Early the next morning, as the first roosters in the town crowed and a thin mist still draped over the rooftops, Tran Kien had already packed his meager belongings. He did not leave silently. He sought out the old blacksmith, the man who had provided him with a sanctuary and a furnace to temper himself over the past month.
He placed three taels of white silver on the table, the entirety of the remaining funds gifted by Van Tam Thong.
"Master," Tran Kien bowed deeply, the bow of an apprentice to their teacher. "I have troubled you greatly this past month. Please accept this small token of my gratitude."
The old blacksmith, puffing on his pipe, looked at Tran Kien, then at the three silver taels on the table. He showed no surprise. He merely exhaled a plume of white smoke, his aged yet perceptive eyes gazing at the youth before him. Over the past month, he had witnessed the boy's metamorphosis. From a frail, taciturn youth, he had become resolute and unwavering; within those eyes, a silent fire seemed to be burning.
"You do not belong here," the old man took a deep drag from his pipe and spoke. "This shallow pond cannot contain a leviathan like you. Take your money back. Consider it your wages for the month. Your old saber is ruined; take this one to defend yourself."
He pointed toward a freshly forged long saber hanging on the rack. This saber was no magical artifact. It was forged from the finest steel in the smithy; its blade was a matte black, its spine thick and heavy, and its edge honed to a chilling sharpness. The entire weapon exuded a rustic, pragmatic aura, yet harbored a terrifying latent power. This was the very saber Tran Kien had personally forged over the past month under the old blacksmith's guidance.
He had poured his enlightenment regarding the Iron Dash incantation and the Solar Essence Guardian into every single hammer strike to create it. It was not merely a weapon; it was a part of him.
"Many thanks, Master!" Tran Kien no longer declined. He accepted the saber. The heavy, familiar weight of the metal transmitted to his palm. He knew that this was the true weapon that belonged to him.
He bowed to the old blacksmith one last time, then turned and departed without a shred of hesitation. The old blacksmith stood there, watching his receding back until he completely disappeared from sight, then muttered to himself: "In these chaotic times, who knows what heaven-shaking waves this leviathan will stir up..."
Tran Kien returned to the official public road. This time, his head was no longer bowed, nor did he disguise himself as a timid weakling. He held his head high, his strides firm and steady. With the matte black long saber strapped to his back, his entire being exuded an aura as unyielding yet razor-sharp as a blade fresh from the furnace.
He had comprehended a profound truth. Evasion was not the Dao. Only by possessing absolute strength could one face all the surging storms.
He headed west, toward the Indigo Capital. The road grew increasingly desolate; the fertile fields giving way to barren hills and gloomy, ancient forests.
One afternoon, while passing through a sparse wood, Tran Kien's ears twitched. He heard the sounds of desperate shouts and the clashing of weapons up ahead.
He did not hide. He silently moved toward the source of the commotion, concealing himself upon a high tree branch to observe.
Below, on the dirt road, a small horse-drawn carriage was besieged by a band of over twenty mountain bandits. The carriage appeared rather ordinary, but it was escorted by two individuals: an old man and a young girl of about thirteen or fourteen years of age.
The old man possessed a mid Qi Condensation Realm cultivation base. He was wildly swinging his sword to fend off the attacks of four or five bandits, but was gradually falling into a disadvantage. As for the young girl, despite her tender age, she was incredibly fierce. Clad in a neat azure outfit, she wielded a long whip that danced through the air like a silver snake, single-handedly holding her ground against three bandits without showing the slightest sign of weakness.
"Hahaha! Old ghost, hand over the brat!" The leader, a scar-faced man who also possessed a mid Qi Condensation cultivation base, laughed uproariously. "Offer her to your granddaddy, and I might just spare your miserable life!"
Tran Kien furrowed his brows. These bandits were no ordinary mortals; every single one of them possessed a cultivation base. This was clearly a gang of rogue cultivators. He originally had no intention of meddling, but upon hearing the scar-faced man's lewd words and seeing the young girl's unyielding, indomitable gaze, a fire flared within his heart.
He was no hero. But he could not stand idly by and watch the weak be ruthlessly trampled.
