Chapter 29 The Sword’s Name: Azure Heaven

Not long after Lu Han left, a group of people arrived with Zheng Qi.
“Captain, the ones on the ground are Zhu Jian and Guo Minglang. Judging from their condition, they’ve been dead no more than fifteen minutes,” one of them reported, returning after checking the bodies.

“These two useless fools! Killed by a brat who just broke through to the seventh level of Postnatal Realm—they deserved to die,” Zheng Qi growled through gritted teeth. He knew these two must have gotten greedy for merit and failed to send a signal in time.

“That boy is still nearby. The moment you spot him, send up a signal and keep him pinned down. Do you all understand?” Zheng Qi’s gaze swept coldly over his men.

“Yes, Captain!” Seeing his dark expression, none dared to argue.

“Captain, the rations we brought will only last us five more days. We—” One man hesitated, but finally mustered the courage to step forward.

A crisp slap cracked through the air.

“That brat didn’t have a scrap of food on him, yet he’s managed to survive here. You call yourselves veterans and can’t even solve this?” Zheng Qi’s slap sent the man flying.

Everyone shivered, not daring to provoke Zheng Qi further.

…

“Master, are you sure this place is safe? They’re not far from us,” Lu Han voiced his doubts.

“This place is quite hidden. Below is a bamboo forest; if anyone enters, there’ll be noise. We’ll know as soon as they arrive,” Old Ling replied, still seated cross-legged atop the azure ring.

Lu Han was now on the mountainside of a small hill. Bamboo covered the foot of the mountain, while the upper slopes were barren rock. Under Old Ling’s guidance, he’d found a small cave.

“Master, how long have we been here?” Lu Han asked suddenly.

“About twenty days or so,” Old Ling calculated.

“So much has happened in this short time! Nearly a month already, and in two more months the clan assembly will be held. When that happens…” Lu Han’s voice betrayed his worry.

Recalling the events of that day, Lu Han was now certain that Lu Ran and his uncle had colluded behind the scenes.

Lu Han possessed exceptional talent in the Lu clan. With Lu Hui gone to the Jinyang Sect and showing no interest in vying for head of the family, Lu Han was the natural candidate for the next clan leader. Lu Ran was capable, but still fell short compared to Lu Han.

Now, with Lu Han missing, if Lu Tianlin proposed electing a young clan master at the upcoming assembly, the odds were that Lu Ran would be chosen.

These were Old Ling’s deductions after hearing Lu Han’s account, and though they were only conjecture, Lu Han couldn’t help but worry.

“Boy, there are still two months to go. Don’t overthink it—focus on surviving the present ordeal. That Zheng Qi is at the peak of the ninth level of Postnatal Realm,” Old Ling offered comfort.

…

“That’s true. Sigh, other people’s masters are so attentive to their disciples. I’m really pitiful, taking a poor master for cheap—can’t even get a decent weapon. Master, the difference is just too great,” Lu Han grumbled, picking up a small stone and tossing it ahead.

“You brat! After all that talk, you just want to extort something from me, don’t you? But did you really call me poor?” Old Ling was genuinely angered—being looked down upon by one’s own disciple was a blow to his pride.

“You little rascal, you’ve really provoked me this time. Here, take these.” The azure ring glimmered, and a sword and a scroll appeared before Lu Han.

“I don’t even know the name of this sword. I got it many years ago from an ancient cavern. My Dustless Sword has been with me my whole life, so this one has just stayed in my ring,” Old Ling spoke of the Dustless Sword as if mentioning family.

“It’s just right to give it to you now. This sword is no ordinary blade—at least, it’s not inferior to my Dustless Sword,” Old Ling said with a touch of pride.

“Dustless Sword? Master, show it to me!” Lu Han asked eagerly.

“Show it to you? It’s no longer with me, and I’m afraid I won’t ever get it back in this lifetime,” Old Ling sighed with regret.

“You won’t get it back?” Lu Han was puzzled.

“Don’t ask what you shouldn’t. When the time comes, I’ll tell you,” Old Ling clearly didn’t want to elaborate.

Lu Han didn’t pursue the matter and turned his attention to the sword. It measured three feet three inches in length, one inch wide, thin as a cicada’s wing. The hilt was a greenish-blue, exuding a biting chill; the blade gleamed like frost and snow, and engravings along the hilt seemed to shift like constellations.

Lu Han was quickly captivated and reached out instinctively to grasp the hilt.

“Wait!” Old Ling’s thoughts had drifted to his Dustless Sword, and he hadn’t expected Lu Han to grab the hilt so quickly.

A sizzling sound broke out—the chill crept up Lu Han’s entire arm, leaving it frozen stiff.

With a wave of Old Ling’s hand, the ice on Lu Han’s arm shattered.

The sword clanged to the ground.

“Boy, I forgot to tell you: this sword is forged from Celestial Cold Iron. Without channeling your inner energy, you’ll freeze,” Old Ling teased.

Lu Han activated Frost Chill Technique and picked up the sword again, feeling its icy chill seeping into his hand.

Even with his affinity for ice and cultivation of ice techniques, Lu Han found it almost unbearably cold, a testament to the sword’s frigid power.

“You little brat, you’ve lucked out. Many tried to trade treasures and rare herbs for this sword, but I never agreed,” Old Ling recalled how, back in the sect, so many elders had tried to exchange their prized possessions for this blade, but he’d always refused, having decided long ago to save it for a future disciple. Fate, however, had its own designs…

“Thank you, Master!” Lu Han grinned.

“Now that it’s yours, you should give it a name.”

“The sword’s chill is so intense it feels like the netherworld’s river. Let’s call it ‘Bilu’—the Azure Abyss,” Lu Han said after a moment’s thought.

A crisp sword cry seemed to ring in Lu Han’s ear as he spoke.

“Master, did you hear that?” Lu Han wondered if it had been his imagination.

“Hear what? No one’s coming,” Old Ling checked the surroundings.

“Not that—I mean, did you hear the sword ring?” Lu Han clarified.

“No, what’s got into you?” Old Ling was perplexed.

Lu Han found it odd; he was sure he’d heard it. “Maybe it was just my imagination,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“As for this martial technique scroll, I created it myself out of boredom. It should be at the high profound rank,” Old Ling said with pride. He’d invented it after he broke through to the ninth level of Earth King.

“Master’s own creation? High profound rank!” Lu Han quickly grabbed it, afraid Old Ling would change his mind.

Lu Han had never seen a high profound rank technique before—he’d only ever witnessed his father using the family’s Golden Spirit Saber Art and its companion technique, the Giant Spirit Golden Blade, splitting the training ground in two—a sight he’d never forgotten.

“Boy, I always meant for you to have the Azure Abyss Sword. The scroll is a sword technique, but cultivating it won’t be easy. Plus, you still need to master Heavenly Raiment. The Azure Abyss will be of great help,” Old Ling smirked, knowing well the hardships of mastering a high profound rank technique.

“I’ve finally understood—without true strength, you’re just prey for others. Last time, I was captured and forced into that cave—never again. Don’t worry, Master,” Lu Han said, clenching his fist.

He carefully unrolled the scroll.

High Profound Rank Martial Technique: Sword Ground Ice Lotus.

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