Starting as the heir of a marquis's mansion, I gained access to a summoning system.

The northern border, the Zhenbei Marquis's residence.

Unlike the bustling Central Plains, there are no exquisitely decorated pavilions with carved beams and painted rafters, nor the refined pleasures of scholars enjoying wine cups by winding streams. Instead, there are only heavy bluestone city walls, fluttering military flags, and the ever-present smell of rust and blood in the air.

The north wind howled, cutting like a knife.

Marquis Zhenbei, Wu Lie, was as renowned as Marquis Qi Xue, Dongfang Wudi. For generations, they had guarded the northern frontier, repelling invasions by foreign tribes. Each Marquis Zhenbei had been a valiant general, a veteran of countless battles. This generation's Wu Lie was hailed as the "Iron Wall of the North," for as long as he was alive, the foreign tribes dared not venture further south.

However, the most dazzling presence in this Marquis's mansion was not Wu Lie himself—

She was his eldest daughter, Wu Zetian.

The training ground of the Marquis's residence was as spacious as several acres of farmland.

On the bluestone-paved ground, knife marks crisscrossed, the deepest crack being three feet long, as if it had been cleaved open by some deadly weapon. Around the training ground stood dozens of ironwood puppets, each one mutilated beyond recognition.

At this moment, in the center of the training ground, a figure is practicing with a sword.

She was an eighteen-year-old girl.

She was extremely tall, towering over most men by half a head. A black, fitted outfit cinched at the waist accentuated her slender yet powerful physique. Her long, jet-black hair was casually tied back with a single jade hairpin, a few stray strands scattering in the north wind, brushing against her cool, aloof features.

He had sharp eyebrows and bright eyes, and a high, straight nose.

She was extremely beautiful, but not in a delicate way—her beauty carried a sharp edge, a murderous aura, like a drawn blade on the icy plains of the North, making people afraid to look directly at her.

Wu Zhao.

She held a long, black sword in her hand. The blade was thick and heavy, with a back as thick as a mountain, but the edge was as thin as a cicada's wing. This was the "Broken Army Sword," an heirloom of the Marquis of Zhenbei's family. It weighed eighty-one jin (approximately 40 kg), and an ordinary person might not be able to lift it with both hands. Yet she held it with one hand, as if it were a heavy weapon.

"drink--!"

She gave a low shout, and a flash of light appeared from her blade.

The Seven Forms of Breaking the Army, First Form: Breaking the Formation.

The blade flashed like a bolt of lightning, sweeping across the room. It wasn't about fancy techniques, but pure, brutal combat—every strike aimed at a vital point, every move solely for the purpose of killing. Wherever the blade passed, the air was torn open in a visible white line, emitting a piercing shriek.

At the edge of the drill ground, several young guards from the Marquis's residence stood at a distance, watching in astonishment.

"That strike from the young lady..." one of the guards swallowed hard, "...it must have had the force of ten thousand jin, right?"

"More than that." Another older guard shook his head, his eyes filled with awe. "You haven't seen the young lady at full strength. Half a year ago, that demonic beast was a Grandmaster at the first level, with thick skin and flesh, impervious to blades and spears. The young lady chased it for three days and three nights, and finally cleaved its head open with a single strike. That strike could even split a mountain in two."

Everyone fell silent, their gazes returning to the black figure in the center of the training ground.

Wu Zetian sheathed her sword and stood still, her breathing steady, without a single drop of sweat on her forehead.

The eighty-one-pound Po Jun Dao (破军刀) felt weightless in her hands, and her breathing was even longer than before she practiced. Her blood and qi surged within her like the roar of dragons and the howl of tigers; even the personal guards standing at the edge of the training ground could feel the oppressive aura emanating from her.

Qi and blood flow like a dragon, and spirit is sharp as a knife.

These eight words are the most accurate evaluation of Wu Zetian by the people of the North.

"Zhao'er".

A deep, resonant voice came from outside the training ground.

Wu Zetian turned her head and saw a burly middle-aged man striding towards her. He had a resolute face, fierce eyes, wore a black python robe, and had a long sword at his waist. He was none other than Marquis Zhenbei, Wu Lie.

His steps were steady and powerful, each step causing the bluestone slabs beneath his feet to tremble slightly. The Iron Wall of the North truly lived up to its name.

"Father." Wu Zetian nodded slightly, slammed the Po Jun sword to the ground, and the tip of the sword pierced the stone slab three-tenths of an inch.

