The winds howled across the jagged cliffs of Mount Sky Sever, yet the ancient mountain stood unmoving—its cliffs sharp like broken blades, its very presence exuding a dignified stillness that silenced even the most restless thoughts.
This was not a mountain shaped by time or erosion.
This was a mountain cut—split by swordlight, carved by will, tempered by the legacy of countless blade-bearers who had left their marks upon the world.
Lin Mu stood at its foot, alone.
There were no cheering disciples.
No familiar allies.
No Meng Bai, no Daoist Chu.
Even his tamed beasts had been barred.
This journey… would be his alone.
Only the Grand Elder, High Elder Yan Dao, and two other high elders accompanied him. Their expressions were solemn, reverent even, as they stepped past layers of invisible formations that sealed this part of the mountain from all others.
