The next morning, Wang Ming arrived at the Sixth Elder's mansion. The days that followed were marked by relentless training, each session sharpening his understanding of the formation he had chosen.
On the sixth day, Wang Ming stood before a human-shaped puppet. The Sixth Elder observed him from a distance, his eyes narrowed, scrutinizing every movent. Wang Ming extended his hand, and three spiritual energy swords, each a ter long, erged from his back. They shimred with a fierce, crackling aura, like vipers coiled to strike. With a single thought, the swords shot forward, slicing through the puppet with blinding speed. The blades tore through the target, blasting it apart as waves of searing heat radiated from the point of impact.
The air rippled with the residual force, and fragnts of the puppet clattered against the stone walls. Wang Ming allowed a faint, satisfied smile to tug at the corner of his lips, while the Sixth Elder, standing behind him, stroked his beard, a glimr of appreciation flashing in his eyes.
"This boy is worth nurturing," the elder thought, his gaze fixed on the young figure. "Both humble and skilled in the sword path... it seems we have a promising candidate to counterbalance the First Elder's faction."
Clearing his throat, the Sixth Elder stepped forward, a warm, encouraging tone in his voice. "Not bad, Wang Ming. You didn't disappoint . You may leave for now."
Wang Ming bowed without hesitation, masking his true thoughts with a respectful expression as he turned and left the courtyard. Once outside, his eyes grew cold, and his thoughts turned sharper.
"I have walked the sword path for over seven centuries in my previous life," he mused, the corners of his mouth curling into a subtle, chilling smile. "My understanding of the blade is deeper than any of these so-called elders. Even the clan leader cannot hold a candle to ."
As he strolled down the winding stone path, Wang Ming's gaze turned distant, reflecting on the nature of clans and sects.
"Every organization, whether a sect or a clan, shackles its mbers from birth. It first binds them through family, friends, and ntors, weaving a web of obligations and sentints that gradually tighten around their hearts. It whispers to them of honor, duty, and loyalty, feeding them the illusion that their success is solely due to the clan's benevolence. Slowly, the noose tightens, binding them to the clan's will.
Those with ager talent beco re cannon fodder, while the talented are paraded as the clan's shining examples. But those who are too talented... they beco threats, blades too sharp to be wielded without fear. The elders will either mold them into tools or, if they prove too dangerous, then they will be eliminated by various ridiculous reasons forged by morals to convince everyone.
But the truly ironic part? Even the clan leaders, the so-called supre elders are themselves chained. They too have sacrificed their freedom for power and influence, their lives bound by the sa system they claim to command, even when they have a chance to break the shackles and pursue dao. They refused it... They themselves bound themselves by these mortal chains.
.But I... I am not like them.
I do not want to be bounded by these foolish chains.
I want to be a free bird and roam the world.
Slaughter through the heaven and earth
This is the true
True Wang Ming "
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