“Melt... melt them down?!”
Stuck waist-deep in the dirt at the front of the turnip field, First Elder Jian Wuchen thought his ears were playing tricks on him.
In the cultivation world of the Central Continent, a high-grade Spirit Sword was treated like a cultivator’s second life—sometimes even more precious than their own wife or son! Whenever two sects fought a war and captured enemy flying swords, the winner would either lock those blades inside a heavily guarded Sword-Sealing Pavilion as war trophies, or spend years slowly erasing the previous owner’s soul-mark so their own elders could wield them.
Nobody in ten thousand years of history had ever talked about melting down three thousand Spirit Swords to make road rollers and farming hoes!
“Pei Xuan, you ignorant barbarian!” Jian Wuchen roared, his bare chest heaving as he strained against the packed dirt around his waist. “Those six hundred blades on your magnet tower are top-grade Essence-Iron Spirit Swords! And my Purple-Frost Spirit Sword at the top of the tower was personally forged four hundred years ago by Mount Azure’s Third Patriarch using a chunk of fallen glacial meteorite! Even a Rank 5 Pill-Fire Furnace cannot melt it down! If you dare scratch its blade, my Sect Master Ling Xiao will—”
