227: Chapter 227 Chen Xiaodao comprehends a new sword intent, severing mental pollution

The horizon was just revealing a hint of gray, the stars had not yet faded, when Chen Wuwang emerged from the Artifact Refining Workshop, covered in the dust of his work. He did not slow his pace, heading straight toward the Main Hall.

His left Mechanical Prosthetic Eye was still automatically scanning the surrounding Spiritual Qi fluctuations, the countdown in the corner of his vision ticking: [05:17:23].

His mind was still turning over Tie Zhu's "Silent Shield" structural diagram, how to embed the electromagnetic damping layer into the rune array most stably, and whether an independent power line connection would affect the reaction speed.

As he was thinking, a streak of sword light suddenly split the morning mist.

"Clang—!"

It wasn't the sound of metal clashing, but the sound of the air being forcibly torn apart.

Chen Wuwang looked up abruptly, only to see a person standing high on the Martial Arts Platform, black clothes fluttering, back to the east, holding a sheathed longsword.

That person stood on the edge of the spiritual energy storm, the ground beneath his feet cracked, and a purple-black mist remained in the air, drifting like insect silk.

But the moment the sword light flashed, the mist was severed in the middle, as if cut by scissors on paper, dissipating silently.

It was Chen Xiaodao.

He stood still, his chest heaving, veins throbbing on his forehead, his right hand tightly gripping the sword hilt, knuckles white.

That sword strike just now was swung instinctively; even he himself hadn't fully reacted to it.

"Listen... Discern... Sever." He muttered in a low, hoarse voice, "Brother was right, no matter how strong they are, they are only 'sound', not 'Dao'."

He closed his eyes, recalling last night.

Since Moyuan appeared and the Zerg retreated, he heard whispers every night during meditation.

At first, it was just tinnitus, later it turned into auditory hallucinations—someone humming nursery rhymes in his brain, voices chanting some twisted incantation, the images also beginning to distort, countless compound eyes, tentacles, and wriggling flesh appearing before his eyes.

He tried to suppress it with Sword Intent, but the more he suppressed it, the more chaotic it became, his mind feeling like it was being pricked by countless fine needles, too painful to sleep.

Until the first half of the night, when he saw the combat records left by Chen Wuwang on the console, playing the sentence said casually before the battle repeatedly: "No matter how strong their whispers are, they cannot stop a sword that severs the heart."

He was stunned.

That sentence ran through his mind over and over again like a code instruction.

"Listen"—receive signal.

"Discern"—identify truth and falsehood.

"Sever"—clear interference.

This wasn't a sword technique; it was logic.

He suddenly understood that he had always been wrong to treat Sword Intent as "defense", but a true sword has always been about offense.

At the second quarter of the early morning, he climbed the East Peak Martial Arts Platform alone.

This place was close to the earth vein rift, where the residual mental ripples were strongest. He sat cross-legged, actively releasing his Divine Sense, letting those purple-black mists wrap around him.

His head throbbed with pain, his vision blurred, and his ears were filled with whispers, but he gritted his teeth and held on, deconstructing it over and over in his mind: Does this sound have a pattern? Does it have a frequency? Can it be located?

Finally, at the darkest moment before dawn, he captured it.

It wasn't random noise, but a resonance wave attempting to synchronize with his spiritual energy circuits and disintegrate his will.

But as long as he reverse-locked the frequency, he could find the boundary between the "source of pollution" and his "true self consciousness".

He drew his sword.

No Move, no charging up, purely a movement of his mind, and the Sword Intent surged out.

That sword strike did not sever an object or a person, but "thought".

The purple-black mist drifting in the air snapped in two at the sound, then turned into fly ash.

He succeeded.

But his physical strength was almost exhausted, his legs weak, and he only managed not to fall by leaning on his sword.

He knew this was just an initial Breakthrough, the Sword Intent was still unstable, and he had to verify it immediately.

