Chapter 124: Zhao Huangting Contemplates the Sword and Recalls the Past; Three Peerless Swords Request Mount Qingshan to Unsheathe

The sword’s name: Swallow Returns to the Nest.

A soft voice lingered above the Sword Pool Palace, resonating between heaven and earth.

It was not a name laden with overwhelming power.

At least, compared to the Seven-Star Dragon Abyss and Shadow’s Embrace—two supreme swords currently held within the palace—it was far gentler.

Yet, hearing the name of this sword evoked an inexplicable feeling, as if the meaning woven into the name itself demanded a solemn silence.

Swallow Returns to the Nest: a reminder to never forget one’s original intention, to return to where it all began.

Hidden within was a sentiment of longing, a yearning for the purest of beginnings, a heart untainted.

Whoever wields this sword must carry with them a burning, innocent heart.

An Le hovered in the air, his tattered blue robe fluttering in the wind, a trace of admiration and fondness appearing on his face as he spoke softly, “Swallow Returns to the Nest… a fine name.”

When the cold plum blossoms have all fallen, the returning swallow carries the spring.

Through the passage of time, one questions their past self and original purpose, quietly wishing well-being from afar.

At this moment, An Le felt profound insights stirring within him. Forging a sword was akin to painting: the sword’s blank form was the paper, the hammer the brush, and the forging process a painter’s stroke, conveying the craftsman’s innermost emotions and thoughts.

The name Swallow Returns to the Nest echoed in everyone’s ears.

Outside the shattered forge within Sword Pool Palace, cultivators stood, their garments billowing in the heated wind. All knew the name of this freshly born treasure sword.

Swallow Returns to the Nest.

A lifetime of wandering the world in style, only to eventually return home.

Zhao Huangting stood, his plain robes fluttering, his frost-white hair dancing in the wind. His eyes closed, lips murmuring the name “Swallow Returns to the Nest.”

In this instant, the sword and his heart aligned as never before.

He had once journeyed the world with a sword in hand.

He had wielded his blade to cleave the Emperor of Yuan.

Though his youthful glory had long been washed away by rain and wind, as life neared its end and the fire of rebirth burned within him, what he sought was nothing more than to return to the earnest heart of his beginnings—the swallow returning to its nest.

Zhao Huangting had once pondered: What was the true purpose of his journey northward?

Was it really just to have a straightforward duel with the Emperor?

Had he never crossed the Canglang River in five hundred years of southern exile, nor drawn his sword against the Emperor of Yuan Mong once?

Today, clarity dawned upon him.

His journey north was to gaze upon his old homeland, to see the nest trampled by the iron cavalry of Yuan Mong.

He was like an old swallow crossing the Canglang River after five centuries, wishing only to return to the old nest at life’s end.

Though he still sought that decisive strike, what mattered most was resolving the knot within his heart.

Zhao Huangting opened his eyes, a fierce sword intent suddenly erupting from his being, his plain robe billowing as if its edges were imbued with sword energy.

Within a radius of thirty feet around him, the space was cleared utterly.

Sword energy rose like a pillar, spreading inch by inch from the earth like bamboo shoots breaking through the soil, soaring upward proudly toward the heavens.

The cultivators of Sword Pool Palace, the sword forgers, and practitioners from the Dali Kingdom all felt shaken, pushed back dozens of feet by this overwhelming sword aura.

Su Muzhe’s dark hair danced, her eyes shining as she watched Zhao Huangting, whose expression now revealed a sudden enlightenment—joy evident in her gaze.

The Dali cultivators, unfamiliar with Zhao Huangting, could only marvel at the formidable power radiating from this once lifeless elder.

“Who is he?” one of them asked in astonishment.

Lu Ziwei’s eyes flickered. Though young, she was familiar with legendary sword cultivators who had left their mark on the history of cultivation.

“You don’t know this elder?” a Sword Pool disciple exclaimed in surprise.

“He’s the ‘Bamboo Guest’ who once roamed the world with his sword, drawing his blade against injustice in Xiliang Kingdom, striking fear into the hearts of ghostly and evil cultivators in the Underworld.”

“He single-handedly blocked the Sword Kunpeng Mountain, battling great demons and sacrificing himself to quell a monstrous tide—a gallant swordsman of renown.”

“He’s the one who, during the great southern migration of the Zhao dynasty, dared to face the peerless sword immortal who slew the Emperor of Yuan Mong with just a broken bamboo sword.”

“His name is Zhao Huangting!”

The young disciple Lü Shisan’s face flushed with excitement as he spoke.

For this elder, unforgettable even to the palace master Su Muzhe, Lü Shisan had grown up listening to tales of his deeds.

