High above the Sixth Peak, Supreme Sword Saint Du Cang hovered upon a floating lotus formed from thirty-six linked slivers of pure sword intent. His long white hair billowed like frozen frost in the mountain storm. His golden eyes shone with the terrifying, unmetered bright glare of a grandmaster who had crossed the threshold of mortal limitations.
“Subject Null,” Du Cang’s voice fell from the sky. He shook with such huge sound power that loose gravel on the terrace bounced three inches off the flat stone slabs. “You pride yourself on throwing scrap iron. You boast of finding flaws in the harmony of heaven’s design. But what you struck was merely the outer hem of my garment.”
The Sword Saint extended his right hand, the Sky-Severing Void Blade pointing straight toward the zenith.
“Myriad Blades Returning to the Origin!” Du Cang chanted, the ancient words echoing through the mountain range like a royal proclamation.
Above the proving grounds, the eight thousand four hundred and ninety-seven flying swords answered the summons. The ninety loose sky-high rings collapsed inward, reorganizing themselves into ninety tightly packed, nested vortex cylinders. Each metal tube spun at a different speed. That created a massive, nested spatial turbine that spanned three hundred paces from edge to edge.
