The Monster is Coming

Chapter 457 The Lone Flame Resonates, the Profound Dao of the Sword

The days of sword practice passed quietly amidst sweat and repetition.

Tu Hu gradually gained some understanding of the simple yet emotionally charged sword techniques, and as he wielded his heavy sword, the pale golden protective intent became increasingly solid.

But as his cultivation deepened, his curiosity about the old man Cangxuan not only did not diminish, but increased day by day.

What kind of past did this being, who was willing to perish with civilization yet left behind a wisp of shadow to pass on the "Tao," have?
Why did Dreamweaver disappear?

What secrets are hidden in the background story?
These questions scratched at his heart like cat claws.

Finally, unable to contain his intense curiosity, during a training break, he shouted in his mind:

"Guide, I need you."

【put.】

"I want to know about Cangxuan's past."

[3 sacrificial power.]

"Give it."

As soon as he finished speaking, the sacrificial power was automatically deducted, and the image on the light screen unfolded in front of Tu Hu.

……

Dream World.

This is a world where "Dream Power" drives technological growth.

Here, dreams are not illusions during sleep, but the cornerstone of civilization.

The development of the entire civilization is based on "dream deduction" through the subconscious network.

The world's development branched out into numerous sub-sectors thousands of years ago.

There are four core systems.

They are: the Path of Technology, the Path of Dream Weaving, the Path of Psychic Energy, and the Path of Genes.

Researchers at TechPath use dreams as the most powerful simulator, completing countless material synthesis and energy formula calculations within dreams, and then bringing the successful results from the dreams into reality, similar to virtual technology on Earth.

Psionic cultivators hone their spirit in dreams, learning to manipulate objects with their minds and weave illusions.

Those who explore the path of genes analyze life maps in their dreams to find the optimal direction for their own evolution.

Scholars of the Dream Weavers attempt to weave illusions in their dreams, turning inspiration into reality.

In addition to the four major systems, there are more than 300 other development paths.

Every path of development is forged based on dreams.

This was a golden age of flourishing ideas and diverse perspectives, where civilization bore fruit in all its forms through dreams.

This was also a golden age in which imagination was transformed into great power.

Wucheng, a border town.

This ancient city, built with huge black stones, once had a glorious past.

In the distant past, when other systems were still in their infancy, martial arts was the only supreme power in the Dream World.

The warriors of that time were the initial spears that pioneered civilization and the shields that protected it.

But the tides of time keep rolling forward.

When other systems rise rapidly by relying on efficient "dream deduction", martial arts, which require years of hard work to hone one's strength and will, and rely heavily on personal talent and comprehension, seem out of place.

It's too slow, too bitter, and full of uncertainty.

The birth of a top martial artist takes decades, while a dream weaver or psychic can rise to prominence with just one successful dream enlightenment.

Martial arts are gradually declining.

The glory days have faded, and Wucheng has fallen from the center of the world to the periphery of civilization.

The younger generation is leaving one after another, heading to the floating city that shines with the light of civilization, in pursuit of a more "promising" path.

The ancient training ground, once bustling with activity, is now deserted, with only a few figures repeating moves that are now considered "outdated".

In a corner of this ancient city, permeated with an atmosphere of loss, the black-haired youth Cang Xuan was facing a mottled wooden stake, swinging his iron sword again and again.

His gaze was incredibly focused, blending seamlessly with his surroundings.

Many of my friends have switched to studying the "Psionic Way," which allows them to acquire power more quickly, or have entered the Dream Network to learn the more cutting-edge "Dream Weaving Way."

Only he continued to face the wooden stake day after day, wielding the seemingly clumsy iron sword in his hand.

"Cang Xuan, are you still practicing your outdated techniques?" A young man carrying a bag, about to leave, called out as he passed the training ground. His words were not malicious, but rather tinged with regret.

Cang Xuan did not answer, but gripped his iron sword tightly.

His gaze remained fixed ahead, as if the wooden stake held a view unseen by others.

In this world where dreams are the primary means of deduction, a boy who cannot fit into his dreams and can only hone himself through hard work in reality seems to have had his future predetermined from the very beginning.

