/Two Years Later/
Two long years had passed for Tao.
Much had changed—not just his strength, but his entire being.
Now standing at an imposing five feet ten inches at just twelve years old, Tao bore little resemblance to the frail boy who had arrived in this world all that time ago. His body, once delicate and weak, had undergone an astonishing transformation.
His frame had broadened, his muscles sculpted through relentless training, his limbs stretched with the vitality of a growing dragon. His skin, though still smooth, carried a subtle depth as if it held a power just beneath the surface, something potent yet restrained.
But what stood out the most were his horns.
Once mere buds hidden beneath his skin, the horns had now fully emerged, stretching to a formidable twelve inches. They rose from his head like obsidian crescents—sleek and sinuous, curving backward with a quiet menace.
Their polished darkness caught the faintest glimmers of light, an almost predatory gleam that spoke of power restrained within him.
They framed his face with cruel elegance, accentuating the razor edges of his jaw and drawing all attention to the white pupil slits of his gaze—a gaze that burned with something ancient, something majestic.
His face had also undergone subtle yet undeniable changes. It was a bit more mature, thanks to his training, but youthful enough that you could tell he was still very young.
Even his hair had changed. Once shorter, it had grown long and flowing, cascading past his shoulders in pure, silken white, like untouched snow under moonlight.
Ghostly almost.
His features made him appear both otherworldly and fearsome, a being standing on the precipice between the mortal and the divine.
His growth was nothing short of unnatural, but then again, so was he.
A dragon growing into his prime—one whose potential was still far from being realized.
For the past two years, Tao dedicated himself to the relentless pursuit of sword, body, and battle mastery.
His sword intent, once raw and unpolished, gradually refined itself under the weight of discipline and battle. Each strike, each movement, became sharper, more precise imbued with the essence of the sword itself.
He no longer needed to focus and summon his sword intent.
It flowed through him as naturally as breathing, saturating his every motion.
His control had advanced to the point where he could cut without a blade, leaving invisible slashes in the air with a mere flick of his fingers. Rocks, trees, and even the flow of water could be severed at his will.
But he did not stop there.
Mastery of the First Style—Severing the Tether.
The First Style of the Void Severing Sword Manual, Severing the Tether, was a technique that cut through more than just flesh and steel—it severed qi itself, unraveling the very energy that bound techniques and formations together.
Tao honed it to the point of instinct.
With a single stroke, he could nullify an opponent's energy-infused attacks, disrupt their internal qi flow, or even shatter a defensive formation in an instant. Against cultivators who relied on external forces, it was a nightmarish ability—one that he would wield without hesitation.
But his growth did not end with the sword alone.
He had some advancement in the Heavenly Titan Physique—namely, Flesh Weaving.
Tao's body had always been frail in his previous life, but in this world, he refused to be weak.
The Heavenly Titan Physique was a legendary body-refinement technique, and after two years of intense training, he had finally reached the second step—Flesh Weaving.
His muscles and tendons, once merely strong, had been reforged by the technique.
Every fiber of his being was woven together with unyielding resilience, granting him extreme superhuman durability. His body had become a fortress of raw power, capable of withstanding forces that would shatter buildings.
He even tested his resilience, thanks to his tough body and the second step of the Heavenly Titan Physique. Anytime he was cut and stabbed, the flesh-weaving would activate and make his blood harden over, preventing blood loss.
And this was only if the attacker could cut his skin.
His strength had soared to the point where lifting boulders weighing twenty thousand pounds was effortless. His endurance had increased to where he could fight for hours without fatigue.
But the true testament to his progress came in battle—specifically, in the brutal training sessions with Butler An.
If there was anyone who could temper Tao's raw talent into refined skill, it was Butler An.
A seemingly mild-mannered old man, Butler An was anything but gentle when it came to training. Once a legendary warrior and general in his youth, he had served Tao's father for thousands of years, and now, he was Tao's primary combat instructor.
Their training was ruthless.
Every day, Butler An pushed Tao to the limit.
They fought with wooden swords, real blades, and even bare hands. The old warrior never held back—his strikes were precise, merciless, and designed to exploit even the slightest flaw in Tao's technique.
Tao learned to anticipate, to counter, and to adapt. His instincts sharpened to a razor's edge, his reactions becoming faster than thought. He learned the subtle art of feints, the importance of footwork, and the necessity of control.
Even when bruised, bloodied, and battered, Tao never yielded. He absorbed every lesson and every mistake. Butler An made sure to engrave them into his very bones.
After two years of brutal training, he could finally match Butler An in speed, endurance, and technique within the mortal confines of cultivation.
Though the old warrior still held an edge in sheer experience. He gave a good rating.
After one of their many bouts, he said, "Young master, I can confidently say that, as you are. No one beneath the peak stage of the foundation establishment will be able to rival your power."
"And even some weaker golden core cultivators will have to be wary of you."
"All in all, once you begin qi cultivation, with your extremely solid foundation. Your realm will shoot up greatly. You'll have little to no rival then."
"But understanding Dao is another thing. You'd do well to not get cocky just because of your current progress."
Tao took Butler An's words to heart and lost all sense of cockiness he had built up over the past two years.
And then one evening, after another intense bout, Butler An regarded him with a rare smile.
"You are no longer a boy who swings a sword—you are a fledgling warrior who wields one," he said, nodding in approval.
Tao smiled. He clenched his fists, feeling the surging power within him. He had come far, but there was still one thing missing. Besides actual life or death combat, he was missing one key component.
And he would need his father's help to do it.
...
The next morning, Tao made his way toward the throne room.
The grand hall was as imposing as ever, but he was no longer the frail boy who once stood before his father. He walked with purpose, his head high, his presence steady.
Dai Long, seated upon his dragon-carved throne, regarded his son with unreadable blood-red eyes.
Tao stepped forward and bowed. "Father, I have come with a request."
Dai Long remained silent, waiting.
Tao met his gaze. "I wish to forge my own sword."
A pause fell between them for just a second.
Then, for the first time in a long while, Dai Long's lips curved into a faint smile.