My Ultimate Sign-in System Made Me Invincible Chapter 473 Ten Thousand Blade Grotto Trial

Emerging through the portal, Two discovered himself inside an enormous shadowy cavern, its vastness challenging easy perception. Soaring far above, the ceiling faded into obscurity, appearing solely where radiant gems set into the stone walls spilled faint azure glows that scarcely touched the surface beneath. The lighting was purposefully meager—adequate for sight, yet insufficient for ease, generating a mood of restrained pressure that bore down on all who ventured in.

Behind him, figures kept appearing one after another, popping into existence from nothingness as the portal unloaded cultivator upon cultivator into the cavern's entry area.

The area quickly crowded with forms, murmurs, and the unique spiritual aura emanating from numerous experts clustered together. Every newcomer bore a blade, and the combined intensity of that directed purpose formed a tangible force in the atmosphere.

No one delayed. The followers of the Nine Heavens Thousand Sword Sect and their allied groups had gone in ahead and were far in the lead, seizing any edges from pioneering the way. Each moment wasted implied lagging more, reaching trials after rivals had snatched prime chances, vying for leftovers instead of gains.

Independent cultivators grasped this without words. Without planning or unity, they surged ahead as a single throng, pushing into the tunnel that delved further into the cavern.

Two blended into the surge, letting the group's drive propel him while staying alert enough to dodge rough bumps.

The cavern's depths were evidently crafted to block flying—the roof hung too low, the path too tight, the throng too packed. They needed to proceed on foot, at least until the area widened to allow alternative travel.

As Two advanced with his initial true stride, he sensed a keen, subtle chime of steel in the atmosphere unrelated to real weapons clashing. It stemmed from sword Qi, the gathered spiritual force of endless sword arts executed across ages, permeating the cavern's rock itself.

The feeling started faint, hardly detectable amid the crowd's spiritual aura, but it stood out clearly.

He advanced once more, and the chime intensified a touch.

Yet another step. The feeling sharpened, turning clearer and more pointed. It didn't hurt, yet it persisted—a steady cue that this realm aimed to challenge sword cultivators, with every aspect shaped for that goal.

Two grinned faintly. His Myriad Armament Constitution reacted to the sword Qi like metal to a magnet. While fellow cultivators might view the surrounding force as disruptive or burdensome, he deemed it energizing. The constitution was tailored to engage weapon-spiritual energy, to glean wisdom from it, to advance via contact with martial will.

This setting suited him ideally.

The group progressed quietly, interrupted only by sporadic low talks and the scuff of many soles on rock. The tunnel held a steady breadth for what seemed like hundreds of meters—broad enough for maybe ten to walk side by side, but confined enough that the cultivators occupied it fully.

Suddenly, the area expanded.

Two stepped into a hall that overshadowed the entry zone. The roof climbed sharply, exposing immense stone surfaces lit in spots by the shining crystals. The ground fanned out in various ways, and the sides bore sword scars.

These weren't ornamental carvings or stylistic depictions, but genuine slices, hacks, and jabs etched into hard rock with such power and focus as to etch lasting wounds. Thousands existed, from faint lines hard to spot afar to profound channels dug inches deep into the stone.

Every scar held lingering sword Qi, a piece of the art that birthed it, embedded in the rock like relics of bygone battles.

Two's focus fixed on the wall right away. Fellow cultivators dispersed through the hall, some pressing onward without halt, others pausing to inspect various wall segments. Yet Two headed straight for the nearest cluster of scars, pulled by the thick sword intent they emitted.

He halted about two meters from the wall, near enough to study the scars closely but distant enough to grasp their full design. The slices lacked randomness. They shaped a series, an evolution of actions that narrated a tale of skill growth.

Two triggered his Dao Array Eyes, and the surroundings altered.

What appeared as basic stone gashes turned into elaborate webs of energy paths, power spread, and spiritual control. The Dao Array Eyes dissected the sword scars into core elements—the strike's direction, the spiritual power's twist, the energy's discharge moment, the fine pose shifts before each blow.

It felt as if he witnessed the user performing the art before him.

He viewed the art behind these scars revealed in flawless clarity.

It formed a seamless chain, seven unique motions stacking with graceful thrift. Each slice embodied a targeted force use, a distinct sword Qi handling, a deliberate shift from one stance to the follow-up.

The art lacked showiness or flair. It was honed, refined via endless drills until all excess vanished, retaining just vital actions for peak cutting power.