Night fell over the ancient Wu City, its lights scattered and far less dazzling than those of the distant floating city.

After finishing his cultivation, Cang Xuan pushed open a creaking wooden door. Above the door hung an old plaque, the characters blurred by wind and rain, but the character "Cang" could still be vaguely discerned.

This is his home, and also a kendo dojo that no longer has any students.

The food on the table was simple.

An old man with white hair and beard, his face etched with the lines of time, placed the largest piece of meat into Cangxuan's bowl.

He was Cangxuan's grandfather and the last master of this martial arts school.

The old man watched his grandson silently eating his rice, a complex emotion flashing in his cloudy eyes.

He put down his chopsticks and spoke in a hoarse voice, breaking the silence:
“Xuan’er, today… the City Lord’s Mansion’s Spiritual Energy Academy sent a recruitment notice and gave us a spot. They tested you and found that your spiritual power is actually not weak. It’s just that your direction is different. Switching to the Spiritual Energy Path may not be without a future.”

Cang Xuan paused, his hand still holding the food, without looking up.

The old man sighed and continued:

“This martial arts school has been guarded by you for 42 generations, which is enough. Times have changed, and some things should be let go. Grandpa doesn’t want to see you waste your whole life on this dead end.”

Cang Xuan finally raised his head, his gaze resolute, and looked at his grandfather:
"Grandpa, I'm not going to the Psionic Academy."

He put down his chopsticks, gripped the iron sword beside him, and spoke in a calm yet undeniable tone:

"I want to stay, inherit the martial arts school, and carry forward the 'Cang' sword style."

"Nonsense!" The old man's voice rose a few decibels, filled with a pained disappointment:

"Carry forward and promote? What can we use to carry forward and promote it? Look at the present, who is still willing to learn this thankless and laborious thing? The outside world is the future, you are guarding an empty city and a broken wooden sword, what future can you have!"

Cang Xuan pursed his lips and remained stubbornly silent.

Seeing his grandson like this, the old man's anger finally turned into a helpless sigh.

He slumped back in his chair, gazing at the dreamlike night sky in the distance outside the window, and murmured:

“Xuan’er, it’s not that my swordsmanship is useless, it’s just… times have changed. No matter how hard a fist is, can it outrun the will? No matter how sharp a sword is, can it cut through the steel behemoth created by technology?”

Cang Xuan followed his grandfather's gaze to the window. The bustling city in the sky seemed like a completely different world from the desolate place he was in.

He withdrew his gaze and looked back at his grandfather, saying each word clearly:

"I don't know if a fist can outrun a will, or if a sword can cut through steel, but I do know that if even we give up, then martial arts will truly die... I want to try again."

A long silence fell over the room.

The old man looked at the unextinguished flame in his grandson's eyes and finally let out a long sigh.

As time went by, the boy's figure, wielding his sword in front of the wooden stake, grew increasingly upright.

Spring has passed and autumn has come, but Grandpa's sighs still echo in my ears, while the old martial arts school is now overgrown with weeds.

The old man never got to see how far his grandson's "Try It Out" would go before he passed away peacefully, leaving behind the empty martial arts school and the heavy legacy for Cang Xuan.

Cangxuan has now grown into a young man.

He still practices swordsmanship and cleans the martial arts school every day, guarding a promise he made in his youth that no one understands.

As Wucheng grew increasingly desolate, he became one of the few people in this ancient city who still breathed the air of the "past".

But the tide of the times will not stop because of individual perseverance; instead, it will sweep in in a way that no one can predict.

On this day, Cang Xuan practiced his sword in the courtyard as usual.

Suddenly, a signal was forcibly switched to all parts of the city at the same time.

A voice, brimming with barely suppressed excitement, resounded in every corner of the world through the Dream Network broadcasting system:
"Urgent report! Breakthrough! The chief dream weaver team has successfully anchored a brand new coordinate in the deep sea of ​​the subconscious."

Cang Xuan stopped wielding his sword and looked up.

