My Ultimate Sign-in System Made Me Invincible Chapter 475 The Killing Sword

Two kept advancing along the passage until it opened up into a vast chamber that left him speechless.

The area stretched out hugely, featuring a domed ceiling vanishing into shadows overhead. Yet, it wasn't the vastness that seized his focus. Rather, it was the sword Qi.

Compared to the subtle flow of energy he'd sensed across the grotto, this felt like a mild stream. In this place, it surged like a vast sea. The sword Qi hung so thickly it nearly shimmered in view, warping the atmosphere akin to heat waves rising from hot roads in midsummer.

With every inhale, Two drew in spiritual energy so potent it stung his lungs like breathing in sharp edges.

To others, such surroundings would prove torturous. The sword Qi would slice through their meridians, rip apart their spiritual channels, and erode their cultivation foundation with each instant of contact.

However, Two's Myriad Armament Constitution embraced the strain like a bloom unfurling under rays. That slicing feeling morphed into profound insights, brimming with clear, gem-like grasp of sword principles that streamed straight into his mind, bypassing any deliberate thought.

It was utterly mesmerizing.

Two compelled himself to push beyond the feeling and truly examine the chamber.

Swords. Hundreds upon hundreds. Possibly thousands. They crammed the room, plunged into the ground at odd tilts, lodged into the walls.

A myriad of blade styles appeared here—straight swords alongside curved sabers, hefty two-handed arms and graceful rapiers, compact dao and extended jian, unfamiliar patterns from cultivation lineages Two couldn't place.

And each one pulsed with sword intent.

The combined force was crushing. The amassed burden from countless arms, each infused with the spiritual energy of its former owner, forged an environment so dense it seemed the air had turned substantial.

Two's Dao Array Eyes sprang to life on their own, struggling to handle the data overwhelming his perceptions.

The swords lacked random positioning. A clear structure governed them, a ranking system. Those blades closer to the ground exerted milder force, their sword intent subdued and bearable. As his eyes climbed higher, the strength grew fiercer. The weapons mounted nearer the ceiling on the walls emitted might that tingled his flesh even from afar.

Yet, one blade set itself distinctly apart from the rest.

It dangled solitary on the distant wall, about three meters off the chamber's floor. On initial look, it seemed utterly plain—a basic straight edge with a simple crossguard and a bare hilt. No aspect of its form hinted at importance.

But Two's Dao Array Eyes unveiled the reality.

The sword excelled in hiding itself. Its edge didn't merely blend with the pervasive sword Qi filling the chamber. It deliberately restrained its aura, veiling might so deep that the effort of holding it back formed a spiritual void nearby.

And under that restraint lurked vast killing intent. It had been honed, cleansed, and distilled. This killing intent had evolved beyond raw feelings into a core law—the abstract representation of cutting off, of conclusions, of the instant when steel divides body and breath ceases.

The sword was made to terminate.

With great reluctance, Two pulled his stare from the blade and spotted the chamber's other inhabitants for the first time.

Cultivators dotted the area, around twenty to thirty in number, each stationed in front of a unique sword, fingers clenched on its grip. They remained utterly still, lids shut, expressions vacant.

Once more, the formation trance. Every individual underwent their personal trial, clashing in phantom realms while their forms stayed rigid in reality.

Two pressed deeper into the chamber, weaving among the upright shapes, and his first judgment altered.

Not every one lay in oblivion.

Certain cultivators posed with the identical stiff poise as their peers, palms fixed on sword hilts, yet something felt off. Their complexion had grayed out. Their spiritual energy had vanished entirely, abandoning mere husks propped up by death's stiffness instead of vital strain.

They had perished. Upright still, clutching their selected arms, yet utterly stripped of existence.

Two halted next to one of these forms—a youth no older than his mid-twenties, sect garments marking him from a linked group. The body's features locked in deep focus, yet no spark lingered within.

