was quiet, at the moment when the young man was practicing to his most strenuous point, his entire being like a fully drawn bow about to be released, this soft cough seemed exceptionally clear.

The boy's left foot was firmly planted on the hard ground, preparing to twist his body. This soft cough, precisely, struck at his weakest point, where his old strength had just been exhausted and new strength had not yet arisen.

It was interrupted.

The boy's muscles twitched violently, and the energy he had forcibly gathered in his body instantly went out of control.

The chaotic true energy slammed violently against the fragile inner walls of the meridians, and a strong, sweet, metallic taste immediately surged from deep in the throat.

He gritted his teeth and forced back the blood. He stomped his feet hard on the gravel ground, using the recoil to propel himself backward.

He only managed to stop when his back slammed heavily against the cold courtyard wall, shaking off a shower of dust.

Without the slightest hesitation, the boy suddenly turned around.

He bent his knees slightly, arched his back in an extremely dangerous arc, and held the long sword firmly across his chest.

It was a sword with an excellent appearance.

The sword is long and slender, gleaming with a chilling light under the moonlight. The surface of the blade is faintly covered with purple lightning patterns, making it look majestic and sharp.

At this moment, the boy was like a lone wolf startled in the wilderness, desperately protecting the last piece of rotting flesh.

His eyes were bloodshot, and he stared intently at the shadowy spot from which the sound came, his gaze filled with hostility and extreme vigilance.

"Who's there!"

The boy's voice was terribly hoarse, revealing an undisguised ferocity and wariness.

Accompanied by a series of soft, slow footsteps, a person slowly emerged from the shadows behind the earthen wall.

Zhou Lingxuan put his hands behind his back and slowly stepped over the pebbles on the ground.

The moonlight poured down without obstruction, illuminating his faded servant's clothes and his withered, aged face etched with the lines of time.

Facing the boy's almost murderous gaze and the sword tip poised to fight to the death, Zhou Lingxuan remained completely calm, speaking as if he were greeting a neighbor.

"Don't be nervous, I'm just an old handyman who works in this abandoned hall, tending the furnace and forging iron."

Zhou Lingxuan stopped a few steps away and reached out to pat the dust off his sleeve.

"I couldn't sleep at night, so I came out for some fresh air."

As he spoke, Zhou Lingxuan's gaze swept over the boy.

The gray shirt was already completely soaked with sweat, clinging tightly to his thin back.

The boy's face was frighteningly pale, but even though his body was exhausted to this extent, the stubbornness and ruthlessness in his eyes did not diminish in the slightest.

The old blacksmith, seeing the defensive posture of someone who was clearly about to collapse but still gripped the sword tightly, felt not anger but rather amusement.

This kid is tough; he's a ruthless character who can endure hardship.

The boy stared intently at Zhou Lingxuan, frantically channeling the remaining true energy within his body, trying to probe the other's background.

No.

There was nothing there.

The withered old man in front of me showed no trace of true qi circulation, and his blood and qi were extremely depleted. He looked like just an ordinary old servant who was barely surviving in the abandoned hall.

After confirming that the other party had no cultivation, the boy's killing intent subsided slightly, but the vigilance ingrained in his bones remained unchanged.

"Since you're just a servant, go back to your room and go to sleep."

The boy's voice was cold and hard as he unceremoniously ordered them to leave.

"Mind your own business and stay out of my way."

Having said that, he turned slightly to the side, preparing to ignore the old sweeper and continue honing his swordsmanship.

But as soon as he turned halfway around, the boy suddenly realized something was wrong.

He stopped what he was doing, his brows furrowing deeply.

The murderous aura he had just displayed was the kind of killing intent one gets from rolling around in piles of dead bodies.

If it were any ordinary low-level servants in the Heavenly Sword Pavilion, being pointed at with a sword like that in the middle of the night would have terrified them so much that their legs would have gone weak and they would have run away.

But the old man in front of her not only didn't dodge, but stood firmly in place, his cloudy eyes as calm as a stagnant pool, and his breathing rhythm was not disturbed at all.

This old man... is a bit strange.

The boy turned around again, his grip on the sword tightened once more, and a hint of suspicion appeared in his eyes.

Zhou Lingxuan hadn't left. Looking at the boy's posture, ready to continue his antics at any moment, he casually muttered something like an ordinary elder.

"This abandoned place is usually deserted. I saw you put your fingerprint on the roster during the day, and you don't even sleep at night, you're just causing trouble here."

Zhou Lingxuan sighed, his tone carrying a hint of mundane chatter.

"You still smell of blood, don't you? Your old injuries haven't healed yet, and you're training like this in the middle of the night, risking your life. Can your body handle it?"

The boy was stunned for a moment.

He thought the other person would be angry because he chased them away, but he didn't expect to be met with such a harmless nagging.

"I told you, it's none of your business," the boy replied coldly.

"It's none of my business."

Zhou Lingxuan shook his head.

"I'm just a blacksmith, I can't control the world or you risk your life. It's just that the ground in this yard is already uneven, if you keep stomping like this, I'll have to work hard to fill the holes tomorrow."

Listening to the old man's harmless ramblings, the boy's tense nerves finally relaxed a little without him even realizing it.

He could sense that there was absolutely no hostility from the other party.

That calmness wasn't feigned; it was a composure born from living too long and seeing too much, a calmness that comes from not caring too much about anything.

The ferocity in the boy's eyes gradually faded, and the sword tip, which had been held tightly across his chest to protect his vitals, drooped slightly.

The tense atmosphere in the courtyard finally eased temporarily.

"I won't die." The boy was silent for a moment, then uttered the three words stiffly, as a response to the old man's nagging.

Just as the young man completely let go of his killing intent and was about to withdraw his stance, Zhou Lingxuan's gaze naturally fell on the thunder-patterned longsword in his hand.

The sword was long and slender, with lightning patterns shimmering on it. Under the moonlight, it looked majestic and extremely sharp.

But Zhou Lingxuan had been forging iron for a hundred years and had seen countless weapons.

He recalled the extremely awkward and painful posture of the boy wielding the sword, which relied entirely on brute force. Looking at this longsword with its excellent appearance, he felt that there was something inexplicably off about it.

Zhou Lingxuan frowned slightly.

"juvenile."

Zhou Lingxuan suddenly spoke, interrupting the boy's actions.

Looking at the imposing Thunder Pattern Sword, he casually pointed out a comment based on the old blacksmith's intuition.

"There seems to be something wrong with the sword in your hand."

The moment those words were spoken, the air in the courtyard seemed to freeze instantly.

The boy froze instantly.

He stared intently at the old man in front of him, a hint of undisguised shock flashing in his eyes.

This Thunder Pattern Sword appeared to be perfectly intact. Even the outer sect stewards of the Heavenly Sword Pavilion would only recognize it as a decent ordinary weapon during the day, unable to discern any clues whatsoever.

But this old sweeper with no cultivation level in front of him, after just standing a few steps away and watching for a while, actually saw the problem at a glance!

The boy stood there, stunned, and remained silent for a long time.

The stubbornness and defensiveness that had been wrapped around him like a hedgehog transformed into a deep sense of powerlessness at this moment.

He slowly lowered his head, looking at the gleaming family heirloom in his hand.

A night breeze blew by, swirling up a few withered, yellow leaves.

After a long while, the boy let out a long sigh.

The voice was hoarse and bitter, revealing a weariness that had bent the spine under the weight of reality, and it also showed that all pretense had been completely removed.

"This sword..."

The boy lowered his head, his fingers gently stroking the cold hilt of the sword, and murmured in reply.

"It's useless."