On the broken screen in front of him, a vast starry sky and countless complex graphics were displayed, and a scholar was excitedly waving his arms:

"It is a vast and boundless world, with resources and energy levels far exceeding our wildest fantasies. Preliminary observations show that the world contains infinite possibilities that allow our Dream Weaver civilization to achieve its ultimate leap."

"We named it: Land of Dreams."

"Fellow countrymen, a brand new era belonging to the Dream Weaver civilization is about to begin, and our future is limitless."

The entire Dream World was thrown into an unprecedented frenzy.

Cheers erupted in the floating city, as countless people were captivated by this brand-new future.

In the desolate city of Wu, the remaining residents took to the streets to discuss the groundbreaking discovery that had shaken the world.

Only Cang Xuan remained quietly standing in the dilapidated courtyard of the martial arts school, gripping his sword tightly once more, continuing to practice.

The sound of an iron sword slicing through the air and the cheers coming from afar seemed to come from two completely different worlds.

After that, the era of immigration began.

Every year, a flood of exciting news arrives through the Dream Network like snowflakes:

"The first pioneers successfully established an outpost city in the 'Land of Dreams': New Hope."

"The unique resource of the Land of Dreams, 'Spirit Essence Crystal Ore,' has been proven to greatly enhance the purity of Dream Power, ushering in a new era of technological advancement."

"The GenePath team has successfully discovered a new evolutionary path using samples from extraterrestrial organisms..."

Every year, tens of millions of hopeful Dream Weavers travel through the giant dream portal to that future city flowing with hope.

Wucheng became increasingly deserted, and even the last few neighboring households sold their belongings and joined the migration wave.

The neighborhood where Cang Xuan lived was now completely empty except for him.

The last neighbor to leave was an old woman who had watched him grow up.

She shuffled to the entrance of the martial arts school, placed a small bag of dried fruit—his favorite childhood treat—into his hand, her eyes filled with love and reluctance.

“Xuanzi, everyone has left... I won’t try to persuade you anymore. You must take good care of yourself.”

Cang Xuan held the still-warm dried fruit in his hand, watching the old man board the airship leaving the city, turning back every few steps, until he finally became a black dot on the horizon.

He stood there for a long time before silently turning around and closing the creaking door of the martial arts school.

Soon after, even the infrastructure that kept the city running stopped working.

The water and electricity were cut off, and the pipes and lines that once flowed with the brilliance of energy became cold, lifeless decorations.

Fortunately, Wucheng is nestled against the mountains and beside the water, with a clear lake nearby that has nourished this ancient city for thousands of years.

Cang Xuan then cleared a small plot of land in the backyard of the old martial arts school, relying on the farming skills he had learned from his grandfather.

He cut down vines to weave fences, made the simplest farm tools from wood and stone, and carried water from the lake one load at a time for irrigation.

Work at sunrise, and rest at sunset.

While his compatriots far away were building magnificent cities in the "land of dreams" using cutting-edge technology, he was turning over the fragrant soil with a hoe.

While the residents of the floating city enjoyed spiritual plants and food, he was chewing on the unripe grains he had grown.

In addition to the calluses from years of wielding a sword, Cang Xuan's palms now bear many new scratches.

Life has completely regressed to an almost primitive state, creating a temporal and spatial dislocation from that glamorous, rapidly advancing dream-weaving civilization.

Occasionally, Cangxuan would wipe the dusty trophies and old photos in the martial arts hall in the afternoon.

The photos show the ancestor's heroic posture as he sparred with various martial arts masters, as well as the lively scene of the martial arts school where disciples gathered in the past.

Occasionally, he would stroll through the deserted city, passing by ancient inscriptions that recorded the glorious history of Wucheng, and flipping through dusty books in abandoned schools that recorded the history and poetry of the Dream World.

In fact, what Cangxuan wanted to protect was not only the inheritance of martial arts, but also the memories of this civilization.

What he resisted was not the progress of civilization itself, but the fanaticism of completely abandoning the past and severing ties with the roots in pursuit of a new world.

During this period, news of the war occasionally arrived, but it was always accompanied by songs of victory.

