No matter what this tower was, there was no reason to pass it by.
Song Wanníng stayed near the back of the crowd but still chose to follow them inside.
The moment Liu Yiyi saw her step through the entrance, delight flashed across her face. She quickly slipped in after her.
…
Inside the tower, Song Wanníng found herself alone. The crowd had vanished, leaving her in a room filled wall to wall with weapons.
Swords, sabers, spears, whips—countless weapons hung in neat rows along the walls. At first glance, it felt more like she had stumbled into some kind of interrogation chamber.
Aside from the weapons, the room was empty.
Scanning her surroundings, she walked toward one of the weapon-lined walls. Before she could act, a red-tasseled spear ripped itself free from its mount and shot toward her like a bolt of lightning.
Her eyes sharpened. She swung her longsword, meeting the spear head-on with a resounding crash.
Sparks burst, and the air trembled violently.
The next instant, a bow floated up on its own. The string drew back, and an invisible spirit arrow hissed toward her.
Song Wanníng twisted midair, then bent backward sharply to avoid the arrow. Before she could recover, a long whip lashed out from the wall.
Her stomach sank. "Could it be that every single weapon here…"
The thought had barely formed when more weapons surged toward her. Worse still, each strike carried terrifying power—no weaker than if a Divine Transformation cultivator were wielding it personally. It felt less like she was fighting weapons, and more like she was facing a mob of Divine Transformation experts.
How horrifying was that?
A flying knife whistled past her ear, cutting away a lock of her hair. Her ear stung where the edge had grazed it.
In less than a minute, dozens of weapons had surrounded her. They floated around her, circling like predators.
She took a breath, and as if on cue, they all struck again.
"Damn it."
Song Wanníng cursed silently. She had no idea what this damned place was, but to be attacked the moment she entered was outrageous.
The weapons only pressed harder. She countered wildly, dodging when she could, but the space was too small to evade for long. Within a few breaths, her body was already covered in cuts.
A spear punched straight through her right side, leaving a gaping wound that poured blood.
She cursed even more viciously.
When she had fought Feng Youming four against one, he had ended up in a miserable state. But now, she was worse—dozens of "opponents" coming at her all at once.
The fact that she was still breathing could be considered stubbornness. The more she was beaten down, the more unwilling she became to yield. Her sword never stopped moving.
…
Meanwhile, on another floor, Liu Yiyi was swearing under her breath.
This place was an ancient trial tower from a bygone era, designed to hone disciples' strength through a gauntlet of challenges. She had discovered it long ago and entered over ten times, yet had never made it past the third floor. Each attempt had left her battered and bloody.
Only the rewards for clearing each floor had kept her coming back.
According to her realm token's description, outsiders could only access the bottom six floors. The highest floor was forbidden to outsiders. Anyone who stepped onto it would be annihilated by the tower, body and Primordial Soul alike.
That was exactly why she had sacrificed this secret to lure Song Wanníng here. As much as she hated Song Wanníng, she had to admit the woman was exceptional. Without a doubt, she would reach the top floor. When that happened, the tower would take care of the rest.
…
Song Wanníng knew nothing of Liu Yiyi's scheme. She was too busy fending off a storm of blows, her temper rising with every strike.
Time and again, the Taiji halo flared around her, but it still failed to drive the weapons back.
In short order, she was knocked to the floor, coughing up blood. Lifting her head, her refusal to submit only deepened—until the red-tasseled spear in front of her began to twist in place, almost as if… gloating.
The sheer arrogance of it made her want to spit blood again. She was being mocked by a weapon. She spat the blood from her mouth, wiped her lips with the back of her hand, and pushed herself to her feet.
The spear twisted again, more smug than before.
Song Wanníng's eyes narrowed. Fine.
She raised her sword and struck at the spear once more.
Inside the trial tower, no outside items could be used except for one's life-bound treasure. Everything else was sealed.
Fortunately, her little golden sword did not count as an outside item, darting about the room to help her parry and deflect. Without it, she would be taking an even worse beating.
Under the relentless clash, spiritual energy surged wildly. The room became a storm of motion and flashing steel.
It did not last forever. Amid the chaos, Song Wanníng noticed something. At first, she had thought the weapons attacked her randomly. But the longer the battle went on, the more she saw the pattern in their movements.
They were not chaotic at all. They were working together.
Like a formation.
Her gaze hardened. While fending off their blows, she delved into the array techniques she had inherited from Feng Jiuxiao.
The answer came quickly.
The weapons were moving according to a fourth-grade grand array—the "Nine Mechanisms Illusory Array." No wonder she had been unable to break it.
There was no time to waste. She began studying its structure on the spot. But before she could celebrate finding the flaw, another wave of strikes slammed into her, sending her skidding across the floor.
Now she knew what it felt like to be a rag doll. It was infuriating.
Thankfully, Feng Jiuxiao's inheritance was thorough, laying out the method to unravel the array in precise detail. Guided by it, she soon pinpointed the weak link. Her sword swept down in a ruthless arc. The true domain of the sword appeared once again, tearing the weapons' formation apart.
Spiritual energy exploded in all directions. The ground shook violently. When she steadied herself, she saw that all the weapons had vanished—save for the spear.
The rest had been illusions.
Her eyes narrowed. A thought sparked. She swung her sword again, this time weaving the array into her strike. Embedding formations into swordplay was nothing new, and she knew a few such techniques herself, though only with low-grade arrays.
But Feng Jiuxiao's records described even the most complex formations in simple, easy-to-imitate terms. Mastering them fully would take time, but copying them was far easier.
Many of these arrays had long disappeared from the cultivation world. Most cultivators would not even recognize them. Her focus sharpened. She struck again, driving the spear back.
First one weapon appeared to aid her, its spiritual energy blazing with fire.
Then two. Three. Four.
Until ten weapons moved with her.
Only then did the spear lunge again.
Countless weapons clashed together.
Boom!
A violent explosion tore through the room. Crushing pressure slammed into Song Wanníng, and her world dissolved into searing firelight.