Chapter Forty-Eight: The Sword's Edge First Revealed

“Not bad, not bad at all. But I’m afraid simply passing the test is still not quite enough!” Qing Po nodded in approval as he spoke.

At that very moment, the false Qing Ying launched another attack, as if to confirm Qing Po’s words.

On the other side, thick azure mist swirled and enveloped the area opposite Tianming.

Instantly, the azure-tinged energy of heaven and earth began to gather at the hands of the blue figure, coalescing into a spiral that whirled ceaselessly in its palms.

“Oh?” Seeing this, Tianming glanced, somewhat surprised, at the imitation of himself.

This time, the false Qing Ying seemed more astute, perhaps aware that Qing Po was the one controlling it. Rather than engaging in close combat, it chose instead to compete in the manipulation of vital energy. Tianming, unconcerned, let silver radiance envelop his surroundings as the energy in his hands swelled larger and larger, like a growing sphere.

Before long, two surges of energy—one silver, one blue—stood opposed at the center of the space.

As expected, in this contest of heaven and earth’s energy, Tianming and his impostor reached a stalemate, neither able to prevail.

It turned out the impostor was copied to match his own exact reserves of vital energy. Tianming had little choice; in close combat he could rely on techniques from his world, but in a pure contest of energy, he was at a disadvantage.

After all, his world was one of civilization, not brute force.

A tremendous blast echoed.

After a long struggle, the two beams of energy gradually dimmed and grew unstable; a wave of blue and silver light rippled through the arena, sending both the real and false figures flying from the forceful backlash.

A metallic taste rose in Tianming’s throat as the tide of energy battered his chest, forcing him to stagger back several steps. He quickly sat down, channeling his energy to shield his vital points—for unlike the impostor, he could feel pain.

Though the false Qing Ying didn’t cough up blood, its azure glow grew dimmer by the moment.

It might seem that neither side held the upper hand, but Tianming knew that if he pressed on, the energy would soon knock him unconscious.

“Perhaps it is as you said earlier, but do you really think the second trial is so easily conquered?” Qing Po shook his head.

He had already warned Tianming repeatedly that this wasn’t about strength alone. Did Tianming’s intelligence not allow him to see that? Qing Po was somewhat puzzled.

While Qing Po was still musing, Tianming stood up and met his gaze with steely resolve.

“Heh, I never thought I could pass with just this,” Tianming replied disdainfully, curling his lip.

He had only wanted to test the depth of his new cultivation; after all, he’d just ascended to this realm.

Tianming wouldn’t foolishly pursue mutual destruction, especially with a trump card yet unrevealed—the outcome was still undecided.

“Do you have some ace up your sleeve?” Qing Po asked, brow furrowing in surprise.

“The will of heaven cannot be spoken. You’re welcome to guess,” Tianming answered with a mysterious smile, exuding boundless confidence.

Qing Po burst out laughing. The ancient sound echoed through the space; he was not so easily taken in.

Since Qing Po didn’t press further, Tianming dropped the pretense and simply drew the Blade of Lightning from his dimensional space.

With a metallic ring, the sword was unsheathed, and a streak of violet light blossomed through the entire chamber.

Tianming’s eyes narrowed as he ran his hand along the crackling blade. Purple lightning danced around the sword, ethereal sparks passing through his palm as waves of electricity radiated outward.

“It’s time to end this,” he thought, gripping the sword with supreme confidence.

With the blade’s blessing, his cultivation soared in an instant to the level of the Void Enlightenment Realm. Tianming felt a new understanding of the world, a swordsman’s intuition that let him sense every fluctuation in the impostor’s energy.

“What is this...?” Qing Po stared in astonishment at Tianming, now bathed in violet light.

With a fierce shout, Tianming unleashed a thousand-foot arc of sword energy, brilliant with purple lightning. It flashed out like a thunderbolt, illuminating the entire space. A storm of overwhelming energy surged, swirling like a vortex as wind and clouds roared.

Lightning crackled from the blade, and under its crushing pressure, the blue shadow cowering in the corner was instantly reduced to ash. The blue-tinged energy in that sector evaporated in a heartbeat.

This was the suppression of absolute power.

It was an insurmountable gulf, a chasm none could cross.

With that single stroke, every bit of energy in Tianming’s body was drained—this was his ultimate strike, holding nothing back.

“Whew, that was no easy feat!”

Gasping for breath, utterly spent, Tianming thrust the sword into the ground and dropped onto the blue-tiled floor. Sweat dripped from his brow, splashing onto the tiles in tiny arcs. He hadn’t expected the Blade of Lightning to consume so much energy.

To deal with a mere impostor at the Spirit Void level—he’d gone overboard. Yet on reflection, the sword was truly fearsome; it could only be wielded to full effect at the Void Enlightenment Realm. Without some limit, it would be unimaginable.

Still, even if drained of all his energy, being able to unleash two such blows was remarkable. Afterward, though he would be utterly vulnerable, if all his enemies were destroyed, he would still be safe—so it didn’t matter.

“Void Enlightenment, second tier?” Qing Po’s mouth twitched as he finally regained his senses.

Impossible. In all his millennia, he had never seen such a heaven-defying artifact. This was not a mere step, but an entire leap in cultivation—far more shocking than Tianming’s previous breakthrough.

Now, watching Tianming, Qing Po realized how little he understood this mysterious young man.

“You truly have given me many surprises,” Qing Po murmured softly.

He wondered why the impostor hadn’t replicated the sword, but then again, how could such a miraculous weapon be duplicated by ordinary means? Shaking his head, Qing Po’s ancient hand swept down in a flash of blue light.

Suddenly, ten pills drifted down, carried by a gentle azure breeze, and landed before Tianming.

“Congratulations: you have passed the second trial. You are awarded ten Merit Pills. Once you have recovered, you may attempt the third trial.”

As the breeze stirred, an aged voice echoed through the space.

Tianming looked up gratefully, then closed his eyes, sitting cross-legged in a pose of meditative absorption.