All reports point to one conclusion: the Dreamweavers are powerful enough to crush any indigenous force that dares to block their access to resources.

The advantage is unshakeable.

That radio, barely kept afloat by old crystals, became his only connection to the noisy outside world.

Amidst the crackling static of the electricity, news came that our compatriots were making great strides in the "land of dreams."

He heard his compatriots building magnificent cities on foreign lands, cities far surpassing those in the Dream World itself, and heard the new technologies named "Dream Light" and "Torch of Civilization" sweeping across the battlefield.

The content broadcast on the radio was a spice in Cangxuan's life.

When he heard that a newly built floating city in the "Land of Dreams" was named after a highly respected classical poet from the Dream World, a slight smile involuntarily appeared on his lips, because his grandfather had taught him to recite the poet's verses word by word under the lamp.

This gesture from his compatriots far away made him feel that his cultural roots seemed to transcend endless time and space, continuing to thrive in a foreign land.

When the radio reports that a certain psionic school he had heard of had achieved a revolutionary breakthrough under the stimulation of an otherworldly energy environment, he would stop swinging his sword and reveal a serious expression of contemplation.

It's not that I envy their power; it's like a hermit who lives far from the court but still cares about the harvest of agriculture and sericulture throughout the land.

He would subconsciously assess the potential impact of this new technology, whether good or bad.

This is an instinct deeply ingrained in his blood; even when abandoned by the times, he still cannot completely sever his concern for the future of civilization.

But his sword remained simple, even appearing somewhat lonely.

On the edge of the fields as dawn breaks, in the courtyard bathed in moonlight... the sound of an iron sword piercing the air, the ripples on the lake caused by the wind, and the subtle sounds of crops growing intertwine, becoming the only stubborn heartbeat of this deserted city.

However, this tranquility was destined to be short-lived.

The message broadcast on the radio subtly changed over the following years.

The tribesmen seem to have encountered a crisis in the land of their dreams.

The local resources of DedeCMS are being rapidly exploited.

Cang Xuan witnessed firsthand how distant mountains were swallowed up and flattened by large mining equipment within a few months, how once clear rivers became murky due to the energy refineries upstream, and how energy silt clouds, like scars, began to appear in the sky.

The land of my hometown is withering away at an unprecedented rate.

That year, Cangxuan was 43.

This day marked the anniversary of my grandfather's death.

A small airship painted with the "Pioneer" logo landed on the deserted street in front of the martial arts school.

A cold-faced figure stepped down and displayed a forced relocation order in front of Cang Xuan. "According to the Civilization Concentration Act, all remaining population of the Dream World must relocate to the Dream Land within the specified time. This area has been designated as a resource recycling zone and will soon undergo a complete environmental transformation."

Cang Xuan stared silently at the document stamped with a bright red seal, then looked up at the land that had given him birth and nurtured him, now a land ravaged by war.

In the end, nothing was said.

He returned to the martial arts school and took with him the iron sword that had been with him for many years.

Before locking the martial arts school gate, he buried the dried fruit that his neighbor's grandmother had given him under the old tree in the yard.

As he stepped onto the airship and looked back one last time, he saw an ancient city whose soul had been emptied and which was dying.

The airship took him to a newly built area in Hope City.

The moment my feet touched the ground, an unprecedented feeling instantly swept over my entire body.

The air here is viscous; with each breath, what you inhale into your lungs feels not like gas, but rather liquid life energy.

With its wild and vigorous energy, it spontaneously permeated his limbs and bones without any guidance, washing over every inch of his flesh and blood, and even the deeper source of his life.

In his original world, physical growth required years of training, but here it became very simple. The energy in the air was everywhere, so dense that it almost solidified into a substance.

He could even "hear" his body making greedy swallowing sounds, every cell rejoicing.

He instinctively gripped the iron sword in his hand, and an indescribable realization welled up in his mind.

This "dreamland," regarded by its compatriots as a treasure trove of resources, may not have its true value in terms of visible mineral deposits, but rather in its pristine environment that can directly nourish the source of life and drive its evolution.

In their homeland, where spiritual and dream interpretation are highly valued, physical evolution has long been neglected; even if it exists, it is only related to genetic modification.

