144: Chapter 143 Bamboo Forged into the Azure Thunder Sword! The Ancient Dojo Has Something Special.

After that black thing finished its sentence, it fell silent.

Lin Feng stood at the edge of the pit, waiting for it to continue.

The wind of the desert blew from the west, carrying sand grains that struck his face, stinging painfully.

He waited for a long time, but that black thing did not speak again.

It simply hovered in the distance, the size of a fist, motionless, like a solidified drop of ink.

Then it moved.

It didn't float toward him; it floated toward the distance.

Its speed was not fast, like a falling leaf drifting in the wind, floating very slowly, very lightly, as if it might fall at any moment.

Lin Feng watched it drift away without chasing it.

He stood in place, watching that black thing become smaller and smaller, further and further away, finally turning into a dot and disappearing on the gray horizon.

The desert was quiet again.

No tentacles, no black smoke, no shrill, chattering voice.

Only the wind, the gray, dusty wind, blowing from the west and drifting away to the east.

Lin Feng stood there, watching the direction in which the black thing had vanished, standing for a long time.

Then he turned around and walked in the opposite direction.

After walking a few steps, he stopped and looked back.

The large pit was still there, the glass-like sand at the bottom of the pit was still glowing, sparkling.

Scattered around the edge of the pit were some fragments of bamboo, left over from the explosion just now.

Those fragments were long and short, thick and thin, black, like charred wood.

He walked over, squatted down, and picked up a fragment.

The fragment was the size of a palm, very light, like a piece of paper, but very hard, like a piece of iron.

The surface was black, but the cross-section was deep purple, like solidified blood, like an eggplant in late autumn.

He flipped it over to look, and there were patterns on the cross-section, circle after circle, like the annual rings of a tree.

[nether bamboo Fragment (Purple Materials)]

[Quality: Purple]

[Usage: Weapon Forging, Medicinal Pill Refining]

[Effect: Contains the power of the nether, can significantly increase the sharpness and toughness of weapons]

[Description: The essence of nether bamboo, extremely rare. A complete nether bamboo is already hard to come by, and those that can leave behind fragments are even rarer.]

Lin Feng looked at that line of description, and his eyes lit up.

Purple Materials, rare, increases sharpness and toughness.

He stood up and looked around.

There were many fragments scattered on the ground, large and small, at least a hundred pieces.

That explosion had blown over a hundred nether bamboo stalks into fragments; most of the fragments had been burned to ashes, but some remained, scattered around the edge of the pit like black gemstones spilled on the ground.

He began to pick them up.

Squatting down, piece by piece, he picked them up and put them into the wanxiang ring.

Some fragments were very small, only the size of a fingernail, but he picked them up too, not minding the trouble.

Some fragments were very large, the size of a washbasin, so he held them with both hands and carefully placed them into the ring.

After picking for about half an hour, he counted them; he had picked up over three hundred pieces in total.

The large ones were the size of a washbasin, the small ones the size of a fingernail; piled together, they looked like a pile of broken black glass.

He clapped his hands, stood up, looked at the pile of fragments, and had an idea.

He sat down cross-legged and poured the pile of fragments out of the wanxiang ring, piling them in front of him.

The fragments piled up into a small hill, pitch black, standing out conspicuously in the gray, dusty desert.

He took a deep breath, placed his hands toward the pile of fragments, palms facing down.

"Talent — Activate."

Pale golden light surged from his palms, enveloping the pile of fragments.

The fragments floated up in the golden light, one by one, like black butterflies.

They rotated, collided, and fused, as if they were dancing, as if they were fighting, as if they were devouring each other.

[Fusion object detected: nether bamboo Fragment × 347 (Purple Materials)]

[Materials Fusion]

[Recommended consumption: 800,000 - 1,200,000 Magic Value]

[Fusion direction: Weapon Forging]

Lin Feng looked at the recommended consumption and gritted his teeth.

One million Magic Value; he currently had 2.31 million, which was enough.

He took a deep breath. "Inject one million Magic Value!"

The golden light soared, stinging his eyes, making him squint.

Those fragments rotated crazily in the golden light, spinning faster and faster, denser and denser, like a black whirlwind.

The fragments were colliding, rubbing against each other, and melting.

Those black surfaces began to peel off, revealing the deep purple body inside.

The deep purple became brighter and more vivid in the golden light, like ripe grapes, like an eggplant in late autumn, like solidified blood.

The whirlwind stopped.

The fragments stopped rotating; they gathered together like a pile of kneaded plasticine.

