"How can you help?" Tenmile Vastsky didn’t question it. He just asked calmly.
“I have the Heavenly Chant Sword Manual that was cultivated by the Grand Emperor Yin Tian, as well as the Three Talents Sword Formation left behind by Grand Emperor San Cai,” Xu Zimo replied slowly.
What Tenmile Vastsky lacked right now was experience, he had no path laid by predecessors to draw from.
Don’t be fooled by how casually Xu Zimo mentioned these imperial techniques; the truth was, such techniques were unimaginably rare and valuable.
At Tenmile Vastsky’s level, he had never even encountered an Emperor’s cultivation manual.
It was like the old saying: Ten years of hard work can’t match being born into the right family.
“What’s the catch?” Tenmile Vastsky knew well that nothing in the world came free.
“I plan to form a new force. I’d like you to manage it,” Xu Zimo replied.
“No way. I’ll never be someone else’s subordinate,” Tenmile Vastsky said firmly. “My Sword Dao is about forging ahead without compromise. If I have to live under someone else's roof, my heart won’t be at peace, and if that’s the case, how can I walk the path of the sword?”
“A true swordsman must be sharp and unyielding, but must also know how to sheath the sword,” Xu Zimo said with a smile. “Just like in life, sometimes you stand tall, sometimes you bow and smile.”
Seeing Tenmile Vastsky deep in thought, Xu Zimo continued: “Maybe some people’s martial path is about never retreating. Like the Grand Emperor San Dao, he took extremity to the limit. To him, defense was meaningless. Even if he died by another’s blade, he never retreated, and neither did his sword. But you are not that kind of extreme man. If you were, you wouldn’t be hiding in this village, willing to live as a common blacksmith. Your sword should be able to advance and retreat as needed, unsheathed, it should split the heavens; sheathed, it should conceal its light, return to the ordinary.”
Xu Zimo’s words stirred something in Tenmile Vastsky. He was lost in thought for a long time.
It felt like he was on the verge of grasping something, but the more he reached, the more confused he became.
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Xu Zimo said as he stood up and slowly walked back to his room. “The opportunity is yours to take or leave. To me, a True Meridian Realm cultivator isn’t rare. I just happened to pass by and saw your potential.”
“But for you, this kind of opportunity doesn’t come often. Even if others had imperial techniques to offer, they might not suit you as well as these two do.”
Watching Xu Zimo’s figure disappear, Tenmile Vastsky furrowed his brow deeply and stood in silence for a long time.
Late that night, he finally stood up, resolute. Grabbing the sword he had just forged, he walked into the village.
The wind kicked up clouds of dust, and his silhouette gradually faded into the night.
It was as if the legendary Sword Sovereign had returned once more.
The night passed quietly.
Early the next morning, the peaceful sun shone down.
After cultivating all night, Xu Zimo felt full of energy.
“Strange… nothing happened last night,” Feng Buyu commented.
“You sound disappointed, hoping for danger?” Xu Zimo joked as he stretched and walked out with the others.
The moment they stepped outside, they sensed something was wrong.
Too quiet. Far too quiet.
The entire Desolate Village was dead silent.
There was a faint scent of blood in the air.
Feng Buyu kicked open the door of one of the nearby houses, and a wave of thick blood stench hit him.
All the villagers had been slaughtered in their sleep last night. Even the village head Wang Tao, who had hosted them the night before, now lay in a pool of blood on his bed.
“Everyone... is dead,” Feng Buyu said after a moment of silence.
“I finally realized what was wrong!” Xiao Yu shouted. “Since we arrived yesterday, we never saw any old people, children, or women.
Everyone in this village was a young, able-bodied man!”
The others immediately caught on.
“These people were definitely not ordinary villagers,” Feng Buyu frowned. “But then... who killed them?”
“Vastsky... so, you made your choice,” Xu Zimo said calmly.
Even as he looked upon the massacre, he didn’t seem surprised at all.
He walked over to the village well, drew a bucket of water, washed up like nothing had happened.
“Junior Brother Zimo... do you know something?” Feng Buyu asked, frowning.
Xu Zimo was too calm, even after seeing so many dead, he hadn’t so much as flinched.
“What’s the point of dwelling on this?” Xu Zimo replied with a smile. “It’s irrelevant and meaningless.”
Then he turned and walked toward the village entrance.
“Let’s get moving, if we hurry, we’ll reach Skysword City by noon.”
With their own thoughts weighing on them, the group rode their Soaring Sand Horses out of the village.
As they neared the village entrance, a man suddenly stumbled out of one of the nearby houses.
“Help... help me…” the man was gravely wounded, coughing blood, barely clinging to life.
Xu Zimo dismounted and slowly walked over to him.
Looking into the man’s pleading eyes, Xu Zimo drew the curved blade on his back, Shadow Tyrant.
With one clean stroke, he split the man in two.
The dying man's eyes were still filled with desperate hope.
Feng Buyu wanted to say something but stopped himself. In the end, he stayed silent.
He felt that Xu Zimo was too cold-hearted. If they had saved the man, he might’ve told them who had slaughtered the village.
But with his death, all leads were now gone.
Or... could it be that Xu Zimo had killed all the villagers?
But then again, Xu Zimo had stayed in the room all night. He hadn’t gone out…
Xu Zimo looked at Shadow Tyrant, now bloodied for the first time, and sheathed it back with a smooth motion.
Then he jumped back on his Soaring Sand Horse and galloped ahead.
Now, not only was Feng Buyu confused, Xiao Yu and Tang Huaiyuan were also deeply puzzled.
Dark Thirteen silently followed beside Xu Zimo. He didn’t care about the situation.
His only job was to protect Xu Zimo.
As for Lin Ruhu, he was still the same easygoing onlooker.
He had a big heart and full faith in Xu Zimo.
Whatever Xu Zimo did, he believed there was a reason behind it.
If Xu Zimo wanted to talk, he’d listen. If not, he wouldn’t ask.
Just as they exited Desolate Village, they saw a man already waiting for them ahead.
It was Tenmile Vastsky, dressed in white, riding a Crimson-Mane Horse. A golden longsword hung from his waist.
His black hair flowed behind him. His eyes were as sharp as blades, making it hard to look at him directly. From afar, he looked like a noble and imposing figure.
“The people in that village were all cruel bandits,” Tenmile Vastsky said calmly.