He dragged his exhausted body down from the Martial Arts Platform, passing through the queues of patrolling Disciples, no one dared to stop him—the cold Sword Qi on the Young Lord was too heavy, and one would feel palpitations if they got too close.

The Main Hall doors were open, and Chen Wuwang was already sitting at the desk, reviewing a mecha energy dispatch schedule.

Hearing footsteps, he looked up and immediately saw something was wrong.

"Are you injured?" he asked.

"No." Chen Xiaodao caught his breath and stood straight, "But I found it."

"Found what?"

"How to deal with those things that whisper."

He took out a palm-sized discarded spiritual energy board from his embrace, its edges charred black, with faint purple light patterns remaining on the surface—this was a sensor module removed from a Sentry Bug corpse yesterday, which had been exposed to high-intensity mental pollution, and even the protective shield couldn't block its aftermath.

He placed the board on the Sword Testing Stone, stepped back, and took a deep breath.

Closed his eyes.

Concentrated.

At that moment, Chen Wuwang's Mechanical Prosthetic Eye automatically started spectrum analysis, and a set of strange waveforms appeared in his vision: not the sharp high frequency of traditional Sword Qi, but a very short, very precise oscillation pulse, clean and neat like a code instruction.

Chen Xiaodao opened his eyes, raised his hand, and swung his sword.

The sword remained sheathed.

But the space trembled slightly, as if it had been gently plucked by something.

The purple light patterns on the spiritual energy board, like snow meeting the scorching sun, quickly faded and evaporated, disappearing completely within a few breaths.

Silence.

Even the candlelight in the Main Hall stilled for a moment.

Chen Wuwang stood up abruptly, stepped forward, his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye fixed on the board, scanning repeatedly.

The data came out—the residual mental fluctuations returned to zero, with no energy residue or traces of backlash.

He looked up at Chen Xiaodao, his expression changed.

It was no longer the scrutiny of a senior looking at a Junior, but the confirmation of a commander looking at a sharp blade.

"Say that again." He said, his voice very low.

"That thing is afraid of the 'Blade of Severed Thoughts'." Chen Xiaodao looked at him, bloodshot eyes, but glowing intensely, "They invade by sound, so I use my Sword Intent to cut it open. If I can hear it, I can sever it."

Chen Wuwang didn't speak.

He suddenly laughed.

Not a cold laugh, nor a sneer, but the wild joy of someone who had been suppressed for too long and finally saw a Breakthrough.

"Hahahaha—!" He laughed out loud, the laughter shaking the dust from the beams, startling the spiritual birds resting on the eaves.

He grabbed Chen Xiaodao's shoulder, his strength so great that the latter swayed.

"Good! Good! Hahahaha—!" He laughed again, his chest heaving as he laughed, a bloody spiritual pattern flashing across his eyes.

Then he let go, turned, and walked to the steps in front of the hall, looking up toward the east.

The daylight was pushing away the clouds, the first ray of dawn spilling onto the mountain peak, causing the golden light film of the Mountain Guardian Array to shimmer.

The haze remaining from last night had not yet dispersed, but half the sky had already been dyed orange-red.

"This is not just Sword Intent." He said in a low voice, as if talking to himself, and also as a declaration, "It is the first blade to break the deadlock."

Chen Xiaodao walked to his side, the two standing shoulder to shoulder, neither speaking again.

The wind blew up from the valley, carrying the scent of freshly turned soil in the Medicinal Field, and the sound of metal clanking from the mecha maintenance area in the distance.

A new day had begun, the crisis remained, the enemy had not retreated, but at least now, they had a blade capable of severing the darkness.

Chen Wuwang raised his right hand, his fingertips unconsciously carving three marks on the stone railing, like carving code, or marking coordinates.

He was already thinking about the next step.

Who to summon.

How to fight.

How to turn this single blade into a weapon for thousands of troops.

The morning light fell on his silver-white hair, as if plated with a layer of fire.