Though he had lain dormant for five hundred years, his youthful grandeur faded, the world still remembered his legend and revered his feats.

Lu Ziwei’s beautiful eyes narrowed. Could this be the old royal uncle of the Zhao dynasty, once deemed past his prime by the national teacher?

Yet today, his smile stirred sword energy that soared into the clouds, an aura utterly unlike the fading figure once described.

At this moment, Zhao Huangting’s gaze grew calm, his turbulent emotions settling.

The pain that had enveloped his body gradually diminished; the fire of rebirth compressed within him, ready to erupt with astonishing force.

Sword energy swirled around him as he sat silently.

Countless sword auras permeated his form, cultivating a majestic momentum that steadily rose, as if returning to his former peak, reliving past glory and pride.

Su Muzhe’s face showed pride mingled with sorrow.

She lifted her hand gently and tapped once, releasing countless sword instruments from her brow.

They formed an interwoven barrier around them, shielding Zhao Huangting from disturbance.

As he prepared for his northern journey, she vowed to prevent any interference.

Sword energy spiraled into the clouds like a great dragon coiled in slumber.

Upon the still surface of the Sword Pool Lake, a soft laugh and sigh echoed.

“Good.”

Whether it was praise for the world gaining another supreme sword, Swallow Returns to the Nest, or admiration for Zhao Huangting’s realized insight and return to his original heart, no one knew.

…

Above the vast sky,

Wang Yansheng’s face bore a gentle smile as he grasped Swallow Returns to the Nest, his eyes tender.

Yet the forging of Swallow Returns to the Nest was not yet complete; crucial steps of tempering and sharpening remained.

He looked toward An Le, gradually restraining his smile. “An Le, come with me. Since you are to sharpen Qingshan, you must carefully observe and remember every step.”

“Though Qingshan is a bamboo sword of unknown rank, I have observed it carefully. Though flawed, its rank is certainly no lower than supreme.”

“To sharpen such a sword requires not only strength but also affinity and connection with the blade.”

“Only if Qingshan consents to be sharpened by you may you proceed.”

Wang Yansheng’s voice was seasoned with experience as he shared his understanding of sharpening Qingshan with An Le.

Even when Zhao Huangting had come four times to sharpen Qingshan, Wang Yansheng had never spoken with such earnestness.

It was not simply because An Le had helped forge Swallow Returns to the Nest, but because in Wang Yansheng’s eyes, An Le had a greater chance of sharpening Qingshan.

Qingshan… was more willing to be sharpened by An Le.

An Le nodded. Though nearly spent after swinging the hammer for six days and nights, he dared not relax.

The sword furnace at his brow rang with metallic clangs. The spirit within the heart-shaped sword embryo opened its eyes, radiant mist glowing behind it.

Wang Yansheng held Swallow Returns to the Nest, the blade radiating intense heat and a clear, pure sword chant, like a swallow returning home with a gentle cry.

Forging a supreme sword was no easy feat, but once forged, the sword had passed most tests. What remained—tempering and sharpening—was difficult but with a much lower chance of failure.

Wang Yansheng grasped the blazing sword, seemingly unaffected by its searing heat.

He looked at An Le and said, “An Le, lend me a drop of your blood.”

“This sword belongs to you, forged by your hand.”

Without hesitation, a droplet of blood welled from An Le’s fingertip, floating upward.

Wang Yansheng smeared the blood onto the broad blade of Swallow Returns to the Nest, and as if a joyous cheer echoed forth, accompanied by sizzling sounds, the blood melted into the blade, leaving a dark crimson trace.

An Le felt an intangible bond forming between his spirit and the sword.

“Let’s go!”

Wang Yansheng’s eyes gleamed brightly as a mighty spirit erupted, enveloping An Le and propelling them swiftly toward the shimmering Sword Pool Lake, hovering above it in less than a breath.

Below, the lake’s crystal-clear water mirrored the azure sky, a silver tide brimming with sword energy.

“Tempering is the key to enhancing a sword’s resilience. Since ancient times, supreme swords have been the most unyielding treasures, capable of breaking through all defenses.”

“The founding ancestor of Sword Pool Palace first tempered a peerless supreme sword using the lake’s water. This lake has long been saturated with sword energy.”

“Tempering is not literally immersing the sword in water, but tempering it with sword energy.”

Wang Yansheng’s robes fluttered as silver strands of hair danced in the wind.

An Le hovered nearby, eyes fixed.

By the lake’s edge, sword forgers rushed forth, faces alight with excitement and anticipation.

To witness the birth of a supreme sword was a lifetime’s fulfillment for any sword forger.

Wan Jieliu was the most ecstatic, never imagining that their teacher’s daring gamble—betting everything on this youth—would indeed forge a sword embryo.

