408: Chapter 408 New Sword Intent Formed, Chen Xiaodao's Strength Leaps Forward

As the morning light just began to climb over the ridges of the Qiming Plain, the Night Cliff Martial Arts Training Ground was still soaked in a cool mist.

Chen Xiaodao sat cross-legged in the center of the trial platform, his sword resting across his knees. His fingertips lightly brushed the spine of the blade, remaining motionless.

The wind swept over the tips of the grass, swirling a few withered leaves. He suddenly opened his eyes and whispered, "Not right."

With a flick of his wrist, the long sword left its scabbard by three inches, and a cold flash of light cut through the morning mist, yet he frowned and withdrew his hand.

"It's still too 'substantial'," he muttered to himself. "Slicing flesh, breaking bone, piercing armor—I'm familiar with all of those. But what about the Soul? How do you cut something you can't see or touch?"

He closed his eyes, and images of last night's battlefield surfaced in his mind—the rebel mecha suddenly losing control, their cannons turning to fire upon their own people.

In that moment, he hadn't noticed the anomaly with his eyes; rather, there had been a sharp sting in his Divine Sense, as if someone had driven a needle into his brain.

"That was the moment." He opened his eyes, his pupils constricting slightly. "That feeling... it wasn't an attack on the physical body, but something tunneling directly into the Sea of Consciousness. The Psionic Code the enemy used traveled through the Divine Thought channel."

He slowly stood up, sheathed the sword on his back, and formed hand seals, letting the Qi flow through his Meridians and slowly pour into his brow.

"Since others can use external force to sting me, why can't I do the opposite and send my own Sword Intent out?"

Before his voice had even faded, he suddenly raised his hand and pointed a finger at the center of his brow!

Sizzle—

A soft sound rang out, like hot iron entering water. His face turned deathly pale as he stumbled back two steps, a thin line of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"No... that's too ruthless. Any heavier and I'd go insane."

He wiped his mouth and gave a cold laugh. "I used to practice the sword fearing I'd hurt others. Now I practice fearing I'll hurt myself. How fucking ironic."

He shook his head and stood firm again. This time, he didn't force his way into the Sea of Consciousness but instead condensed his Qi into a single line, slowly probing into the depths of his mind like a fine needle.

With every inch it advanced, the veins on his temples throbbed.

"I remember when I was a kid... the day the Zerg invaded," his voice lowered. "The village was burning, the fire reflected in the puddles. I lay in a pile of corpses, not daring to move. Back then, my head was full of buzzing, like thousands of insects crawling."

He paused, his gaze growing colder. "That feeling hasn't dissipated even now. Every time I close my eyes, I can still hear the crying. This isn't trauma; it's a brand."

He suddenly grinned. "Since I can't cut the Souls of others yet, I'll start by taking a blade to my own."

With that, he drew his sword. He no longer formed seals or circulated his technique; he simply stood straight and struck down at the air!

"Sever!"

There was no sound of wind, no brilliance, and even the Qi fluctuations were so weak they were almost imperceptible.

But in that instant, his whole body swayed as if half his breath had been snatched away.

"Cough!" He knelt on one knee, clutching his chest, his breathing ragged.

But his eyes lit up.

"It worked... just a little bit."

He used his sword to push himself up, panted for a few breaths, and then swung out another strike.

This time, he didn't attack himself. Instead, he looked toward a discarded wooden Puppet at the edge of the field—an old object used for testing Sword Qi strength, covered in runes and very sturdy.

A flash of sword light.

The Puppet didn't fall, and no cracks appeared on its surface.

But a second later, the runes on its body that had been faintly glowing went dark one by one, as if a flame had been snuffed out from within.

Chen Xiaodao stared at it and asked softly, "Can you still move?"

The Puppet stood frozen in place, motionless.

He knew this thing had no sentience to begin with, but that strike just now had clearly severed the 'connection' between it and its driving Formation—

That invisible, intangible thread was precisely a form of the 'Soul'.

