Lin Mo rested the five-foot crimson phoenix-wood box across his forearm and flicked open the two gold-plated latches with his thumb.
Click-clack.
As the lid rose, a wave of warm, cinnamon-scented spiritual fire rolled across the white-jade flagstones, instantly melting the frost left behind by Jian Wuchen’s dropped sword.
Inside the red silk lining lay a slender, forty-two-inch immortal blade forged from deep crimson star-iron. Nine lifelike golden phoenixes were etched along the fuller, their feathers glowing like living embers.
Even with the blade still resting in its scabbard, the ambient sword-intent rising from the box caused all two thousand steel swords worn by Mount Qingcheng’s disciples to hum and bow their tips three inches toward the ground!
Up on the dais, Sect Master Xuanji’s eyes nearly bulged out of his sockets as he sensed the terrifying pressure radiating from the crimson box.
“Rank... Rank-5 Supreme Immortal Sword?!” Sect Master Xuanji gasped, clutching his chest as he stumbled half a step back against his cracked jade throne. “Even our Mount Qingcheng founding patriarch’s heirloom sword is only a mid-tier Rank-4 artifact! Where did a mortal merchant get a Rank-5 Foundation-Realm divine blade?!”
Down on the steps, Jian Wuchen (Goodness: 4/100) stared at the crimson sword-box with bloodshot, trembling eyes. Beside his knee lay the Chu Clan’s Rank-4 Cold-Frost Sword—the blade he had shamelessly stolen from a pawnshop and covered in cheap wax. Next to the nine-phoenix star-iron blade in Lin Mo’s hand, the sword Jian Wuchen had bragged about all…