He did not make a heroic, grand entrance. He silently descended from the tree, moving through the shadows like a hunting leopard, approaching the bandits from behind.
Just as the old escort was slashed on the arm and staggered, on the verge of collapsing, Tran Kien struck.
He made not a single sound. His figure was like a black arrow, shooting straight into the heart of the encirclement. His absolute first target was the very bandit who had just injured the old man.
The bandit was currently flush with arrogance, preparing to deliver a fatal follow-up strike, when he suddenly felt a chilling gust of wind at the back of his neck. Before he could even react, a hand firmly clamped down onto his shoulder.
Then, he felt the heavens and earth spin. Tran Kien did not use his saber. He utilized a rudimentary grappling technique, twisting his body to effortlessly hurl the bandit to the dirt. Simultaneously, his knee ruthlessly smashed into the man's chest.
CRACK!
The crisp sound of shattering bones echoed out. The bandit's eyes bulged as he coughed up a mouthful of fresh blood mixed with visceral fragments, instantly breathing his last.
Everything transpired within the blink of an eye.
"Who goes there?!" The scar-faced leader roared, violently spinning around.
The remaining bandits were equally horrified. They hastily retreated, forming a defensive circle as they warily eyed the indigo-robed youth who had seemingly materialized out of thin air.
Tran Kien said nothing. He unsheathed the matte black long saber from his back. He didn't even spare the scar-faced man a glance, instead looking toward the young girl and the old man. "Are you two alright?"
The old man and the young girl were stunned. They had never expected anyone to come to their aid.
"M-Many thanks, young hero!" the old man said hastily, clutching his bleeding arm.
"Kill him for me!" Seeing his comrade slaughtered, the scar-faced man turned purple with rage. He roared, brandishing his saber, and charged at Tran Kien alongside five or six others.
Tran Kien did not retreat a single half-step. He stood perfectly still. The Primordial Chaos Qi within his meridians began to circulate. He recalled the sensation of swinging the heavy hammer, of cleaving the testing boulder in twain.
As the first bandit rushed him, Tran Kien utilized no complex forms. He merely executed a single motion.
Chop.
A straightforward downward cleave, incredibly simple and direct. Yet, it carried an unblockable momentum. The momentum of tens of thousands of hammer strikes, the momentum of the raging furnace flames, and the luminous, righteous momentum of the Solar Essence Guardian.
CLANG!
The bandit's saber collided with Tran Kien's matte black blade. The outcome was without suspense. The bandit's weapon, an ordinary Mortal Artifact, snapped cleanly in half like dry kindling. Tran Kien's blade, after shattering the opponent's weapon, continued its downward trajectory, leaving a trail of vibrant crimson across the man's chest.
Tran Kien did not stop. He spun his body, the saber in his hand dancing to form a matte black halo.
"Saber Art - Iron Wall."
This was the second stance he had comprehended himself. An absolute defensive technique. The saber glint formed an iron wall, perfectly stonewalling all the incoming weapons of the charging bandits.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
A ceaseless barrage of metallic clashes rang out. The bandits realized in sheer terror that they could not pierce this youth's defensive perimeter.
The very instant his defense concluded, Tran Kien seamlessly transitioned to offense.
"Saber Art - Raging Fire."
This time, his saber shed its calm, unyielding guise, becoming as berserk as a raging inferno. Every slash carried the howling of the wind—fast and devastating. He didn't aim for vital spots; he aimed for their limbs and their weapons. He was systematically dismantling their combat prowess.
Within the span of a few breaths, five more bandits collapsed into the dirt, clutching their severed limbs and wailing miserably.
The scar-faced leader, standing in the back, watched this scene with his entire body trembling in terror. This was no youth at the Qi Condensation Realm. This was a monster! His saber arts were entirely devoid of flamboyance, yet they were ruthlessly efficient and cruel.
All his courage vanished like smoke. "Retreat! Fall back!" he shrieked, becoming the very first to spin around and flee into the forest.
The remaining bandits instantly discarded their weapons, fleeing in absolute panic.
Tran Kien did not pursue. He sheathed his saber, standing quietly in place, his breathing completely even. He had won, and effortlessly so. The scar of his growth was not merely a physical mark; it was a complete metamorphosis in both his strength and his state of mind.