They were deforming, elongating, compressing.

From a pile, it became a mass; from a mass, it became a single piece.

That object slowly took shape in the golden light, becoming clearer and clearer.

It was a sword.

The sword body was slender, deep purple throughout, as if polished from amethyst.

There were patterns on the sword body, one after another, like ripples of water, like traces of wind, like the annual rings of a tree.

The hilt was black, forming a sharp contrast with the deep purple of the sword body, like the boundary between night and dawn.

A pale cyan gemstone was embedded at the crossguard, with thunder light swimming inside the gemstone, crackling.

The golden light dissipated.

The sword fell from mid-air and stuck into the sand in front of Lin Feng, the sword body trembling slightly, emitting a low hum.

[Obtained: Azure Thunder Sword (Gold)]

[Quality: Gold]

[attack power: 7800-8600]

[Effect 1: Agility +200, spirit +200]

[Effect 2: 50% chance to trigger "Azure Thunder" effect upon attack, summoning a bolt of cyan lightning to strike the target, dealing spirit × 10 thunder attribute damage]

[Effect 3: Damage +80% against Nether-type and Dark-type creatures]

[Effect 4: Holder's movement speed +30%, attack speed +20%]

[Effect 5: Comes with skill "Thunder Flash"]

[Thunder Flash: Instantly teleport to any location within 30 meters, leaving a bolt of cyan lightning at the original location, dealing spirit × 5 thunder attribute damage to surrounding enemies. Cooldown: 30 seconds]

[Rank requirement: Rank 45]

[Description: A divine sword fused from three hundred and forty-seven nether bamboo fragments, containing the dual powers of the nether and thunder. The sword body is light, and there is the sound of thunder when swung, hence the name Azure Thunder.]

Lin Feng stared at the sword, his eyes fixed.

Gold quality, attack power of 7,800 to 8,600, a bit worse than the dragon slaying sword in his hand, but not by much.

Agility +200, spirit +200, movement speed increased by 30%, attack speed increased by 20%, and it even had a teleport skill.

He reached out and grasped the hilt; it felt ice-cold to the touch, like holding a piece of ice.

The sword body was very light, as light as a feather.

He swung it once, and the blade cut through the air, emitting a low hum like distant thunder.

The patterns on the sword body were glowing, pale cyan, like tender sprouts in spring.

The thunder light in the gemstone at the crossguard was jumping, crackling.

He held the sword up toward the sky.

The gray sky reflected on the sword body, like a purple mirror.

He watched for a few seconds and put the sword into the wanxiang ring.

The dragon slaying sword was his main hand, and this Azure Thunder Sword could be his off-hand.

Two swords, one light, one thunder, enough.

He stood up and patted the dirt off his body.

That black thing had run away, the bamboo had been refined into a sword, it was time to go.

He looked around; the desert was still the same desert, gray and lifeless.

But he knew, this desert was not a real desert.

Those illusions, those Restrictions, those bamboo, that black thing, all indicated that this place was not simple.

"The Dao arena of an ancient Qi practitioner..." he muttered.

These things only existed in Xuanhuan novels; he hadn't expected that this time he might have actually stepped into one!

Lin Feng looked at this desert, and a strange feeling arose in his heart.

If this was the Dao arena of an ancient Qi practitioner, then what was that black thing?

Was it a Restriction left behind by the Qi practitioner? Or was it the Qi practitioner himself?

If it were him, how could he have become like that? A pitch-black, ragged robe that didn't even look human?

He shook his head and stopped thinking about it.

Thinking about these things was useless; it was better to walk a few more steps, look around more, maybe he could find something good.

He chose a direction and walked toward the depths of the desert.

This time he wasn't rushing; he walked very slowly, stopping every few steps to look around.

There were gravel, sand, dried cracks on the ground, and occasionally a few black fragments, left over from the nether bamboo.

He picked them up and put them into the ring, gathering them little by little.

After walking for about an hour, a silhouette appeared on the horizon ahead.

It wasn't a withered tree, it wasn't bones, it was a building.

It was very far away, very blurry, like a mirage, like an illusion in the desert.

He squinted his eyes and quickened his pace.

The silhouette became clearer and clearer, bigger and bigger.

It was a door.

A stone door, very tall, at least ten meters, very wide, at least five meters.

The door was open, and behind the door was darkness; he couldn't see anything.

There were a few characters carved on the lintel, seal script, winding and crooked; he didn't recognize a single one.

But he could feel that in those few characters, there was some kind of power.