Clenching his fists, he stared at the two figures above the lake and the sword that drew every eye.

Tempering and sharpening were vital to a sword’s nature.

The former concerned its toughness; the latter, its sharpness.

These determined whether Swallow Returns to the Nest could truly ascend to supreme status.

The world seemed to grow silent, all eyes fixed on the two figures above the lake.

Wang Yansheng extended the sword, its tip poised vertically above the water. He looked to An Le, who understood immediately and grasped the unshaped iron sword hilt.

Heat and surging sword energy burst forth from the hilt.

An Le’s face flushed red, though most of the sword energy was restrained by Wang Yansheng.

“The sword energy within a supreme sword is extraordinary. A skilled sword forger must possess strength not to slay but to suppress the sword energy.”

Wang Yansheng smiled, then began to apply force slowly.

Together, they thrust the scorching Swallow Returns to the Nest toward the Sword Pool Lake.

Boom!

A sudden gust above the lake roared into a hurricane, swirling like a sudden tornado.

The once placid lake rippled like dragon scales rising, a great dragon bristling its armor.

Sizzle!

As the sword tip touched the cold water, it instantly changed color, shimmering with a translucent crimson, like a ruby forged in a furnace, still ablaze with celestial fire.

Steam rose, rolling across the lake’s surface.

Each wisp of steam carried a sharp sword aura, brimming with cutting power.

The entire lake seemed to boil, heated by the sword’s fiery essence.

An Le’s eyes narrowed; he felt as if he were but a fragile boat tossed by tempestuous waves in a vast sea—about to be swallowed whole.

What a terrifying sword aura!

The Sword Pool Lake itself seemed to become a terrifying blade.

“The lake’s waters have tempered countless swords—from ninth rank to supreme rank. All carry sword energy. Tempering with this water naturally activates the sword energy within every sword that has been refined here.”

“For centuries, tempering has harnessed the lake’s sword energy. This is why swords forged by Sword Pool Palace far surpass those made by any other forge in the world.”

“Because every sword from Sword Pool Palace has been tempered repeatedly by sword energy of equal rank.”

“This is the very foundation of Sword Pool Palace’s status as the world’s foremost sword forging power.”

Wang Yansheng spoke gravely.

“Focus your mind. Tempering is also a test of the forger. If we falter, the sword will fail.”

“Steady your spirit. I believe that, with your affinity to the sword, you can endure and fully immerse Swallow Returns to the lake.”

Wang Yansheng placed great faith in An Le.

They had taken the final step toward forging a supreme sword—there was no turning back.

An Le drew a deep breath, the sword furnace clanging, the spirit beneath emanating sword aura as he held his focus tight.

Boom!

Countless sword energies crashed.

Under their combined effort, Swallow Returns sank another inch into the lake.

Sizzling sounds echoed endlessly as the clanging of countless swords filled the air.

Water columns rose, lifting An Le, Wang Yansheng, and the sword like a dragon curling in the waves.

The dragon roared, seeming to try to devour the searing sword.

An Le and Wang Yansheng passed the sword back and forth, their qi and blood intertwining, spirit expanding to maintain the force, resisting the dragon’s attempt to scatter them.

But this was only the beginning.

Wang Yansheng spared a glance at An Le, who endured the pressure unyielding as a mountain, a look of admiration crossing his face.

Indeed, An Le was a prodigy of sword cultivation who could strike the sword bell thirty-six times. An ordinary fifth-rank cultivator would have frozen with fear under such sword pressure, their spirit dormant.

Yet An Le moved with ease.

Wang Yansheng had planned to assist once An Le faltered, but now it seemed the youth wished to complete the tempering himself.

That was excellent.

He redoubled his effort, pushing Swallow Returns another inch into the dragon’s mouth.

Thud, thud, thud!

The lake’s surface erupted repeatedly, as if countless swords were about to leap into the sky.

The world seemed to grow still.

Water ripples danced as if swords were leaping.

Like thunder striking a drum, the lake roared with muffled explosions.

Inch by inch, the sword sank a foot.

Water turned into sword light, striking the blade with a ringing sharpness that made the sword’s toughness gradually thin and its edge grow keen.

Tempering also meant sharpening.

An Le’s eyes narrowed as he clearly perceived the lake’s principles of sharpening—countless sword energies polishing the blade.

Sword energy sharpens the sword, forging it into the world’s keenest edge.

Wang Yansheng smiled. “The principle is simple, but the process is arduous. And to truly sharpen Qingshan, the ordinary sword energy in the lake is not enough. Watch closely!”

With those words, his blood surged once more.

Silver sword hairs streamed upward as his small frame swelled like an ancient demon god.

