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

There is light in the yard.

The lamp oil burned so brightly that it cast an orange glow on half of the window paper.

Voices could be heard coming from inside, but they were hard to hear clearly through the wall; however, it was clear that there were two people.

A deep, rough voice, like iron scraping against a grinding wheel, belonged to Zhao Tiejian, the leader of the Iron Sword Sect.

The other voice was much younger, casual in tone, and carried a lazy air that didn't seem to care much about Zhao Tiejian.

"—I told you, that shipment won't arrive until next month."

"You can't rush me, I can't do magic tricks."

Zhao Tiejian muttered something in a low voice, as if he were apologizing.

The young voice rang out again, tinged with impatience:

"Alright, alright, I got it."

"I'll talk to the prefect of Youzhou. Just keep your men in check and don't cause any trouble."

The clone leaned against the wall, listening to every word.

Zhao Duo, the eldest son of the Iron Sword Sect Master.

In reality, Zhao Tiejian himself had become a puppet of his "son".

The other person has no concept of family affection—in the eyes of those who reincarnate, family affection is the least valuable thing.

The clone clearly distinguished the auras within the wall.

Zhao Tiejian, at the early stage of Grandmaster, possesses profound but impure true qi, and his foundation seems to have been forcibly built up with elixirs.

Zhao Duo was a master of martial arts, and his true energy was extremely well concealed. If it weren't for the fact that his clone was made of the power of faith and his way of perceiving was completely different from that of ordinary martial artists, he would have almost fooled everyone.

Besides these two people, there were four other living beings in the courtyard.

Three were in the backyard, breathing evenly; they were servants or disciples. One was in the side room in the front yard, breathing very weakly, like an oil lamp that might go out at any moment.

The clone probed that wisp of aura a little further.

It's a child.

No more than ten years old.

Its vitality was as weak as a charcoal fire that was about to go out in winter.

The clone withdrew its senses.

He didn't think about who the child was, why he was in the Iron Sword Sect, or why his life force had been drained away.

These are things you don't need to think about.

He was a tyrant, not a judge.

He had only one goal—to obtain the cultivation techniques from other worlds from the other party.

In the courtyard, Zhao Tiejian's footsteps stopped, heavy and dragging, heading towards the backyard.

The door hinges turned, and the footsteps disappeared behind a door.

Then, a young voice rang out again.

"Come out, you've been standing there for so long."

The clone's eyelids twitched slightly.

A figure emerged from the darkness.

The two looked at each other across an alley.

The night wind blew in from the alley entrance, causing the lamplight to flicker violently and casting alternating light and shadow on Zhao Duo's face.

"Who are you?"

Zhao Duo asked.

The clone did not answer.

He straightened up from the wall and took a step forward.

With just one step, he walked from the alley into the courtyard, brushed past Zhao Duo, and entered the courtyard.

The oil lamp in Zhao Duo's hand didn't even shake—not because the clone was too fast, but because its speed was just right at the edge of Zhao Duo's reaction, neither too fast nor too slow, as natural as a gust of wind blowing in through the door.

Zhao Duo's expression finally changed.

He turned around, looked at the golden figure in the center of the courtyard with its back to him, placed the oil lamp on the threshold, and flexed his fingers.

The joints made a faint cracking sound, like someone who hadn't really used their hands in a long time warming up.

"You've come to see me?"

The clone turned around and faced him directly.

"You are a reincarnator."

Zhao Duo narrowed his eyes for a moment, then smiled.

The smile was brief, the corners of his mouth lifted and then fell back, and there was no smile in his eyes.

"The same to you."

He sized up the clone, his gaze moving from the handsome face to the bare feet, then back to the face. "So, what brings you here?"

The clone looked at him:

"I'll give you two choices."

"First, tell me all the martial arts techniques and secret skills you know."

"Secondly, I'll find it out myself from your head."

Zhao Duo narrowed his eyes.

He didn't ask any nonsense like "What gives you the right?"

Such dialogue is unnecessary between reincarnators. Anyone who dares to come to them is either a fool or truly confident.

The person in front of him—he couldn't tell what level the other person was at all, clearly not the former.

Do you know how many worlds I've reincarnated through?

The clone did not answer.

Thirty-three.

Zhao Duo said it himself, his tone carrying an undisguised arrogance: "In every world, I am one of the people who survive to the end."

As he spoke, he walked toward his clone.

The steps are small, and the distance between each step is the same, like someone measuring the ground with a ruler.

When he reached the seventh step, his aura changed—the true energy of the peak of martial arts mastery surged from his dantian, flowing along his meridians into his limbs and bones.

The blue bricks beneath their feet cracked silently, the cracks spreading in all directions like a spider web, but stopping only three feet from their feet, with no excess force leaking out.

Having mastered true qi to this extent, one certainly has the right to be arrogant.

The clone stood still, without moving.

Zhao Duo's figure disappeared from the spot.

It's like something abrupt and contrary to common sense, like a figure in a painting being erased with an eraser, leaving only a very faint afterimage.

When it reappeared, it was already three steps to the left of the clone, its right fist wrapped in a layer of dark blue energy, slamming towards the clone's temple.

Before the fist arrives, the energy arrives first.

The clone tilted its head slightly.

The movement was very small, just enough for the punch to graze past his ear.

Zhao Duo's fist missed its target, but the force of the punch did not stop. It detached from the surface of his fist and transformed into a cyan blade of energy, slashing diagonally towards the courtyard wall.

The air blade pierced the wall, leaving a hair-thick crack in the blue bricks. It pierced through the entire wall and emerged from the other side of the courtyard wall, silently severing a branch of the old locust tree behind the wall.

Zhao Duo's pupils contracted slightly.

He retracted his fist, twisted his waist, and spun around, his left leg lashing out like a whip at the outside of his clone's knee.

This kick didn't use any internal energy; it was purely the explosive power of the physical body—the leg shadow made a crisp "snap" sound as it sliced ​​through the air, like the tip of a whip cracking the wind.

The clone raised its right foot and gently stepped down.

Zhao Duo's instep was stepped on.

He was frozen in place, his leg, which had been pulled out, stuck halfway, unable to go forward or backward.

Zhao Duo's expression finally changed.

It wasn't because of the pain, but because he didn't see clearly how the clone lifted its foot.

The clone looked down at him, a hint of disappointment in its eyes:

"So weak."

Zhao Duo did not answer, but his body answered for him.

A violent tremor suddenly came from the instep that was being stepped on—it wasn't an explosion of true energy, but pure physical strength.

His muscles, fascia, and bones resonated in a special way at the same instant, vibrating at an extremely high frequency, like a string being plucked forcefully.

The clone felt the foot beneath its feet suddenly become "slippery".

The opponent transformed their physical body into a mass of rapidly vibrating particles, and any force applied to it would be dispersed, dissipated, or slid away by this vibration.

Zhao Duo pulled his foot out from under the clone's foot, and slid back three zhang, widening the distance again.

He looked down at the back of his foot—there was a clear footprint on it, the skin was sunken and the edges were bluish-purple.

It's been stepped on.

"Are you the reincarnator with Level One privileges?"

Zhao Duo raised his head.