Cultivation is Creation

"Behind you!" his master's voice cracked like thunder in Wu Kangmin’s mind. "Move! Now!"

He spun, his sword already cutting through the air in a defensive arc. But something was wrong. His blade, which had so easily severed reality moments before, seemed to pass through nothing but shadow.

A figure stood there – tall, wrapped in pitch-black robes that seemed to absorb light. Its face was hidden behind a mask made of some bizarre black crystal material that hurt to look at directly, as though it existed in more dimensions than the human mind could process.

Wu Kangming's eyes narrowed as he studied this new threat. "So," he said carefully, "I assume you're the master that enslaved them?"

The Masked One tilted his head slightly. "You should have accepted their offer," he said. "Now I'll have to collect you personally. Though I suppose that's fitting – it's been a while since I've had to dirty my hands directly."

Wu Kangming shook his head, maintaining his guard stance. "You should have ambushed me when you had the chance instead of acting like this."

The Masked One laughed, and the sound was wrong – like multiple people laughing in perfect unison, but each laugh coming from a slightly different moment in time. "I have nothing to fear from a Qi Condensation cultivator, even if you are a protagonist."

"Be careful," his master warned. "He's at the peak of the Stellar Realm. This isn't an opponent you can defeat through normal means."

The Masked One began gesturing at the air, as though reading invisible text. "Let's see... which archetype are you? The young master who lost everything and found a mysterious inheritance? The humble villager with a special constitution? Or perhaps..." he paused, head tilting unnaturally. "Ah, of course. The crippled cultivator who found an ancient expert's legacy. How delightfully traditional."

The Masked One made a pulling motion with his hands, and Wu Kangming felt his body being dragged forward against his will. It was like being caught in an invisible current, one that pulled at his very soul rather than his physical form.

"Master—" Wu Kangming started to think, but before he could finish, he felt a familiar presence surge through him. His vision blurred, and when it cleared, he was watching through his own eyes as his master took control.

"Impudent collector," Wu Kangming's voice emerged, but it wasn't his voice anymore. It carried the weight of eons. "You dare to touch my disciple's soul?"

Before the Masked One could react, Wu Kangming's sword moved in a pattern that shouldn't have been possible – not just physically impossible, but fundamentally wrong according to the laws of reality. The blade left trails of silver light that cut through space itself, forming a character that meant both "sword" and "ending" simultaneously.

The attack caught the Masked One in the shoulder, and for the first time, the collector's perfect composure cracked. Black energy sprayed from the wound as he staggered back, his mask cracking slightly to reveal glimpses of a face that seemed to exist in too many dimensions at once.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

"Impossible!" the Masked One's many-voiced speech became discordant with shock and pain. "A Life Realm expert? Hidden in a..." His mask twisted in what might have been a snarl. "Not an ancient legacy but the old grandpa in the ring trope! Of course. How did I miss something so obvious?"

"You will not leave this place alive, collector," Wu Kangming's body declared, though it was clearly the sword spirit speaking. "Your corruption ends here."

The sword in Wu Kangming's hand began to change, silver light crawling along its length until it seemed to be made of starlight rather than steel. The air around it warped and twisted, reality itself struggling to contain the power being channeled through such a mundane vessel.

"Eternal Edge Sword Dao," the Sword Saint whispered. "First Form: Severance of Heaven and Earth."

The Masked One quickly reached into his robes and crushed something – a crystal that sparked with multicolored light. But before he could complete whatever technique he was attempting, Wu Kangming's sword moved.

The slash wasn't particularly dramatic. There was no screaming of wind, no thunderous impact, no blinding light. The blade simply drew a line through space, a perfect arc that seemed to divide the world itself.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then reality began to split along that line.

The ground cracked open, a perfect geometric divide that stretched as far as the eye could see. The air itself seemed to part, creating a vacuum that pulled at everything nearby. Trees, rocks, even light itself seemed to bend toward that absolute division.

But the Masked One was already gone, the last fragments of his crushed crystal fading away like smoke. The attack that should have ended him instead carved a canyon through the forest, a perfect cut that would remain for centuries as a testament to the power of true sword dao. It would later become a mecca for sword cultivators in the Eastern Continent.

The sword spirit stumbled, and Wu Kangming felt control of his body return as his master's presence began to fade.

"Master? What's happening? Are you alright?"

"I... miscalculated," the Sword Saint's voice was fading. "My soul... couldn’t handle even a remnant of my true power. I'll need to rest... recover..."

"Rest?" Wu Kangming's held a note of panic that he hadn’t used in a long time. "For how long?"

"A while,"

Wu Kangming felt his heart clench. As confident as he had shown himself in front of others, it had all stemmed from knowing his master was with him. Without the sword spirit's guidance, he was just Wu Kangming the talentless outer disciple again. The one whose cultivation had been crippled. The one who had been cast aside by his fiancé, his friends, his clan.

"Stop that," his master's voice came again, weaker but stern. "Don't fall into that trap of self-doubt. I chose you because I saw your potential. Everything I taught you – it's yours now. You've earned it."

"But—"

"No buts." Despite his weakening state, the Sword Saint's tone brooked no argument. "Follow the training schedule I designed. And for heaven's sake, let go of that demoness Wu Lihua. Stop making enemies for yourself. You have... bigger concerns now."

For once, Wu Kangming didn't argue about Wu Lihua. How could he, when he could feel his master's presence growing weaker by the second? "I understand, Master. I'll follow your instructions. Just... come back when you can."

"Hmph. Suddenly obedient... just when I'm about to sleep..." The sword spirit's amusement was clear despite his weakening voice. "Remember what I taught you... about the true nature of...the sword" His voice faded to a whisper. "...and goodbye...little Ming."

“Goodbye...Master,” Wu Kangming whispered as he stood alone in the devastated clearing, his plain sword feeling heavier than ever in his hand.

He touched the ring on his finger, but there was no response. His master's presence was still there, but it was so weak it felt like it might flicker out at any moment.

The mist still curled around his feet, but he no longer had the heart to practice sensing through it. Instead, he sheathed his sword and began the long walk to the secret realm that his master had left behind all those millennia ago, each step feeling heavier than the last.

He had won the battle, but the victory felt hollow. His master was gone, possibly for years. The Masked One was still out there, wounded but alive.

The loneliness that swept over him was almost physical in its intensity.

For the first time since receiving his master's guidance, Wu Kangming felt truly alone.