Chapter 67: The Stone Tablet

After a long while, a flash of sword light suddenly appeared ahead, whistling toward him at such speed that it arrived before his eyes almost in the blink of an eye. Qiu Han’s gaze sharpened; his right hand shot out, seizing one end of the sword light.

“The Sword of Slaughter!”

Clad in white, Qiu Han fixed his eyes on the black long sword in his hand. He recognized the weapon immediately. From afar came the sounds of battle. Gripping the Sword of Slaughter tightly, he waited for those people to arrive.

Before long, several figures flickered through the sky—Chen Tian and his companions.

“Hand over the Shadow-Devouring Sword and you may yet live!”

Chen Tian stepped forward, fixing his gaze on Qiu Han, speaking slowly.

As Chen Tian spoke, the others behind him quietly spread out to the sides, silently encircling Qiu Han in white.

Qiu Han said nothing. He held the black sword firmly, and suddenly, an indescribable sensation surged from the blade. In that instant, he felt himself merge with the Sword of Slaughter, becoming one with it—he was the sword, and the sword was him.

His aura soared, cultivation surging upward, leaping from the peak of the Qi Refining stage over an entire great boundary in a single instant.

Foundation Establishment!

An ineffable sensation gripped his soul entirely.

“So this is Foundation Establishment? This feeling…”

But it did not stop there. His cultivation rose once more from early Foundation stage to mid, then late, then the great circle of the late stage, and finally, Core Formation!

From the mere Qi Refining stage, Qiu Han’s cultivation skyrocketed all the way to Core Formation before it finally slowed. At that moment, Qiu Han seemed to forget entirely where he was, his spirit utterly immersed in the surging power, unable to awaken.

Chen Tian and his group, once arrogant, now turned gradually to shock. For the first time, they felt fear—fear of the man who stood before them. Never before had they cared about a mere Qi Refining cultivator; any one of them could have crushed such an ant with a flick of a finger.

Yet after what had just transpired, their former composure was gone. Fear gripped them—fear of what heights this man might reach. Among them, the most powerful was already at late Nascent Soul, while the weakest had just entered Nascent Soul.

Qiu Han’s sudden rise in cultivation sent a great ripple through their hearts, even planting a trace of terror—fear of the unknown.

Some among them began to suspect other possibilities.

“Who is this man? I’ve never heard of anyone who could leap from Qi Refining to Core Formation in an instant. It’s impossible—unless… he’s an old monster hiding his true strength, perhaps concealing his cultivation due to a serious injury yet to heal… Yes, it must be that!”

A middle-aged cultivator beside Chen Tian glanced at the others, his expression shifting. The others nodded slightly and drew closer to Qiu Han.

“Only Core Formation? Then no matter who you are, today you die here.”

Chen Tian’s lips curled in a cold smile. He had already made up his mind. Taking several steps forward, he fixed his gaze on Qiu Han and said in a grave voice, “I do not care who you are, nor whether you hide your strength because of some injury. The Shadow-Devouring Sword is an ancestral treasure of my sect. If I lose it, I shall be branded a traitor, and the sect itself will decline, perhaps even perish. Since the treasure is now in your hands, though I am unworthy, for the sake of my sect’s future I must challenge you. Even if it means my death, I will not regret nor retreat!”

His words rang with righteous determination, and he looked every inch a man ready to die for his sect. To the unknowing, he might have appeared truly noble. The others frowned at his speech, a look of disdain flashing across their faces before quickly vanishing.

Qiu Han, however, seemed not to hear a word. His eyes were clouded, oblivious to his peril as Chen Tian and his companions drew within thirty feet.

At that moment, the aura that had vanished from Qiu Han erupted again. His cultivation began to climb once more.

Core Formation, mid stage, late stage, Nascent Soul, late Nascent Soul, Soul Transformation, late Soul Transformation…

This phenomenon lasted nearly half an hour. By the end, even Qiu Han himself no longer knew what realm he had reached.

Chen Tian and his companions stood frozen, mouths agape, staring at Qiu Han motionless. They seemed to have forgotten everything—their purpose, their mission, that the man they once saw as an insignificant ant could now snuff out their lives with a mere gesture.

The sensation of his soaring cultivation finally faded. Qiu Han awoke, shaking his head slightly. His eyes cleared, and glancing at Chen Tian and the others around him, he raised his sword and lightly traced a line through the air.

Heavenly power surged from all directions, and with it came a trace of the laws themselves. At his gentle stroke, a massive storm erupted before him, raging for nearly the time it takes half a stick of incense to burn before slowly dissipating.

When the storm passed, the place was left in utter nothingness. The forest was gone, the earth had sunk thousands of feet, leaving behind a vast, yawning pit.

Such a light, casual strike—yet its power was terrifying and unparalleled.

“What realm am I at now? Where is this place? And who am I?”

Standing in midair, Qiu Han gazed down at the deep pit below, murmuring to himself. After a while, he looked up, his eyes searching the distant horizon. With a single step, his figure vanished from sight. In just a few breaths, he reappeared at the very edge of the sky, his speed unimaginable.

He now found himself in a boundless desert, not a soul in sight. Suddenly, a white-clad youth appeared—his arrival so seamless it was as if he had always existed there.

The young man was none other than Qiu Han. He had left the forest and come to this place, though even he did not know why; it was as if some unseen force had guided him.

Ahead stood a white stone stele, taller than a man. Qiu Han quickened his steps to stand before it, studying the scratches etched into its surface.

“Qiu Han, Slaughter, Reincarnation…”

He turned, looking forward once more. In the distance, every few hundred feet, another stone stele stood—varying in size, the smallest still half a man’s height. Far off, a massive stele, several yards long and wide, leaned obliquely into the ground.