"So that's how it is," he murmured. "It's not about destroying the vessel, but severing the 'Root of Existence'."

He looked up at the sky; the sun had already risen, and the mist was about to disperse.

"Soul-Slaying Sword Intent... it's not a sword for killing people, but a sword for severing intent. No matter how much strength you have, once the intent is severed, your movements are useless. No matter how strong your shield is, once the consciousness collapses, the defense is broken."

He flexed his wrist and slowly raised his sword again.

This time, he closed his eyes.

The sword didn't move, but the surrounding vegetation suddenly swayed slightly. It wasn't the wind, but some invisible tension in the air twisting.

"Again."

He swung the sword.

Silent and soundless.

An old locust tree thirty feet away suddenly shuddered, and a large patch of leaves rustled to the ground.

It wasn't cut or shaken; rather, the entire tree seemed to have suddenly 'forgotten it was supposed to be alive.' The branches instantly turned withered and yellow, and even the bark began to peel away.

Chen Xiaodao opened his eyes and looked at the tree, remaining silent for a long time.

After a moment, he smiled.

"Finally... I've found the threshold."

He looked down at his hands; his palms were covered in sweat, and his fingertips were still trembling.

This wasn't from fatigue, but a reaction to the over-exhaustion of his Divine Sense.

That strike just now had almost taken him down with it.

"I can't use this recklessly," he sheathed his sword, his tone calming down. "One slip and I'll sever my own mind first."

He walked to a corner of the Martial Arts Arena, picked up a piece of rubble, and drew a circle on the ground, then placed a dot inside it.

"From now on, I need to train in stages," he muttered while drawing. "First stage: lock onto the target's Divine Thought fluctuations. Second stage: simulate the penetration path. Third stage: precise strike—severing without wounding."

He thought for a moment and added, "A maximum of three strikes a day. Any more and my head really will explode."

Having said that, he stood up, brushed the dust off his pants, and looked up at the sky.

The sun was high, and from the distance came the shouts of children practicing their arts, along with the hum of a mecha patrol squadron flying low.

Life in the Family had returned to normal, as if the great battle last night had never happened.

But he knew things were different now.

He turned and walked toward a stone table at the edge of the field, poured a bowl of water, and gulped it down in one go, stopping suddenly as he wiped his mouth.

"Wait."

He stared at the surface of the water.

The ripples settled, reflecting his face—young, cold, his left Mechanical prosthetic limb gleaming with a faint metallic luster.

But in that instant, he seemed to see his reflection in the water blink.

And he himself hadn't moved at all.

He suddenly looked around, but the surroundings were empty.

When he looked back at the water, the reflection was normal.

"A hallucination?" He narrowed his eyes. "Or... did that strike just now loosen my own Soul?"

He didn't panic; instead, he smiled. "Interesting. It seems this Soul-Slaying Sword Intent can be used not just externally, but internally as well."

Maybe one day, I can use it to clear away stray thoughts, sever obsessions, and even... cut away the pain of the past."

He set the bowl down and said softly, "That's enough for today."

He turned to leave but stopped again.

Turning back, he drew his sword and made a light stroke in the air.

An extremely faint golden trace remained in mid-air, like an invisible wound that refused to dissipate.

The surrounding grass and trees withered silently, leaves curling and falling to the ground, and even the soil lost its vitality, turning a grayish-white.

He looked at that sword mark, his gaze calm.

"Soul-Slaying Sword Intent... it is complete."

He sheathed his sword and walked out of the Martial Arts Arena with his hands behind his back, his steps steady and his back straight.

The sunlight spilled over his shoulders, highlighting a thin layer of sweat. The wind blew past his ears, carrying away the last trace of fatigue.

He knew that from this day forward, his sword would no longer just be a Sharp Weapon for killing enemies.

But rather—

A blade capable of severing the Soul.