His grasp tightened as he pushed the sword another foot.

Boom!

In an instant, brilliant sword lights shot skyward from the lake, water currents coalescing into countless sword forms, their tips pointing upward to greet Swallow Returns.

Beneath the lake, terrifying sword energy grew bit by bit.

The world seemed to darken.

The heavens clouded over, seven stars igniting one by one.

Buzz!

An Le’s eyes narrowed sharply. At this moment, a dragon-like sword chant exploded in his ears.

He felt Swallow Returns quiver—trembling with excitement, fear, and anticipation—like two tigers encountering each other in the mountains.

King against king.

At the lake’s edge, every sword trembled, bowing in submission to the overwhelming presence of a higher-ranked blade.

Before the mountain king, all beasts prostrate.

The lake’s waters parted as if sliced by sword energy, cascading like a waterfall.

Ancient sword light surged into the clouds.

Seven stars shone brightly.

From the lake rose the Dragon King of the Abyss.

The ancient supreme sword, Seven-Star Dragon Abyss!

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The lake erupted endlessly; no longer calm, sword energies intertwined into a storm.

Swallow Returns trembled, An Le’s ink pool at his waist shook, even Qingshan quivered.

But the three trembled differently.

Swallow Returns resisted, the ink pool revered, Qingshan scorned.

Wang Yansheng’s whiskers fluttered wildly, his eyes fixed on the Seven-Star Dragon Abyss slowly rising from the lake’s depths, his face flushed with excitement.

An ancient supreme sword meeting a newly forged one.

Old king colliding with new king.

For Swallow Returns to ascend as a supreme sword, it must be sharpened by the sword energy of Seven-Star Dragon Abyss.

Only then can it truly claim supreme rank.

If Swallow Returns shattered under the sword energy, it meant failure.

“Continue!”

Wang Yansheng roared.

At that moment, purple lightning descended from the clouds, striking the lake’s surface with explosions, stirring monstrous waves.

Crackling arcs of lightning danced around Seven-Star Dragon Abyss, like a celestial sword wielded by an immortal.

Wang Yansheng’s arms bulged, veins rolling like dragons twisting, as he slammed the sword down.

Another foot and a half into the lake!

At this point, Swallow Returns had sunk three feet and five inches into the lake, struggling to advance the final inch.

Countless sword energies hammered the blade; sweat beaded Wang Yansheng’s forehead.

An Le gripped the sword tightly, feeling the remaining inch like an impassable chasm.

The sword seemed to wail in sorrow.

Swallows circled above the lake, fluttering and crying.

An Le gasped for breath, eyes consumed by the fierce clash of sword qi, focused on the inch of blade still reluctant to sink.

Suddenly, Qingshan at his waist rose, cleaving the sword energy’s pressure.

Instinctively, he raised his hand, gripping Qingshan’s hilt backward.

Before him appeared a towering mountain.

Qingshan roared.

An Le understood at once, pulling the sword hilt back forcefully—hilt against hilt!

Sword shattered!

Thud!

The stubborn inch finally plunged into the lake.

The sword bell rang thirty-six times.

Swallow Returns stretched three feet six inches long.

It slipped from Wang Yansheng and An Le’s hands, plunging into the lake, its blade cold and sword aura surging.

Within the Sword Pool Lake, sword energy divided evenly between Seven-Star Dragon Abyss and Swallow Returns.

Thus, this newly forged supreme sword was truly born.

In this world, a new supreme sword had been added.

Boom!

Above the sky, light waves rippled; the dark clouds were sliced open, revealing radiant beams shining upon Swallow Returns, as if heaven itself celebrated the birth of a peerless treasure.

In midair, the water dragon rising from the Sword Pool Lake vanished.

Wang Yansheng’s face was full of satisfaction, grinning widely with joy.

Yet he did not linger; casting a deep glance at An Le, he stepped away and vanished, reappearing by the lake shore, his eyes shining.

The next chapter belonged to An Le.

Upon the Sword Pool Lake,

An Le stood bare-chested, gripping the bamboo sword Qingshan.

Threads of sword energy coiled from his arms as his gaze fixed intently on the lake.

Below,

An ancient figure smiled softly, drawing a sword from his waist, flicking his fingers once.

The sword whistled as it rose.

The Sword Pool Lake was divided anew.

The sword of the Sword Saint—Shadow’s Embrace—rose!

The lake was divided into three realms, the tips of three supreme swords pointing upward, their sword energies swirling, radiating cold light that chilled the world.

An Le held Qingshan, eyes shining, his trembling hand gripping the sword.

Shadow’s Embrace, Dragon Abyss, Swallow Returns.

Three supreme swords.

Let Qingshan be sharpened!

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(This chapter ends)