Two started taking in the art, his Dao Array Eyes handling the data quicker than deliberate mind. The Myriad Armament Constitution wove the insights seamlessly, grasping not only the art's effects but its reasons, its adaptable rules, its merits and flaws.

Time slipped by in minutes.

Two remained still, gaze locked on the wall, fully immersed in breaking down and grasping the art. Others passed nearby, some eyeing his focus, some picking alternate wall parts, but he scarcely noted them.

The art embedded into his grasp with the depth that often demanded months of training. He didn't merely recall the motions. He comprehended them deeper than simple copying.

The Dao Array Eyes had displayed the base rules, and he employed his Myriad Armament Constitution to fuse those rules into his core base.

Yet insight fell short. Grasp differed from command.

Two unsheathed his sword, the edge gliding out with a gentle steel sigh. He placed himself in the clear area facing the wall, confirming space to act without hitting those close by.

Then he performed the art's opening chain.

The action flowed smoothly and accurately, free of extra motions. His sword carved an aerial route aligning with the wall's observed trace, and the blade hummed—a crisp, pure tone slicing the hall's din like steel through fabric.

The atmosphere's spiritual force reacted at once. Sword Qi clustered along the edge, boosting the slice, stretching its span past the blade's form. As Two ended the action, the air echoed with leftover might.

A few nearby cultivators paused their tasks to gawk. The art Two displayed wasn't groundbreaking by immortal measures, but its delivery shone perfectly.

Two redid the action, now including the second chain. The links connected smoothly, each stance prepping the next, the sword Qi mounting with every following slice until the last unleashed it in a managed surge that warped the air visibly.

He sensed the art truly now, beyond mind but in his body's recall, in how his form handled the spiritual flow. This was the Myriad Armament Constitution's gift—swift merging of weapon arts, the skill to learn from sight what others required months or years of drills for.

Two ran through the complete seven-motion chain again, refining the rhythm, easing the small flaws left from his first grasp. Upon ending, he resheathed his sword with a seamless flick.

The onlookers traded looks. Some showed jealousy, others schemed, a handful displayed clear enmity. Showing such insight level marked him standout, and standing out in rivalry didn't always help.

But Two felt no worry. He'd entered to challenge himself, to build power, to claim every gain from this heritage site. Concealing his skills to evade notice would undermine his aim.

He faced from the wall and headed further into the cavern. The hall branched variously, but the densest sword Qi surged obviously from the forward route, plunging deeper into the mountain's core.

Other cultivators trailed that route too, lured by the same drive steering Two—strongest sword Qi signaled true trials and true prizes.

As he advanced, the surrounding force heightened. The soft steel chime defining the entry tunnel sharpened, grew more pressing. The air's sword Qi thickened, forming a resistance that countered each forward pace. It bordered on ache, but felt mainly uneasy, akin to wading thickening fluid.

Two pushed on, unbothered by the sword Qi.

The tunnel constricted once more, bunching the spread cultivators nearer. Ahead, Two spotted a group halted still in the path's center. They didn't stir, scarcely seemed to inhale—just posed rigid as carvings, gazes blank, arms slack with weapons.

Two's brow creased. That seemed off.

He eased his pace, eyeing the immobile shapes warily. More from behind kept coming, and upon hitting the halt point, they too stilled, slipping into the trance hold.

A formation. Surely.

Two engaged his Dao Array Eyes prior to breaching the unseen line where others halted.

The scene changed anew, revealing what plain sight overlooked—symbols etched into floor and walls, so faint as to blend unseen, weaving a complex web bounding a space roughly ten meters across. The formation was advanced, built to engage sword cultivators via their own weapon will turned back on them.

A sword formation trance. Any crossing the edge bearing sword intent would pull into an illusion realm crafted to probe their insight and fight skill.

Two discerned this solely via his Dao Array Eyes. He might skirt it. The eyes laid bare the formation's build, pinpointing flaws, the energy flow's thinnest spots. He could circle it, skip the trial, delve deeper unhindered by the challenge inside.

But that would miss the point of coming.

He strode ahead, entering the formation's edge on purpose, and reality transformed.

The cavern faded, the still cultivators gone. Two stood in a void reaching endlessly every way—level, blank terrain under a void heaven without sun yet offering full light.

And before him, some twenty meters off, stood a figure.

The shape gripped a sword in guard pose, form at ease yet primed for battle. His face blurred, like viewed via misted pane, but his purpose rang clear. This was the formation's embodiment, the trial it forced on entrants.

The figure struck abruptly, bridging the gap in one bursting dash, his sword slashing at Two's neck with immense velocity and accuracy.