Chapter 85 - Xanthos Solarion
Not to brag but even with his pathetic talent and weak foundation in his past life, Cale had somehow reached Apex Stage through sheer desperation and questionable methods.
Be it Demonic cultivation, Murder, Beast blood rituals, Human sacrifices. He’d even stolen a thousand-year-old ginseng from the demonic sect itself before disappearing to hide elsewhere.
The memory that haunted him most, however, concerned that Transcendent Stage cultivator’s casual sword sweep. It wasn’t even energy-infused.
Just a passing gesture. But the sword intent woven through it was insane, it was a passive buff so strong it required no activation.
His thoughts drifted to his master.
Xanthos Solarion. The most talented cultivator and man the he had ever seen. Once the sole disciple of the Sword Saint himself, before being captured and brought into damnation. He could have escaped easily with his knowledge and experience spanning thousands of years, but he never attempted it.
When young Cale had asked why he didn’t return back to the sword saint, Xanthos had simply replied: "He doesn’t need a dull sword."
Cale hadn’t understood then. But after escaping and witnessing the world’s cruelty, the meaning was easy to understand. A disciple—no matter how talented—couldn’t simply return to the Sword Saint after being corrupted by the demonic sect.
The Nine Heaven Sword Pavilion’s reputation would shatter. So Xanthos had chosen to spend his remaining existence crafting weapons for the sect that imprisoned him.
He remembered their conversations vividly.
"Why the demonic sect then? Don’t you want to help the righteous side?"
Xanthos laughed. "The one who wins becomes the righteous one kid."
Cale had read enough cultivation stories to recognize such philosophy. Though, hearing it from a master made it feel quite different.
Xanthos had been his shield when Cale first joined as a footsoldier.
Teaching him that realms existed beyond conventional understanding. That cultivation was defiance against heaven itself.
That a Heavenly Court, just like in xianxia stories, existed too.
Later, Cale discovered the truth of why he didn’t just leave.
Xanthos’s cultivation had been sealed eternally. His only path forward was through demonic techniques.
When Cale was desperate enough, he’d asked: "How can I strengthen my swordsmanship? My potential is low, but can you teach me something? Something that might save me in a life-or-death situation?"
Xanthos had laughed. "Life or death? Isn’t defying heaven’s will to ascend already a life-or-death situation?"
"But everyone’s doing it, aren’t they?"
"Naive child, do you wish longevity or strength?"
Cale shrugged. "Isn’t it obvious? I want both. What’s the point of long life if I’m terrified every second?"
"There it is—human greed. The heavenly will knows this. It’s accepted greed as our nature. But when we exceed limits, it attacks individuals through tribulations."
Cale: "Heavenly tribulations exist here too?!"
"Indeed. After Grandmaster Stage, every subsequent realm grants lightning tribulations. Their strength depends on how dangerous you are to heaven itself. The stronger the lightning, the higher your potential. Survive it, and you gain fame and prosperity."
"Who wants that? I don’t pursue fame, though I won’t deny its appeal." Cale replied.
Xanthos smiled. "Interesting child. So tell me—what does a sword mean to a swordsman? What is the so called path of the blade to you?"
Cale had seen enough cultivation stories to attempt an impressive answer: "A sword is a... partner. An extension of the body, mirror of the soul like how a ruthless killer manifests a bloodthirsty aura, but righteous protector manifests brilliant, unyielding light."
Xanthos had laughed at his pretension. "Are you trying to impress me? A sword isn’t some profound thing. It’s metal forged by human hands, can be destroyed by human hands. Give a five-year-old a divine treasure sword, and they’d kill an Emperor Stage cultivator effortlessly. A sword is just a sword—a piece of metal or element. You don’t know this, but my master doesn’t even use a sword."
"What?! How is he a sword cultivator then?!" Cale asked.
"He uses his fingers. To him, any external sword is inadequate after a few slashes and it will shatter. His soul sword is the only worthy blade."
Cale questioned, "Why doesn’t he use that then?"
"If exposed too often, enemies would just target it with sealing artifacts. There are countless methods to kill my master—he simply hasn’t given anyone the opportunity yet."
Cale sighed, "So even the strongest cultivator on this planet isn’t truly safe?"
"Such is existence. Your earlier answer wasn’t entirely wrong—a sword reflects the wielder’s soul. But what reflection would mortals see? Even a righteous cultivator holding a blade inspires fear to others, however righteous you may be. Should you become something extinguishable?"
Cale had shaken his head.
"Correct. A sword carries a life in your hands—but not yours or the blade’s. It’s the life of whoever you’ll cut down. You’re imposing your understanding upon the world and its inhabitants. A sword is just ’a thing’—not important in itself. You’ve heard tales of cultivators splitting worlds with a leaf? do they seem childish perhaps, but tales too have origins you see. A blade of grass, a raindrop, a mere thought too. All become weapons capable of shattering mountains. To the ultimate swordsman, everything in the universe is a sword—because they themselves are the blade, not the tiny metal thing they hold."
Cale couldn’t help but look grim. "Its quite complicated huh."
Xanthos smiled knowingly. "Indeed it is. Why do you think sword dao exists? Not because of millions of swordsmen, but because of the few who abandoned swords entirely. To them, the weapon lost meaning. It can’t be called a sword if what you’re wielding isn’t even a sword, right? It’s simply one method among countless others—a way to kill, survive, and impose your will. Just another tool in your arsenal, like me pursuing all sorts of techniques, including demonic cultivation itself. The world is vast. Existing solely for the blade feels foolish now. Why live? To only swing a sword, cultivate endlessly, and slaughter? What’s the point?"
Cale replied, "Isn’t it to defeat enemies so you can live peacefully with loved ones?"
"What if all enemies are dead? What remains then—just you, your loved ones, and people unwilling to fight? Would you grow? Would cultivation even interest you? No. Your passion dies too. Even someone with the strongest sword talent would falter in such circumstances. That’s why those above Transcendent Stage exist while I remain here. You might say they’ve lived longer, but age becomes irrelevant after adulthood. Mages are declining, you know why? Mana cannot extend lifespan. It’s merely another accessible path. Mages were cultivators too, once seeking alternative ways to grow stronger."
"I... somehow understand, though not completely. You just threw quite a lot of things at me. But have you ever met someone stronger than a Transcendent?"
"Indeed. Those beyond Transcendent are called Quasi-Immortals or Loose Immortals. I encountered one who’d just ascended before being taken by someone from a superior sword sect. We lacked anyone to teach that kind of person."
Cale was surprised, "Someone stronger than the Sword Saint?"
"The Sword Saint is merely a title granted at some point. It’s not that none can surpass him—it’s that he’s lived this long to earn the name. The Loose Immortal I met died within years. By now, my master has likely surpassed that level too."