Wu Lie walked closer, looked his daughter up and down, and a look of satisfaction flashed in his tiger eyes.

"You've improved again," he said. "When you killed that monster half a year ago, your sword intent wasn't this pure. Now, this strike has reached seven-tenths of its full potential."

"Not enough," Wu Zetian said calmly. "I'm still far from mastering the seventh move of the Breaking Army technique, 'Breaking the Heavens'."

Wu Lie laughed heartily, his laughter booming like a bell: "You're only eighteen years old, and you've already surpassed all the ancestors of the Marquis's family in the past hundred years by reaching the sixth form. The seventh form? That's something your old man only just touched when he was forty."

Wu Zetian didn't speak, but simply gripped the hilt of her sword tightly.

Her silence made Wu Lie sigh.

Wu Zetian's name was not only known in the northern borderlands.

Throughout the entire Eastern Continent, everyone knows the name "Pearl of the North".

One year ago, at the northern border.

Three grandmaster-level experts from other races led their armies to besiege the pass, with 100,000 iron cavalry pressing in, a dark, endless mass. SOS signals for an emergency were repeatedly lit at the border, casting a shadow of war over the entire northern frontier.

Wu Zetian accompanied her father into battle.

She was only seventeen years old when she fought that battle.

Amidst the vast army, she charged into the enemy ranks alone, sword in hand. Her Seven Forms of Breaking Army were like a raging storm, felling alien soldiers like wheat being harvested wherever she went. Her sword was too fast, too ruthless, too precise; every strike wasted not a single ounce of strength.

The alien commander, a Grandmaster at the peak of his cultivation, was so confident in his superior abilities that he wanted to personally kill this arrogant young girl.

Three tricks.

Just three moves.

With her first move, Wu Zetian broke through his protective inner energy.

With her second move, she severed his weapon.

The third move, the Breaking Army Blade, cleaved into his left shoulder and out through his right ribs, splitting a Grandmaster-level expert in two.

The other two grandmasters, one with his right arm severed and the other with half of his lung shattered by the sword energy, desperately escaped back into the formation.

One hundred thousand iron cavalry, leaderless, were utterly routed.

In that battle, Wu Zetian's sword was stained with blood, and her black outfit was soaked through, turning a dark purplish-black. Standing amidst the mountains of corpses and seas of blood, her body covered in blood, she remained unmoved, simply uttering a single sentence:

"Who else?"

No one dared to answer.

From then on, no one in the North dared to underestimate this "eldest daughter of the Marquis's mansion".

When foreign tribes mentioned the name "Wu Zetian," they would turn pale with fear, as if they were talking about a tiger.

Six months ago, on the northern ice plains.

A rampaging demonic beast suddenly appeared, at the first level of the Grandmaster realm. It devoured three villages, killed hundreds of civilians, and left corpses strewn everywhere it went.

Wu Zetian pursued him alone.

For three days and three nights, she chased after them relentlessly. On the snow-covered wasteland, she trudged through knee-deep snow, never stopping for a moment. When the monsters fled, she pursued; when they turned to attack, she swung her sword.

On the third day at dusk, at the edge of the icy plain, Wu Zetian caught up with the monster.

The monster was covered in wounds, panting heavily, its eyes filled with terror. It turned around, let out a final roar, and pounced on Wu Zetian.

Wu Zetian did not dodge.

She charged towards the monster, wielding her sword, and clashed head-on with the mountain-sized beast.

A flash of light, and the monster's head flew into the air.

Wu Zetian dragged the monster's corpse back to the Marquis's residence. She was covered in blood, some of it her own, but mostly the monster's. Her face, hands, and clothes were stained with dried blood; she looked like a demon who had emerged from hell.

The people from the Marquis's residence stepped forward, wanting to take the demon beast's corpse from her hands.

She waved her hand and said calmly, "No need."

Then, dragging the beast, which was more than ten times her size, through the gates of the Marquis's mansion, through the front courtyard, through the central hall, until she reached the center of the training ground, she let go and turned to walk towards her room.

The courtyard was left with a crowd of stunned people.

From then on, the words "Pearl of the North" changed from "pearl" to "killing star".

Outside the window, the north wind howled.

The banners of the Marquis of Zhenbei’s mansion fluttered in the wind, with a huge “武” character embroidered on them, powerful and vigorous, as if cleaved by a knife and axe.

That was Wu Zetian's inherent nature.

It is also an everlasting star in the hearts of the people of the North.