New Uses Of Sword

Chapter 47: New Uses Of Sword

I stood alone in the courtyard of my residence, shrouded in darkness as the moon was hidden behind thick, foam-like clouds. Unbeknownst to me, my pale black eyes held a strange light that even the twilight's darkness could not drown.

I looked up, feeling a little better, though at times I still wanted to quit and return to the village where my uncle now resided. He had taken over everything my parents had left behind. But now, I was strong enough to overwhelm even the strongest of mortals—not cultivators, mind you, but mortals. Yet, would my parents even wish for me to seek revenge? Phew... I am still young, not even having reached adulthood.

I slapped my thigh as a sudden thought crossed my mind.

...

Slowly, as the clouds shifted in the sky, the darkness began to fade. The night receded, and the sun started rising from the horizon. Xu Mo remained standing in the same spot, unmoving.

Chirp-chirp.

Hmm... Xu Mo stirred at the sound of birds chirping near his ears. He shook slightly, and the birds perched on his shoulders flapped their wings and flew away. Xu Mo glanced at his shoulders, now covered in bird droppings. It seemed he had been lost in thought, standing in the same posture for hours.

Xu Mo stretched. Though his body did not ache, some habits were hard to break. He circulated his Qi and noticed that it had increased slightly without him actively absorbing it. The increase was small but enough to fill a quarter of his third "bucket."

But how?

Xu Mo was puzzled. It was common knowledge that without specific techniques to absorb spiritual energy, it remained stationary and did not move willingly. This raised a question that had baffled many cultivators: How had their ancestors, the first humans in this world, reached such great heights without these techniques? They had even created new spiritual circulation methods and shared them with common folk who could not draw in spiritual energy. This had led to an increase in the number of cultivators, but the quality had declined.

Their ancestors, without the aid of pills, array formations, or techniques, had become legendary figures. They had developed their own methods and distributed them to others. Was there a greater conspiracy behind the distribution of these techniques? Why were today's cultivators judged by a talent stone? And then there was Long Chen, who had risen to prominence in the Hidden Dragon Sect despite the stone indicating he had no talent for cultivation. And now, my Qi had increased without any effort on my part.

Was this the Dao? Was it hinting that my talent was akin to primordial existences? No, not me—but the Dao of Silence. It was the only thing that gave me an edge over others. Had it been offended when its inheritor questioned his own talents, even though the Dao had clearly chosen him? And then there was that recurring headache, appearing once a month, accompanied by strange sounds and rhythms that varied each time. Even within the sect's protective formations, it penetrated without alerting anyone.

Xu Mo snapped out of his thoughts, allowing his mind to process these mysteries. Surely, many before him had asked the same questions, and he would not be the last. If even the seniors before him had failed to uncover the secrets of cultivation, what could he, a mere Qi Condensation Realm cultivator, do? The weight of these unanswered questions pressed heavily on his shoulders, but he knew dwelling on them endlessly would only hinder his progress. For now, he resolved to focus on what he could control—his own growth and understanding.

After finishing his stretches, Xu Mo picked up the sword resting against the wooden wall of his house. He swung it around, not for grand practice but to cut the overgrown wild grass. He could have used his Qi control for the task, but sometimes, doing things with his own hands felt more rewarding. The physicality of the work grounded him, reminding him of the simplicity of life in the village. Back then, his worries had been mundane—whether the crops would yield enough, whether the weather would hold, whether his uncle would find another excuse to berate him. Now, his concerns were far grander, yet somehow less tangible.

Swoosh-swoosh.

In the silent courtyard, the only sound was the blade slicing through the air. He moved from one corner to another, though swinging the sword in awkward postures proved challenging. Xu Mo had to kneel to clear one area, and because the blade was rusted, trimming the grass required repeated efforts. The repetitive motion allowed his mind to wander again, though this time, his thoughts were less chaotic, more reflective.