On this land, the seed of "martial arts" within him, which had been dormant for many years, seemed to have finally found the most suitable soil for it to sprout.

Finally, Cangxuan was placed in a honeycomb-like living unit.

His neighbors were all residents of the homeland who had been forcibly relocated in the last round of migrations; he was among the last group of migrants.

Here, he gradually pieced together some of the truth from the conversations of the residents and the occasional rumors that circulated.

Our compatriots have encountered an invasion by a powerful force in this world, and several resource extraction sites have already been seized.

This race possesses a power system they have never known before, and the martial arts technology upon which the Dreamweavers rely for survival and development poses little threat to this force.

After the outbreak of war, it was almost a one-sided massacre.

The Dreamweavers' proud psionic storms are easily absorbed by the race and transformed into nourishment for themselves.

The meticulously woven dream traps can be invaded by them through consciousness, causing the dream weaver to suffer a mental breakdown.

The physical strength of the genetic path will be instantly eroded by the spiritual pollution they spread, causing them to turn against the source.

Even the most physical technological weapons are difficult to produce effective killing power.

They suffered repeated defeats and were completely routed.

All technological systems developed based on "dreams" are pale and powerless in the face of this mortal enemy.

Only now did Cang Xuan fully understand why his hometown was being exploited so ruthlessly.

That was civilization's arduous struggle and resistance in the face of adversity.

The past he was protecting seems to be collapsing.

In the days that followed, he found a narrow, abandoned open space between apartment buildings and began practicing his sword again, day after day.

Here, every swing of the sword feels completely different.

The energy of heaven and earth in my home world is scarce, requiring immense willpower to even activate a trace of it.

But here, when he focused his mind on the sword moves, his thoughts actually affected the sword's power.

When he poured his longing for his homeland and his anxieties about the future of civilization into the iron sword in his hand, the rich and vibrant energy of heaven and earth around him seemed to be drawn by an invisible hand, spontaneously converging towards him.

Where the sword's edge swept across, the air rippled almost imperceptibly.

Cang Xuan gradually figured it out and realized that the power of the sword seemed to be related to his emotions.

When his mind was highly focused and his emotions were at their purest, a faint golden glimmer appeared on the ordinary iron sword.

This is neither psionic nor any known form of energy.

It originates from his will and emotions, and is a product of the resonance between his heart and the energy of heaven and earth on this magical land.

This power fluctuates with his emotions and coalesces with his will.

Upon discovering this, Cang Xuan was deeply shocked.

He felt as if he had reached a height that none of his ancestors had ever reached.

From then on, he devoted himself even more wholeheartedly to cultivation.

He was kept away from the shadows of war and panic in the outside world.

He transformed his concern for the past and his worries about the present into the purest motivation, pouring it into every swing of his sword.

Year after year.

In a deserted corner, his sword speed slowed down, but each strike carried a profound emotion, as heavy as a mountain, yet held back.

The pale golden glint gradually stabilized, eventually transforming into a stream of light that lingered around the iron sword, solidified and unwavering.

His life level is also undergoing a transformative metamorphosis under the nourishment of this rich energy of heaven and earth.

Muscles and bones become more resilient under the influence of energy, the five senses become more acute than ever before, and even thinking becomes clearer and more insightful.

While his compatriots relied on external technological development, he was forging an unprecedented path along the oldest route of inward seeking.

The leap in strength was quietly accomplished through this daily arduous training.

However, the external situation continued to deteriorate during this period.

The defeat at the front continued, and the defensive line outside "Hope City" was on the verge of collapse.

The piercing sirens frequently tore through the city sky, each sound signifying that the battle line had been compressed further.

The criteria for conscription were gradually relaxed.

Many practitioners from non-mainstream systems who were previously rejected due to low potential or incompatibility with the system have now been qualified to enlist.

This also includes the martial arts system that only Cang Xuan remains.

That day, Cang Xuan finished his morning training, and the pale golden light flowing on the iron sword slowly receded into the blade.

He returned to his room.

