Divine Sword emerges, bodies litter the field; the Ling Clan shall rise, Tianfeng changes hands!
A day had passed.
This phrase was now circulating in Tianfeng City.
Legend had it that on that day, the Shi Clan allied with the Li Clan and, alongside the Ninja Clan’s guards, set out to annihilate the Ling Clan.
The Ling Clan fought until only a hundred remained, when suddenly a divine sword descended from the heavens, wiping out all enemy martial artists except for masters like Shi Long and Li Yunsheng.
Shi Long, Li Yunsheng, and others fled in terror, escaping to Baiyun Prefecture to pledge allegiance to the Ninja Clan—no more need be said.
It was a truly staggering sight, that divine sword dropping from the sky, its light blanketing nearly the entire Ling Clan grounds and thousands of feet around it!
A martial artist walking along the road recounted the tale vividly to his companion.
Oh, come off it—you talk like you saw it with your own eyes.
Another laughed and cursed.
These young martial artists had come drawn by the rumors.
Their strength ranged from third to fifth-tier martial veins, and they’d heard of the Ling Clan’s stand against the Ninja Clan and those traitors, which filled them with admiration.
So they’d come to join the Ling Clan, hoping it would recruit more disciples.
After this battle, though the Ling Clan suffered heavy losses, taking in these newcomers would not only preserve their strength but even boost it.
Yet those opposed to the Ling Clan naturally didn’t want to see this happen.
As the two walked, a gang of black-scarfed thieves burst from the roadside bushes—undoubtedly the infamous Black Scarf Bandits active around Tianfeng City.
Those joining the Ling Clan die! Leave or perish!
That was their opening line.
We’re joining the Ling Clan—who’s going to stop us?
Two young martial artists, ardent admirers of the Ling Clan, drew their weapons.
But in that instant, a swarm of hidden projectiles flew at them like leeches. Though skilled, they were only around fourth-tier martial artists—how could they withstand such an assault?
They died on the spot.
Scenes like this played out repeatedly around Tianfeng City.
The difference was some were killed, some joined the Black Scarf Bandits, and others chose to flee.
Yet the Ling Clan remained unaware, their manpower stretched too thin. They were focused on cleaning up the clan’s wreckage and couldn’t spare attention for outside affairs.
Ling Xiao, Ling Yihang, Ling Yi Xue, Ling Shuang, Ling Zhan, Ling Fei, Ling Wuhen, and other Ling Clan youths were granted special permission to enter the fourth floor of the library to study the remnants of common martial arts.
In the past, only the clan leader and grand elders could access the fourth floor. Among the younger generation, only Ling Chen and Ling Feifan had been allowed in.
But this time, after discussions with the three grand elders, Ling Xiaotian decided to open all four floors, giving every participating Ling Clan member a chance to learn.
These hundred-odd survivors had proven their loyalty through life-and-death trials.
There was no reason to doubt their devotion or character.
The disciples studied their chosen martial arts, undisturbed by one another.
The fourth floor wasn’t what Ling Xiao had expected.
It didn’t house books but stone tablets.
Some were cracked, some incomplete, others shattered into fragments.
Even the intact tablets bore carvings that had been deliberately damaged, rendering them partially illegible.
Everyone holds a different understanding of common martial arts in their heart. It’s a realm, not fixed techniques. If any of you can grasp even a move or two, not only will your combat strength surge, but your cultivation realm will rise too.
Ling Xiaotian had reached seventh-tier martial veins years ago by studying these tablets, though he ultimately failed.
The tablets were incomplete and obscure. He’d grasped only fragments of their meaning, never the full truth.
In fact, the so-called “insights” into common martial arts remnants by people like Ling Chen and Shi Yulian were laughable.
What they’d understood wasn’t true insight—just the barest surface of these remnants.
Hearing Ling Xiaotian’s words, Ling Xiao gazed at the tablets. In a trance, he seemed to see figures practicing varied techniques before them.
Some struck like thunder, shattering mountains in an instant;
Some erupted like earthquakes, leveling towns in a flash;
Some raged like wild winds, uprooting countless lives;
One wielded a lone sword, a casual swing tearing the sky and dimming the sun and moon.
Almost every tablet held a fearsome piece of common martial arts.
But not one was complete.
If they were, how terrifying would that be?
With so many intact common martial arts, the Ling Clan could rule not just Tianfeng City but all of Baiyun Province with ease.
Yet remnants were remnants.
Common martial arts were already obscure and hard to grasp, mastered by few. As mere fragments, the difficulty multiplied a thousandfold, ten thousandfold.
Listen up, these common martial arts are formidable. You mustn’t linger in their illusions too long. After one hour, we’ll forcibly interrupt your practice. Otherwise, you’ll either go mad, turn foolish, or, worst case, die on the spot!
Ling Xiao didn’t dare ignore Ling Xiaotian’s warning.
At this stage, Ling Xiaotian wouldn’t exaggerate. Past practitioners must’ve suffered various fates after exceeding an hour.
And not just one—enough for the clan to set this rule.
Ling Xiao didn’t want to waste time. An hour wasn’t enough to master all the remnants here.
So he zeroed in on one that suited him best, a relatively intact remnant, and focused on it.
Soul immersion!
Ling Xiao entered a soul-immersed state instantly, and everything before him shifted.
On the tablet he’d locked onto, a figure appeared.
It was none other than his own shadow.
From Ling Xiaotian’s explanation, common martial arts had no fixed moves, only core truths. Grasp the truth, and you could create your own techniques.
That’s why they were so hard to learn.
Without reaching martial master, let alone the transcendent realm, one’s grasp of martial arts was weak. Creating your own moves was a pipe dream.
But Ling Xiao was a bit different.
His own understanding might be lacking, but his Mountain River Martial Soul’s comprehension rivaled that of a transcendent-realm martial artist.
Perhaps even surpassed it.
As he fully activated the Mountain River Martial Soul, the figure before him moved faster, repeating various motions, as if probing the remnant’s true essence.
Finally, the figures merged into one, and a clear sequence of moves formed in Ling Xiao’s mind.
First Form—Flying Snow!
From this tablet, Ling Xiao grasped his first sword technique. Though imperfect, a mere prototype, it embodied the remnant’s essence. With further refinement, it could one day reach perfection.
The first form was successfully comprehended.
