Chapter 11: True Wang Ming
The next morning, Wang Ming arrived at the Sixth Elder's mansion. The days that followed were marked by relentless training, each session sharpening his understanding of the formation he had chosen.
On the sixth day, Wang Ming stood before a human-shaped puppet. The Sixth Elder observed him from a distance, his eyes narrowed, scrutinizing every movement. Wang Ming extended his hand, and three spiritual energy swords, each a meter long, emerged from his back. They shimmered with a fierce, crackling aura, like vipers coiled to strike. With a single thought, the swords shot forward, slicing through the puppet with blinding speed. The blades tore through the target, blasting it apart as waves of searing heat radiated from the point of impact.
The air rippled with the residual force, and fragments of the puppet clattered against the stone walls. Wang Ming allowed a faint, satisfied smile to tug at the corner of his lips, while the Sixth Elder, standing behind him, stroked his beard, a glimmer of appreciation flashing in his eyes.
"This boy is worth nurturing," the elder thought, his gaze fixed on the young figure. "Both humble and skilled in the sword path... it seems we have a promising candidate to counterbalance the First Elder's faction."
Clearing his throat, the Sixth Elder stepped forward, a warm, encouraging tone in his voice. "Not bad, Wang Ming. You didn't disappoint me. You may leave for now."
Wang Ming bowed without hesitation, masking his true thoughts with a respectful expression as he turned and left the courtyard. Once outside, his eyes grew cold, and his thoughts turned sharper.
"I have walked the sword path for over seven centuries in my previous life," he mused, the corners of his mouth curling into a subtle, chilling smile. "My understanding of the blade is deeper than any of these so-called elders. Even the clan leader cannot hold a candle to me."
As he strolled down the winding stone path, Wang Ming's gaze turned distant, reflecting on the nature of clans and sects.