Villains Aren't Stepping Stones!

The canopy of ancient, gnarled ironwood trees hung like a suffocating shroud over the hidden hollow, blotting out the sun and bathing the moss-covered clearings in eternal, twilight gloom.

The air smelled of damp earth, pulverized stone, and the sharp, ozone tang of lingering sword intent that had permeated the ground for countless eras.

Here, untouched by the chaotic wars tearing through the whole world, rested a forgotten hamlet of weathered timber cabins and moss-grown flagstones.

At right now, in this small village, an eerie, breathless tranquility reigned over the central courtyard.

Shen Xinye was here, sitting on her knees.

Her breath was imperceptible, as tranquil and calm as an unruffled lake frozen in deep winter.

Draped in plain, practical azure robes trimmed with simple silver thread, she sat upon a worn woven straw mat.

Her posture was straight as an ancient pine, the silken golden hair lightly lifting with the rhythmic ebb and flow of the ambient spiritual wind.

Across her knees rested a slender, ornate scabbard forged from deep-sea cold iron, its dark surface inscribed with faint, dormant lightning talismans.

Within her dantian, rivers of pristine qi flowed through her refined meridians, coiling tightly around her core like a slumbering serpent waiting for the crack of dawn.

In front of her, a humanoid statue without any features stood, holding a sword.

The statue was carved from a single slab of indestructible profound meteorite, its faceless head tilted slightly downward.

In its stony grip rested a heavy, edge-dulled practice blade.

Despite the absence of eyes, mouth, or breath, an ancient, oppressive aura radiated from its rough-hewn frame—a phantom pressure left behind by a peerless sword immortal who had walked the earth tens of thousands of years ago.

It stood as an immovable, unyielding mountain, daring the world to challenge its stillness.

For three hours, neither the girl nor the stone moved.

The wind did not stir the leaves; even the chirping of spirit cicadas was silenced by the invisible tension stretching tighter and tighter between the two figures.

Just then, she opened her eyes.

Her pupils, typically deep and gentle, flashed with an incandescent, blinding violet blaze that shattered the surrounding gloom.

”Dance of the Sword God, First Form: Purple Lightning!”

Her voice rang out like the ringing of a divine bell, crisp, pure, and utterly devoid of hesitation.

She unsheathed her sword as it turned into purple lightning and struck down the statue.

The draw was so fast it severed the concept of distance itself.

There was no visible arc of a physical blade, no glint of polished steel traveling through the air.

A deafening crack of thunder violently tore through the hollow as an arc of brilliant, jagged purple lightning leaped straight from the scabbard, tearing through the space between them in less than a second.

The blinding bolt carried the absolute, unyielding intent of the ancient sword god, slicing through the air with an ear-piercing shriek that stripped the bark from the surrounding ancient trees.

A split second later, Shen Xinye appeared five paces behind the meteorite figure, her right hand smoothly guiding the slender blade back into its cold iron sheath with a soft, final click.

For a heartbeat, the rough stone stood unchanged.

Then, thousands of microscopic hairline fractures illuminated with faint violet light shot through its entire surface.

Without a sound, the indestructible profound statue disintegrated, crumbling into a fine, gray powder that drifted gently upon the wind like falling snow, completely erased by the sheer penetrative frequency of her sword intent.

She exhaled, standing up straight once again.

And at that moment, an old man appeared behind her.

He seemed to materialize out of the shadows cast by the ironwood trees, as if he had always been standing there as part of the forest itself.

His robes were frayed, dyed a faded ash-gray, and a long white beard reached down toward his chest, framing a face lined with deep crevices of age and ancient battles.

His hands were clasped loosely behind his back, his cloudy eyes gleaming with rare approval as he looked at the pile of stone dust.

”Your Dance of the Sword God has already reached Minor Completion,” the old man said, his gravelly voice carrying an ancient resonance that vibrated through the mist. ”It should be safe for you to leave this forest now.”

Shen Xinye turned around and bowed respectfully from the waist, her hands cupping her sheathed sword before her chest.

Shen Xinye smiled at him, ”It’s all thanks to your guidance, elder.”

”Hmm, it’s my duty,” the old man grunted softly, shaking his head. ”After all, you are chosen by Lord Ascalon as his successor.”

The mention of the legendary name caused the faint smile on Shen Xinye’s lips to waver.

She turned to the side and sighed, looking out toward the dark, tangled boughs of the endless canopy.

The weight of the heritage resting upon her shoulders felt far heavier than the sword in her hands.

”I still don’t understand why I was chosen,” she murmured, a trace of self-doubt creeping into her tone. ”Although I chose the path of swords, I think Xia Mengyao is far more suitable for this than me.”

She thought of Xia Mengyao—her talent, her proud and unyielding sword heart, and her burning, unshakeable ambition to pierce the high heavens.

Compared to someone like Mengyao, who lived and breathed for the blade, Shen Xinye had always believed herself to be inferior.

This isn’t from talent or strength, but from how determined they are to pursue the dao of sword.

”Maybe,” said the elder, his expression impassive as he stroked his white beard. ”But the one who appeared here was you, not her.”

Shen Xinye smiled wryly, ”It was just an accident.”

The elder looked her straight in the eyes, his gaze piercing into her spiritual sea.

”There are no accidents.”

His words carried the weight of predestined fate. In the grand river of karma, every stumbling footstep, every fallen leaf, and every fateful descent was etched into the grand design of the Heavenly Dao.

Lord Ascalon’s divine sword would never have allowed a truly unworthy hand to uncover his resting sanctuary.

Shen Xinye sighed once more.

She knew arguing philosophy with an old devout believer of a god was an impossible endeavor.

