The small boat glided through the silence of the night, gradually welcoming the faint dawn in the east. The sky transitioned from pitch-black to deep blue, then to a rosy hue. A brilliant sun slowly rose from the river's surface, scattering its first golden rays upon the shimmering water, dispelling the chill of the long night.
The journey upon the river had lasted for three whole days.
For these three days, the atmosphere on the boat was incomparably tranquil. Trinh Cong and Lam Vy, having stabilized their states of mind, began to sit down and meditate to cultivate. Lam Vy would occasionally open her eyes, curiously glancing at the two figures who seemed to have turned into stone statues on the boat.
One was Uncle Sword, sitting motionless at the bow. He neither ate nor drank, nor spoke; his entire being seemed to have merged into one with the heavens, the earth, and the river. The other was Tran Kien, sitting at the stern.
But if Uncle Sword was the tranquility of a placid lake without a single ripple, Tran Kien was the silence of a volcano, silently accumulating its energy.
He had sat there for three days and three nights without budging an inch. His hand still held the matte black blade, placed horizontally across his thighs. His eyes were tightly shut. He was not cultivating his Primordial Qi. He was doing something ten thousand times more difficult: searching for his own "Blade Intent."
Within Tran Kien's spiritual world, there was no peace. It was a chaotic battlefield.
He recalled every battle he had experienced. The punch that struck down the Black Wind Wolf. The "Iron Mountain Lean" that shattered the encirclement. And especially the full-force slash, fused with the aura of the Sun Essence Guardian, that snapped Shadow Sparrow's dagger.
Those techniques possessed boundless might. They were direct, tyrannical, carrying an unstoppable power. That was "Force," that was "Momentum." But he also realized their crudeness. They were like sledgehammers, only knowing how to use brute strength to destroy, lacking flexibility and profound variation.
Then he recalled Uncle Sword's flash of sword light. Light, ethereal, yet able to easily neutralize a mighty attack. That was "Intent." It was the comprehension of the essence, using a fraction of strength to achieve ten times the result.
"Your blade was forged in the furnace, carrying the tyranny and radiance of the great sun. Therefore, its 'Intent' must be the will to destroy all evil and cleave through all injustice."
Uncle Sword's words echoed in his mind again. Destroy evil, cleave through injustice. Yes, that was exactly the yearning in his heart. But how could he transform that yearning into true "Intent," fusing it into every slash of the blade?
He sank deeper into his memories. He saw himself standing in the old blacksmith shop in the small town. The "clang, clang" of the iron hammer. The smell of burning coal. The sweltering heat of the furnace. He saw the old blacksmith, saw himself, swinging the sledgehammer, smashing it down on the red-hot steel billet.
One hammer strike, the steel dented. Two strikes, impurities flew out. A hundred strikes, a thousand strikes...
Every hammer strike carried a purpose. It was not destruction. It was refinement. Smashing away the excess, the weak impurities, to retain the most quintessential, hardest, and sharpest part. From a crude, ugly lump of iron, through thousands of agonizing poundings, it transformed into a treasured blade with a soul.
Destroy... to create!
In that instant, a bolt of lightning seemed to strike Tran Kien's soul. He awakened!
He understood now!
His Blade Intent was not merely destruction or tyranny. It was the "Thousand Forges, Hundred Refinements"!
It was the will of the blacksmith. Using the most berserk, most direct power, not to utterly destroy, but to temper, to purge the evil and the filthy, to forge an unstoppable radiance and righteousness! The slash of the blade carried not only killing intent but also the will to reform, the will to reforge order.
BUZZ...
The moment Tran Kien comprehended this, the matte black blade resting on his thighs suddenly trembled, emitting a long, deep thrum. The Primordial Qi within his body, seeming to sense the resonance, automatically surged out, enveloping the blade.
This time, it was not just an external envelopment. That pure, milky-white Qi slowly, slowly... permeated into the blade itself, fusing with every molecule of steel. The matte black blade, originally just a high-grade Mortal Weapon, after absorbing the Primordial Qi and receiving its master's "Blade Intent," seemed to be undergoing a metamorphosis.
The tiny cracks that had appeared during the battle with Shadow Sparrow not only stopped spreading but slowly mended. The matte black color of the blade became deeper, more profound, as if it could suck in light itself. An incomparably sharp aura, instead of radiating outward, completely converged inward. It was like a fierce tiger that had ceased its roaring, merely lying there silently, yet its dangerousness had increased tenfold.
At the bow, Uncle Sword, who had kept his eyes closed all along, suddenly opened them. His profound gaze looked toward Tran Kien, a flash of unconcealed astonishment and admiration in his eyes. He comprehended it? In just three days? A monster! Truly a monstrous genius!
Tran Kien slowly opened his eyes. He didn't look at anyone. He merely looked down at the blade in his hands. The feeling now was completely different. He could feel its "life." It was no longer a tool, but had become a part of his body, an extension of his will.
He stood up and stepped into the middle of the cabin.
He didn't perform any complex techniques. He only made one motion.
Slash.
A slash toward the river's surface.
There was no whistling of the wind. There was no brilliant blade light. It even looked slower than before.
But as the blade passed, the previously tranquil river surface was suddenly cleaved into a perfectly straight line, over two zhang long. The cleavage was so deep that the river water couldn't immediately close back up. All the power, the entire "Intent" of the slash, had been perfectly condensed into a single straight line; not a shred of energy was wasted outward.
Trinh Cong and Lam Vy looked at this scene in terror. The same person, the same blade, but the might of this slash compared to what they saw in the forest was like the difference between heaven and earth.
Tran Kien sheathed his blade, nodding in satisfaction. This was true power.
"Not bad," Uncle Sword's voice rang out. "You have touched the threshold of 'Intent'. From now on, your path on the Martial Dao has truly begun."
He stood up, looking toward the distant riverbank, where the silhouettes of docks and city walls could faintly be seen.
"We have rested enough. Prepare yourselves," he said, his tone turning solemn. "We are about to reach Kinh Chau. The true stage is about to begin."