As he worked, he pondered the nature of the Dao. Was it truly a force that guided cultivators, or was it merely a concept created to explain the inexplicable? The Dao of Silence had chosen him, but what did that mean? Was it a blessing, or was it a burden? The recurring headaches and the strange sounds that accompanied them—were they signs of the Dao's influence, or were they something else entirely? Xu Mo had no answers, but he knew one thing for certain: he could not afford to ignore these mysteries. They were intertwined with his path, and understanding them might be the key to unlocking his true potential.

The sun climbed higher in the sky, its warmth dispelling the last remnants of the night's chill. Xu Mo wiped the sweat from his brow and paused to survey his work. The courtyard was far from pristine, but it was a marked improvement from the wild overgrowth that had dominated it earlier. He leaned on the sword, its rusted blade glinting faintly in the sunlight, and allowed himself a small smile. It was a modest accomplishment, but it was his.

As he stood there, a sudden realization struck him. The sword in his hands, though worn and neglected, was still a weapon. It had been forged for combat, for the clash of steel and the spilling of blood. Yet here he was, using it to tame the unruly grass. Was this a misuse of the sword, as a sword cultivator might claim? Or was it a testament to the versatility of the tool and the ingenuity of its wielder? Xu Mo's mind drifted back to the question he had posed earlier: Who decided the sword's purpose?

He recalled the stories he had heard as a child, tales of legendary swordsmen who had wielded their blades with unmatched skill and precision. They had been revered as heroes, their swords symbols of their strength and honor. But Xu Mo had also heard darker tales—of assassins who used needles and daggers to strike from the shadows, of farmers who repurposed their tools to defend their homes. The sword, like any tool, was only as noble or as base as the hand that wielded it.

This line of thought led him to consider his own path. He was no legendary swordsman, nor was he a cunning assassin. He was simply Xu Mo, a young cultivator trying to make sense of a world that often seemed incomprehensible. Yet, perhaps that was enough. Perhaps the true measure of a cultivator was not their mastery of techniques or their adherence to tradition, but their ability to adapt, to find their own way in a world that offered no clear answers.

With this thought in mind, Xu Mo resumed his work, swinging the sword with renewed determination. The grass fell before him, and with each stroke, he felt a sense of clarity. The physical exertion cleared his mind, allowing him to focus on the present moment. For now, the mysteries of the Dao and the secrets of cultivation could wait. There would be time to unravel them later.

As the morning wore on, the courtyard began to take shape. The wild grass was trimmed, the overgrown bushes pruned, and the pathways cleared. Xu Mo stepped back to admire his handiwork, a sense of satisfaction washing over him. It was a small victory, but it was his.

He returned the sword to its place against the wall and sat down on the steps of his house. The sun was high in the sky now, its rays warming the stone beneath him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the moment of peace. It was rare for him to feel this sense of calm, and he intended to cherish it.

But even as he relaxed, his mind continued to wander. The mysteries of cultivation, the nature of the Dao, the strange occurrences that seemed to follow him—they were never far from his thoughts. He knew he could not ignore them forever. Sooner or later, he would have to confront them head-on.

For now, though, he allowed himself to rest. The challenges ahead were daunting, but he was not alone. He had his sword, his Qi, and his determination. And perhaps, most importantly, he had the Dao of Silence, whatever that might mean. It had chosen him, and he would not let it down.

As the day stretched on, Xu Mo remained seated on the steps, lost in thought. The birds returned, their chirping a gentle reminder of the world's beauty. He watched them flit about, their movements carefree and unburdened. For a moment, he envied them. But then he reminded himself that he, too, had his own path to follow. It might be fraught with challenges, but it was his, and he would walk it with pride.

The sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Xu Mo rose to his feet, his body stiff from hours of inactivity. He stretched, feeling the familiar ache in his muscles, and smiled. It was a good day, all things considered. He had made progress, both in the physical world and in his own mind.

As he turned to go inside, a sudden thought struck him. The sword, the grass, the birds—they were all part of the same world, interconnected in ways he was only beginning to understand. Perhaps the key to unlocking the mysteries of cultivation lay not in grand theories or ancient techniques, but in the simple act of observing the world around him.

The mysteries of the Dao would wait, but he would not. He had a path to walk, and he intended to walk it with purpose.