She shook her head lightly, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, and looked back at the quaint, tranquil wooden cabins of the village.

”Well, enough of that,” she said, her voice softening. ”Elder, may I ask if I can stay here for awhile? Our...’sect’ isn’t planning on leaving yet, and I have no idea what to do. I think, here, I can improve more.”

She hasn’t received any orders from her young master yet, so for now, she can stay here and improve her strength as much as possible.

The elder smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes softening into genuine warmth.

”No problem at all. You can stay for as long as you want, great successor.”

Shen Xinye sighed once again, feeling both honored and slightly overwhelmed by the grand title, yet a comforting warmth settled in her chest as she walked back toward her wooden quarters to continue her sword training.

*

*

*

At this moment, in a separate dimension.

In a domain completely beyond the mortal world, locked away within a fractured pocket of space-time completely severed from the flow of ordinary reality, an apocalyptic silence hung over an endless void of floating primordial rocks and raging chaotic currents.

There, suspended in the center of the dimensional abyss, sat a solitary figure.

It was Chen Feng.

And just then, he suddenly opened his eyes.

BOOM!

The moment his eyelids parted, two beams of blazing, incandescent golden light shot forth from his pupils, piercing through thousands of miles of dimensional fog and incinerating several floating asteroids into dust!

For eight agonizing years, he had been trapped within this desolate cage.

For eight long years, he had swallowed the bitter pill of isolation, enduring the terrifying gnawing of temporal turbulence, drinking spatial storm energy like wine, and tempering his flesh in the fires of near-death trials.

Now, the final barrier had shattered!

A terrifying, primordial roar erupted from deep within Chen Feng’s chest!

Above his head, the laws of the universe violently inverted.

The chaotic space-time currents outside the dimension that had trapped him for nearly a decade suddenly halted, frozen in place by the sudden descent of a heavenly phenomenon.

A titanic golden lotus blossomed within the void, its petals spanning hundreds of miles, showering divine celestial dew upon his battered body.

His skin, torn and scarred from his cultivation, molted away to reveal pristine, diamond-like immortal flesh that radiated the brilliance of a burning sun!

His bones sang with the ringing of divine iron!

His blood roared like an ancient heavenly river, turning from mortal crimson into vibrant, sacred gold!

Within his dantian, the fragile golden core and nascent soul merged completely, compressing under infinite gravitational pressure until they birthed the supreme Saint Origin!

The boundary of mortality was torn asunder!

The sky of the dimension screamed as the thunder of the Saint Tribulation tried to materialize, only to be unable to pierce through the dimensions he was in.

So without any suspense, he easily broke through.

The Saint Realm! Chen Feng grinned.

The realm of supreme rulers, the threshold where mortal cultivators cast aside their mortal coils and truly seized the authority to manipulate the fundamental fabric of reality!

”Finally! After 8 years, I broke through!”

Chen Feng’s roar shook the dimensional void, carrying eight years of suffocating loneliness, eight years of unyielding rage, and eight years of desperate, bloody perseverance.

He felt the power.

Power so great he felt like he could crush a hundred of his previous self with a wave of his hand.

It was not merely an increase in spiritual qi; it was a total elevation of his life-state.

The space around him was no longer an obstacle; it was an obedient servant waiting to bend to his will.

The laws of physics, the flow of heat, the weight of gravity—all of it felt fragile, like thin parchment waiting to be torn apart by his fingertips.

”So this is the power of a Saint!”

His laughter echoed with manic, triumphant pride.

He stood tall in the empty void, his hair whipping wildly around his chiseled, predatory features, his tattered garments fluttering against the golden radiance pouring from his pores.

He clenched his fist and stared at this dimension that trapped him for 8 full years.

This accursed, barren cage that had witnessed his despair, his blood, and his endless nights of screaming into the empty void.

It had held him prisoner, keeping him away from his sect, away from his enemies, and away from his beloved women.

No more.

With a wave of his hand, the entire dimension crumbled as a shockwave of pure spatial force detonated from his palm.

The dimensional walls, which had resisted his strikes for thousands of days, fractured like cheap porcelain.

Massive cracks thousands of miles long ripped across the void, and the entire pocket dimension collapsed inward with a cataclysmic groan, imploding into absolute nonexistence!

The wild, chaotic currents of the void, vicious dimensional shears capable of grinding ordinary cultivators into bloody paste, encountered his divine Saint body and instantly dissolved into docile, gentle breezes.

They parted like water before the prow of a warship, bowing their heads before his supreme authority.

”... Everyone, I’m coming.” He whispered.

Rumble!

Spatial laws folded beneath his feet.

In the span of a single heartbeat, he traversed the boundary between dimensions and stepped out onto the firmament of the mortal world.

The sudden influx of vibrant life washed over his senses like sweet wine.

He stared at the blue sky, the green forest, the tall mountain, the running rivers.

The sky was endless and azure, untainted by the gray void.

The vast ocean of emerald trees swayed gently in the mountain breeze, singing an ancient song of vitality.

Towering, snow-capped peaks stood proud against the horizon, and the clear, roaring rivers wound their way through the valleys below like shimmering ribbons of silver.

The warmth of the real sun bathed his face for the first time in nearly three thousand days.

He took a deep breath, drawing the sweet, unrefined air of the world deep into his lungs, feeling the pulse of the earth resonate with his beating heart.

The years of suffering, the torment of isolation, the burning desire to conquer—it all coalesced into a terrifying resolve.

He raised his head toward the heavens, his divine voice erupting like sudden thunder that tore through the clouds for hundreds of miles, announcing his return to the trembling lands below.

”I, Chen Feng, have returned!”