It was very faint, like a flickering candle in the wind, but very pure, like a spring in the snowy mountains.

He stood in front of the door, looked up at the characters, and watched for a long time.

Then he lowered his head and looked at the darkness behind the door.

The darkness was very thick, very dense, like ink, like asphalt, like solidified blood.

He took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The darkness swallowed him.

No sound, no light, no wind.

Only darkness, endless darkness.

He felt himself falling, falling, falling.

It wasn't his body falling; it was his consciousness falling.

Like sinking into the deep sea, like falling into an abyss, like dropping into a bottomless well.

He reached out his hand, but couldn't touch anything.

He opened his mouth, but couldn't shout anything.

He opened his eyes, but couldn't see anything.

Only darkness, endless darkness.

Then, he saw a point of light.

Very far, very small, like a star.

That point of light was jumping, flickering, summoning him.

He walked toward that point of light, one step, two steps, three steps.

The light became closer, bigger, brighter.

It wasn't a star; it was a torch.

The torch was inserted into the wall, and there were murals carved on the wall.

He stood in front of the mural, looking at those paintings.

The first painting was a person, standing on a mountain peak, facing east.

He was wearing a Daoist robe, his long hair draped over his shoulders, holding a sword in his hand.

The sword pointed to the sky, and in the sky was a sun, the sun was shining, radiating brilliant light.

The second painting was still that person, standing in the clouds, with mountains and rivers beneath his feet.

He held the sword in his hand, the sword pointing to the earth, and the earth split open, with spring water gushing out from the crack, the spring water converging into rivers, and the rivers converging into the sea.

The third painting was still that person, sitting under a tree, with a stone table under the tree, and a scroll of books on the stone table.

He was lowering his head, reading a book.

Many people were surrounding him, men and women, old and young, all lowering their heads, also reading.

The fourth painting was still that person, lying on a stone bed, eyes closed, motionless.

Many people were surrounding him, crying, kneeling, kowtowing.

He was dead.

Lin Feng looked at the last painting, watching for a long time.

That person was dead, his Disciples were crying, kneeling, kowtowing.

And then?

The mural ended here; the back was empty, there was nothing.

He turned around and continued to walk forward.

The torches lit up one by one, illuminating the path ahead.

Murals appeared one by one, telling the story of that person.

He walked for a long time and saw many murals.

When that person was alive, he was very powerful, able to fly, move mountains and fill seas, and summon wind and rain.

He took in many Disciples, built many Dao arenas, and wrote many books.

Later he grew old, his hair turned white, his back hunched, and he couldn't even lift his sword.

His Disciples left; some went to distant places, some set up their own sects, some never returned.

In the end, he was alone, sitting in this desert, waiting to die.

Lin Feng stopped and looked at the last mural.

That person was sitting under a tree, with a stone table under the tree, and a scroll of books on the stone table.

He was lowering his head, reading a book.

There was no one around him, only that tree, that scroll of books, that desert.

He watched for a long time, then turned around.

There was no road ahead; the torches were extinguished, the murals were gone.

There was only a door, a wooden door, very small, very old, the doorknob was bronze, rusted.

He pushed the door open and walked in.

Behind the door was a room, very small, with only a stone bed, a stone table, and a stone chair.

Lying on the stone bed was a skeleton, the same as the one he had seen under the withered tree earlier, grayish-white, with fine cracks on the surface.

The skeleton was wearing a Daoist robe; the robe was already mostly rotted, leaving only a few strips of cloth.

Beside the skeleton was a sword; the scabbard was black, the hilt was white, and there was rust on the sword body, but it was much better than that previous rusty sword; at least he could still make out the shape of a sword.

Lin Feng walked to the stone bed and looked at the skeleton.

He remembered the person in the mural, the person sitting under the tree reading a book, the person waiting to die.

This was his room, his bed, his sword, his bones.

He lowered his head and bowed.

Then he straightened up and looked at the sword.

The scabbard was black; he didn't know what material it was made of, but it felt very smooth to the touch, like jade.

The hilt was white, very clean, no rust, no dust.

He grasped the hilt and gently pulled it out.

The sword body was silver-white, very bright, like moonlight.

There were two characters carved on the sword body, seal script, winding and crooked.

He didn't recognize them, but he could feel that in those two characters, there was some kind of power.

It was very faint, but very warm, like a stove fire in winter.

He inserted the sword back into the scabbard and put it into the wanxiang ring.

It wasn't that he wanted to steal his things, but that he was helping him keep them safe.