Outside the window, another urgent alarm ripped through the sky.

Immediately following was the sound of an explosion in the distance, which even caused the ground beneath his feet to tremble slightly.

He walked to the window and saw the floating psionic tower at the edge of the sky slowly collapsing amidst the distant firelight. This was one of the important nodes in the "Hope City" defense system.

The defenses are about to break down.

Civilization has reached its final moment.

He silently gazed at the distant firelight, but what flashed through his mind were the petals fluttering in Wucheng in spring, his grandfather's gentle eyes as he taught him to read under the lamp, the mutual support among neighbors, and the good news on the radio that made him feel that culture was still continuing...

These memories constitute his understanding of "dream-weaving civilization".

Beyond the ever-evolving technology, there is also warmth and heritage.

His swordsmanship was also learned for the purpose of inheritance and protection.

But what is the point of an individual's perseverance when the civilization that carries all of this is about to perish?

If the skin is gone, the hair will not be attached.

What he pursued was never the so-called pinnacle of swordsmanship.

The swordsmanship he learned is a continuation of the ancestral culture passed down to his generation.

Cang Xuan made a decision at that moment.

He took one last look at his lodgings, resolutely pushed open the door, strode into the crowd outside the window, and headed against the flow towards the recruitment square.

Next, the battlefield will be the final destination of his swordsmanship.

The recruitment office was in complete chaos. When Cang Xuan announced "Martial Arts Department," the busy registration officer didn't even look up. He simply mechanically entered his information and randomly assigned a number.

There was no capability testing, no combat strength assessment.

No one cares about the specific abilities of these applicants from non-mainstream systems.

Cang Xuan, along with tens of thousands of other applicants from various non-mainstream systems, was hastily assigned to a newly established unit, the "73rd Independent Tactical Response Detachment".

But Cang Xuan knew perfectly well that this was nothing more than a mixed army composed of miscellaneous units.

The team was a mixed bag.

There are primitive shamans who study herbs and totems, poets who study music, craftsmen who are proficient in mechanisms and traps, and many others like him who practice different backward schools of thought.

Their only commonality is that their power systems cannot be effectively integrated into the existing war system.

Even the higher-ups didn't know how to use them. Although they had enlisted, they were only responsible for logistical support work.

They were ordered to stand by behind the defensive line.

The equipment distributed was also the most basic standard energy armor.

The squadron's temporary commander was a psionic officer who had been wounded and retired from the front lines. One of his arms was corroded by energy and wrapped in suppressive bandages. His eyes were filled with exhaustion and numbness.

Facing this ragtag army, he skipped even the most basic pre-battle mobilization, and said in a hoarse voice:
"We will not be directly involved in the war...we are responsible for transportation, and there is basically no danger to our lives."

Cang Xuan didn't speak. He found a relatively quiet corner and slowly wiped the iron sword in his hand.

Waiting for the moment when the sword is drawn.

That day, Cang Xuan's logistics unit received an urgent request for assistance from the front lines:
"All non-combat units, proceed immediately to Sector 142."

"Independent Engineering Team 73, the psionic repair device in Sector C7 has been contaminated by the energy of the Light-Eater Clan. Immediately transport the backup device there, right now!"

Upon receiving the order, Cang Xuan's team did not hesitate and decisively set off with the heavy spare equipment.

But just as they were passing through a building ruin that was collapsing due to the energy impact, the light ahead was swallowed by an invisible darkness and suddenly dimmed. Then, countless twisted figures emerged from the shadows.

Their forms seem to be made of solidified darkness, the nightmare of the Dreamweavers: the Light-Eater Clan.

They were clearly drawn here by the vibrant life force here.

"It's the Light Erosion Clan! Take cover! Take cover now!" the wounded psionic officer roared hoarsely. His remaining psionic energy had just begun to glow when it was swallowed up by the dense dark domain like a candle flickering in the wind.

A shaman chanted an ancient prayer, attempting to summon the spirits of nature, but the vibrant energy that touched the darkness surrounding the Eclipse Clan was like a mud ox sinking into the sea, completely assimilated.

