He has been reincarnated through countless worlds, adorned with billions of mythological terms!

For seven days and seven nights in total.

The moment the cocoon of light shattered, Yun Yi opened his eyes.

A person stood in front of him.

He was eight feet tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, and had a handsome face.

He had sword-like eyebrows that reached his temples, a high and straight nose, and thin lips that, when pursed, resembled an unsheathed sword.

The eyes are closed.

A pale golden membrane, like a cicada's wing, covered the eyelids, and through that membrane, one could vaguely see the eyeballs slowly moving below.

Yun Yi looked at that face and remained silent for a moment.

This face bears a resemblance to his.

It's not the resemblance in facial features, but the resemblance in spirit—that calm, scrutinizing gaze that sees the world as a chessboard.

The clone's eyelids twitched.

Then it slowly opened.

Eyes facing each other.

The clone's pupils were golden, but not the dazzling gilding kind; rather, they were an extremely faint gold, as if diluted with water.

Like the color of autumn sunlight filtering through the sycamore leaves that are about to fall, landing on the ground.

Yun Yi looked into those eyes.

The clone was also looking at him.

Neither of them spoke.

Do you know your own name?

Yun Yi spoke first.

The clone's lips moved, and a voice emerged from its throat, low and steady, like a knife wrapped in cloth:

"King-killer".

Yun Yi nodded.

He reached out and picked up the jade slip on the table, handing it to his clone.

The clone took it and stuck it to its forehead.

After a few breaths, he put down the jade slip, and the pale gold in his pupils brightened slightly.

"Understood?"

"Understood."

Yun Yi stood up from his chair.

The clone's gaze followed his movements without questioning or hesitating.

Those pale golden eyes held only a pure, untainted tranquility.

Yunyi walked to the window and opened it.

The winter wind blew in, carrying a faint, almost imperceptible fragrance of plum blossoms.

Qin had two wintersweet trees planted in the corner of the courtyard last autumn; they should be blooming now.

"Your power comes from two parts."

Yun Yi said, his back to the clone.

"The core is the power of faith, which comes from those who cultivate the Divine Body Refinement Technique."

The more faith you have, the stronger you become; there is no upper limit.

"The support comes from true qi, which originates from my golden core."

"My Nine Dragons Golden Core doubles in capacity with each additional dragon pattern it condenses."

"Theoretically, my current Golden Core capacity is 256 times that of other Golden Cores of the same level—but that's just capacity, not strength."

He turned around and looked at the clone.

"Considering the faith of all living beings, in terms of strength alone, you should be stronger than me now."

"And because you are formed from faith, there is no theoretical barrier to your realm, but that also means you cannot recover your true energy normally. You can only rely on faith to replenish it, and every bit you use is less."

Use it sparingly.

The clone nodded.

"Your first goal."

Yun Yi took out a recording stone from his sleeve and infused it with his true essence.

The scene appears—a sixteen or seventeen-year-old man, with an ordinary face, wearing a gray cloth short coat, standing at the city gate of a certain city, looking up at the notice on the city wall.

The scene was very short, lasting only a few breaths, but his facial features and body outline were clearly visible.

"The eldest son of the Iron Sword Sect Master in Youzhou, Great Yan Dynasty."

On the surface, he is the eldest son of the leader of a top-tier sect in the area, but in reality, he is a reincarnator.

"His cultivation level is roughly at the Martial Arts Divine Realm, and he also practices a technique that leans towards the power system, but he doesn't know the specifics."

"I have reincarnated in about thirty worlds, and it is certain that there is no return crystal."

This is what he saw at Shen Qingqing's place.

The opponent was too weak, and Shen Qingqing didn't even have the idea of ​​recruiting him into the alliance, so the information was just left lying around.

Yun Yi wasn't worried about being suspected after the other person died—because there were many reincarnators like him, and even if they were to form an alliance, they wouldn't be looking for weaklings.

The clone looks at the image in the memory stone and memorizes that face.

"When are you going?"

"Now."

The clone nodded.

He turned and walked towards the door, pushed it open, and stepped into the night in the courtyard.

Barefoot, I stepped onto the cold ground without making a sound.

When he reached the center of the courtyard, he stopped and looked up at the sky.

The winter night sky was high and dark, with stars scattered like broken silver.

The clone withdrew its gaze and stomped its foot.

He shot into the night sky like a golden arrow, disappearing silently above the clouds.

The courtyard was filled only with the fragrance of winter plum blossoms and the whistling sound of the wind passing through the bare branches of the locust tree.

Yun Yi stood by the window, looking in the direction where his clone had disappeared, and remained silent for a moment.

Then he turned around and sat back down at his desk.

He took out a blank jade slip and stuck it to his forehead.

This time, he plans to use the "Three Mysterious Transformations of Mo Wen" technique, which he obtained in the first world, as a foundation to improve it and then extend it further.

The strength of the reincarnators in this world is still unclear.

But the ability to survive must be maximized.

The ink is ground, and the brush is moistened.

The night outside the window was dark, but the lamp in the study was dim.

Yunyi made the first stroke.

When the clone landed on the rocky beach thirty miles outside Youzhou City, it was still dark.

The winter night in Youzhou was as cold as a knife.

The wind blew in unhindered from the northern grasslands, carrying sand and withered grass that stung my face.

The clone stood in place for a moment, getting familiar with the body.

It's not about adapting, it's about becoming familiar—like a person picking up a newly forged knife, weighing it, testing its center of gravity, and feeling the thickness of the blade.

The power of faith flows through the meridians, replacing the blood; true qi swirls in the dantian, replacing the source.

The two forces do not interfere with each other, like two parallel rivers that only converge when needed.

The clone raised its right hand, slowly closing its five fingers to form a fist.

The wind in the air suddenly stopped for a moment—not that the wind stopped, but that the airflow within a radius of ten feet was suppressed by an invisible force.

The moment the fist clenched, a faint golden light peeked out from between the fingers, disappearing in an instant.

enough.

He loosened his fist and looked up in the direction of Youzhou City.

Thirty miles away, a drab city lay on the plain.

The city walls were low, and the torches on the city towers flickered in the wind, like a few sleepy eyes.

Youzhou was a border prefecture. When the Great Yan and Great Wu were at war, it was the front line. When there was no fighting, it became a no-man's-land.

There were more gaps in the city wall than repaired areas. The soldiers guarding the city were dozing off, leaning against the crenellations with their spears in their arms, not even noticing the sound of him falling to the ground.

The clone withdrew its gaze, took a step, and disappeared from the spot.

The Iron Sword Sect is located west of Youzhou City.

It's called a "gate," but it's actually just a three-courtyard complex with a training ground paved with blue bricks.

A plaque hangs at the entrance of the courtyard, with the three characters "Iron Sword Gate" written in gold on a black background. The strokes are strong and firm, truly giving it a sense of iron-like brushstrokes and silver hooks.

However, the paint on the corners of the plaque has cracked, revealing the natural color of the wood underneath, and no one has repaired it.

The clone stood in the alley outside the courtyard wall, its back against the wall, concealing its aura to the extreme.

This body is made of the power of faith, making it easier to conceal its aura than the original body—the power of faith is inherently formless and intangible, and when not deliberately released, it is no different from a roadside stone or a brick in the corner of a wall.