Walker Of The Worlds

Chapter 2965: Abyssal Sword Heart

Lin Mu inclined his head.

”I can’t promise peaks,” he said. ”Only the path that leads there.”

Then he raised his battered sword.

Xue Wuqing drew.

The moment her blade left the scabbard, the world froze.

A blade aura so cold, so sharp, so perfectly silent spread across the platform that a thin line appeared in the stone tiles between her and Lin Mu—before she even moved.

”The Abyssal Sword Heart,” muttered an elder. ”A rare and dangerous path...”

The Sword path that Xue Wuqing was following was a special and dangerous one. When one reached its end, they would be able to progress their sword intent to beyond the Advanced stage. They would reach the stage of Sword Heart.

And the Sword Heart they would form would be none other than the Abyssal Sword Heart. Many failed reaching there, falling into the abyss of their own hearts, swallowed by their darkness. This darkness would then birth a Sword Demon that would take over the swordsman, turning them into a fiend that would be hunted till the ends of the world.

And yet despite this, Lin Mu didn’t judge her. He knew this was one of the many paths, even if a bit unorthodox.

He himself had taken paths that could be considered downright evil, so he was not in a position to judge it anyways. At least not in the way he was supposed to here.

As those thoughts passed over in Lin Mu’s mind, he watched Xue Wuqing’s sword disappear.

Lin Mu blocked to his left—then to his right—then behind.

Each clash of their swords was soundless. Each motion perfectly restrained. No flashy lights, no qi storms, no explosions.

Just blade.

Intent.

Edge.

Xue Wuqing’s every strike seemed to drain the world around her. Even the wind refused to blow.

And for the first time...

Lin Mu felt strain.

He could tell that Xue Wuqing had reached the Advanced stage as well, just a few inches away from Lin Mu’s own level of understanding.

His Sword Intent flared to its very limit, the Advanced stage holding on by a thread. His arms ached, his breathing slowed. Not from exhaustion—but from focus beyond the human norm.

Then she thrust.

A single piercing strike aimed straight at his heart.

He stepped inward. His body twisted.

And his sword—

snapped.

The tip of the dull training blade shattered, and for a moment it seemed like it was over.

But Lin Mu had already moved.

The broken hilt flowed upward, redirecting the momentum of her strike. His left hand came down in a bladehand motion, striking the flat of her sword and pushing it aside.

Then—

Tap.

The hilt of his broken blade pressed against her collarbone.

Silence.

Even the clouds overhead refused to move.

Then the spell broke.

Xue Wuqing stepped back, stunned, her breath ragged.

”I...” she whispered. ”I lost.”

”No,” Lin Mu said, lowering the broken sword. ”You reached the threshold.”

He looked at her, calm and steady. He knew this was the closest she could get to a victory. The hand attack Lin Mu had done was done without his body cultivation’s strength, but his body had already reached a level of durability that even while suppressed it was stronger than steel.

If not for that durability, it would not have been Xue Wuqing’s sword that was deflected, but his hand that was cut off.

”If you continue walking... your blade might even surpass mine.”

She blinked, then bowed, her voice quiet.

”Thank you.”

When the final duel ended, the platform remained silent.

The disciples were stunned—not by victory or defeat, but by the depth they had witnessed.

Lin Mu stepped back, the broken training sword still in hand, and bowed deeply to all one hundred disciples.

”You have all taught me,” he said. ”And I hope I have returned even a fraction of it.”

In the Elder Pavilion, Daoist Chu chuckled, clapping slowly.

”Ah... and he still says he’s not a sword immortal,” he muttered.

Elder Yan Dao smiled faintly. ”He will be, soon enough.”

Far away, in the sealed depths of Mount Sky Sever, a distant array stirred.

The Path of Sealed Swords had sensed the echo.

And it, too, was waiting.

The sun had begun to descend behind the mountain peaks, dyeing the skies in warm hues of gold and vermillion. The grand tournament had reached its conclusion—or so everyone thought.

The final matches had passed, the top disciples had been selected, and the echoes of Lin Mu’s legendary bouts still lingered in the minds of all present.

Now, the exhibition phase had begun—a traditional event where the elders of the Xian Sword Sect showcased their understanding of the sword. A rare opportunity, cherished by disciples as a glimpse into the higher realms of sword cultivation.

High Elder Yi Feiyan, with his fluid and water-like swordplay, danced across the stage against Elder Sheng You, whose burning, aggressive strikes left scorch marks on the stone tiles. Their duel ended with a mutual salute, earning cheers from the crowd.

Next came two more elders who displayed paired techniques involving Formation Swords and Elemental Fusion Blades—rare techniques that pushed the boundaries of conventional swordplay. Each exchange was like a painting—fluid, precise, profound.

But unlike the earlier rounds, these were not tests. There was no winner or loser. It was sword speaking to sword.

The exhibition phase was over in a few hours.

Most believed that marked the end of the Grand Tournament.

Some had already begun to stand and stretch.

Then—Yan Dao stepped forward.

With a calm yet thunderous voice that carried across the platform, he spoke:

”Before we conclude, I would like to make a humble request...”

All turned to him, attention sharp once more.

”This event has already been full of surprises, growth, and revelations. But there is one final blade I wish to cross with—one that has stirred the hearts of every sword cultivator in our sect.”

He turned his gaze to Lin Mu.

”I wish to spar with you, Lin Mu.”

The crowd gasped.