The trial he'd encountered in the sword's phantom realm had bested him, and the formation had slain him as penalty.

Two experienced no deep sentiment toward this save a detached recognition. Indeed, the grotto served as an inheritance site, but it doubled as a trial arena. The immortal sword cultivator who forged this domain intended to select a fitting heir, and suitability seemed to demand enduring ordeals that doomed the unworthy.

Such was the essence of the cultivation realm. It proved brutal, merciless, and utterly apathetic to equity.

Two pressed on amid the chamber's immobile cultivators and erect cadavers until he arrived at the remote wall where the solitary sword suspended in anticipation.

Viewed nearby, the arm's plainness struck even harder. The edge bore no ornate carvings, no family emblems, no decorative touches whatsoever. The steel gleamed dully without mirror-like polish. The hilt's binding used plain rope over lavish stuffs. The sword's entire build emphasized utility above ostentation.

But the Dao Array Eyes disclosed to Two the fact that looks hid. This went beyond the mightiest sword present. It might well be the supreme weapon across the whole grotto.

It likely represented the concluding trial, the paramount hurdle set by the immortal cultivator whose essence infused this domain.

And it thrummed with pent-up ferocity.

Two stretched upward and clasped the hilt with his fingers, and the world vanished.

He stood in yet another blank emptiness, akin to the prior formation realm where he'd battled yet varied in faint aspects. The surface underfoot seemed firmer, more tangible. Illumination emanated from all directions and none, yielding flawless sight absent any clear origin.

And hovering in the atmosphere ahead, some five meters distant, floated the sword he'd seized moments ago.

It suspended still, tip pointed straight at his neck, the edge level as if grasped by an unseen grip.

Two barely had a half-second to note this before the sword lunged.

It rushed him at a velocity beyond logic. In a blink, it neared his throat, the tip surging ahead with deadly accuracy toward the dip between his collarbones.

Two's form moved prior to thought finishing. He pivoted, his head turning sufficiently to allow the edge to skim mere centimeters from his flesh, near enough to sense the rush of air on his neck.

The sword refused to halt or withdraw. The failed stab shifted seamlessly into a sideward cut approaching Two from his unseen flank, the blade whistling with a tone like chiming glass.

Two sank into a squat, sensing the arm glide above his crown near enough to tousle his locks. He tumbled ahead, seeking separation, craving an instant to comprehend his adversary.

The sword chased relentlessly.

It shifted with uncanny nimbleness, altering course in midair, speeding up and slowing down sans any evident drive. The edge struck from impossible vectors, sweeping high, then dropping low, then sideways in quick barrages that denied Two any chance to form a guard routine.

He evaded frantically, his Dao Array Eyes' dissecting prowess the sole factor preserving his survival.

And countering proved impossible.

Two grasped in a jolt of realization that his usual methods lay utterly unreachable. His telekinesis failed to activate when he willed it against the sword. Even simple spiritual energy strikes that novice cultivators could unleash wouldn't appear.

The formation had removed all but what it couldn't touch: his Dao Array Eyes' perceptive sight and the Myriad Armament Constitution's inherent insights.

This stood as a sheer evaluation of sword mastery. He'd need to overcome the edge solely with the form he'd gleaned from the wall, wielded via the knowledge from his earlier formation clash.

The sword whirled toward him in a rotary blow that would've split his torso from arm to waist if it landed. Two swerved aside, but the edge flipped course with unreal swiftness, returning from the contrary side ere he'd regained poise.

He raised his hands barely in time, trapping the blade's flat side between his hands in a frantic block that would've chopped his digits had his instant lagged by a hair.

The collision hurled him rearward.

Two whirled airborne, twisting to right himself and touch down steadily, yet the sword awaited, plunging ahead in a stab targeted at his core.

He veered aside, and the edge corrected in flight, tracking his shift with hunter's exactness.

The edge proved blisteringly swift and unyielding, its sole purpose Two's demise.