A high-explosive device thrown by a craftsman disappeared into the darkness without even causing a ripple.

Despair, like cold vines, coils around everyone's heart.

All their means of resistance were meaningless in the face of the powerful combat units of the Eclipse Clan.

Just then, a figure stepped out from the crowd.

It was Cangxuan.

He gripped his iron sword, his steps steady, as he walked toward the dense darkness that devoured the light.

The leader of the Eclipse Clan sensed the abnormality of this "prey," and the darkness around him surged violently, transforming into a dark tide that devoured everything and swept towards Cang Xuan.

Time seemed to stand still at this moment.

All the onlookers saw was Cang Xuan slightly raise his wrist, and the iron sword gently flicked upwards.

Block.

The dark tidal wave, powerful enough to devour spiritual energy and annihilate matter, came to an abrupt halt the moment it touched the sword's edge, as if it had struck an invisible barrier.

The next second, Cang Xuan flipped his wrist, and the iron sword was thrust forward.

Draw your sword.

It was just another ordinary, unremarkable stab.

The dense darkness seemed to be forcibly "dispelled" by some invisible force as the sword tip pointed towards it.

The swarms of Eclipse warriors melted away instantly, like snow under the blazing sun.

It vanished into nothingness without a sound.

From the moment the attack began to the moment it ended, it was all over in an instant.

Cang Xuan slowly sheathed his sword, and the pale gold flowing on the iron sword quietly disappeared.

He stood still, his breathing as steady as ever.

The entire transport team fell into a deathly silence.

Everyone stood frozen in place like stone statues, their eyes fixed on the figure holding the sword.

Unimaginable, the terrifying Eclipse Clan that instilled despair in them and caused the entire advanced civilization to retreat step by step.

Just like that, it was wiped away by a seemingly ordinary iron sword, as easily as wiping away dust... with a gentle breeze and light clouds?

After the deathly silence came the gasps of those who had survived the ordeal.

Countless gazes, filled with shock, awe, and disbelief, focused on Cang Xuan.

The transportation task is pending completion.

Cang Xuan was soon taken away from the 73rd Squad and entered an underground base protected by layers of psionic runes.

Cang Xuan was no longer facing numb officers, but a group of high-ranking Dreamweavers and researchers with sharp eyes and powerful auras.

Here, he underwent a full examination.

But no matter how the scanning equipment swept back and forth over him, it could not pinpoint the source of the power within him.

His physical data was repeatedly analyzed, and the results showed that his body had been somewhat optimized for survival in this highly spiritual world.

However, his muscle density, bone strength, cell activity, and other indicators are completely mediocre compared to those of other psionicists or gene warriors of the same age.

This is clearly not in line with the physical attributes expected of a combat unit capable of instantly destroying the Lightbringer Clan.

What puzzled the researchers even more was that, during the simulated battle, the monitoring equipment clearly recorded that when Cang Xuan swung his sword, the energy field of the surrounding space did indeed fluctuate violently, forming a unique pale golden force field.

However, there was no sign of energy depletion within Cang Xuan's body.

It was as if the iron sword was merely a fuse, igniting a power that existed outside of him, a power they could not comprehend.

"What is the source of your power? Is it some kind of unknown psionic variant?" A senior scholar couldn't help but ask Cang Xuan, his tone filled with frustration.

Cang Xuan remained silent for a moment, then gave an answer that left everyone even more confused:
"Perhaps, it is... intention."

meaning?
This ethereal concept cannot be quantified or understood within the Dreamweaver Clan's research system.

They tried various stimuli on other test subjects in an attempt to induce or measure the "intention" in Cang Xuan's words, but to no avail.

Ultimately, the high command concluded that the power manifested in a unique form, which could not be categorized into any existing system. Its mechanism of action and energy consumption pattern were unknown, and it lacked the value for widespread adoption. However, its combat effectiveness had been verified, and it had a significant lethal effect on the Eclipse Clan. It was recommended that it be immediately transferred to the Broken Blade Assault Corps to directly participate in frontline combat.

Cang Xuan thus officially stepped into the brutal front-line battlefield.

(End of this chapter)