Chapter Nine: Forging the Flying Sword

Shangguan Chuanyun felt another wave of danger.

“If you stay in one place too long, you’re bound to be caught. If this keeps up, I’ll surely be hit by an arrow. But my sword’s control only extends three yards; beyond that range, its power against the giant weakens. Not only will I fail to kill the giant, but I’ll lose control over my magical sword.”

“I must get closer.”

Resolute, Shangguan Chuanyun dove into the cloud of smoke birthed by the recent explosion, hiding within its cover.

The giant lost sight of Shangguan Chuanyun, glanced around, and, failing to find him, lumbered toward the thickest part of the smoke. Inside, Shangguan Chuanyun could sense the giant’s direction. Watching the giant search left and right as it approached, he muttered internally, “A perfect opportunity.”

With a leap, he darted beneath the giant. Seizing his chance, he stabbed at the root of the giant’s thigh, twisting his wrist to churn the wound.

The giant let out a bestial roar, released its arrow, and swung a massive palm toward its own lower body.

Shangguan Chuanyun propelled himself upward, meeting the giant’s wrist with a lateral slash.

A tremendous crack rang out.

A gigantic hand split from the giant’s arm, and in a spasm of pain, the giant jerked back its limb. But the severed hand, carried by inertia, crashed down onto the already wounded leg.

With a thunderous impact, the giant’s own hand smashed its leg, breaking it.

A guttural howl tore from the giant’s throat. Bereft of a leg, it lost all balance and toppled to the ground.

Seizing the moment, Shangguan Chuanyun unleashed a flurry of stabs upon the giant’s body.

The giant trembled upon the earth, shrinking slowly until it became a clay statue, as tall as a person.

Seeing this, Shangguan Chuanyun exhaled in relief.

He dusted himself off; the battle had left him in a sorry state.

Approaching the clay figure, he observed it resembled a temple idol—imbued with the scent of incense and smoke, but now broken into sections.

Beside it lay a bow and a quiver. Shangguan Chuanyun counted; eight arrows remained.

He picked up the bow and arrows, examining them closely. Only then did he see that each bore engraved runes, marking them as magical artifacts.

The arrows were formidable; they had nearly killed him.

After some study, he understood their mechanism.

—

“So these arrows are crafted from uniformly patterned shadow wood, their heads forged with thunderfire. Sulfur, saltpeter, charcoal, and fire powder are added, then Taoist power is used to inscribe runes upon the arrowheads, blending everything together.”

This was the method of external alchemy, dangerous in its making—easy to explode, but extraordinarily powerful. To inscribe the runes requires absolute concentration, spiritual clarity, and a single breath—without years of experience, it’s impossible. When fired from a special bow, these arrows detonate with such force that even martial artists of the transcendental realm cannot withstand them.

From the arrowheads, Shangguan Chuanyun deduced his assailant was a cultivator skilled in external alchemy and adept at manipulating spirits—his attacks unpredictable, impossible to guard against.

But Shangguan Chuanyun refused to be intimidated. No matter what strange tricks were used, he would meet them with his sword.

He would not sit and wait, enduring repeated attacks. He resolved to strike first.

To accomplish great things, one must first sharpen their tools. Shangguan Chuanyun decided to forge a three-inch flying sword bound to his own fate. The essence of a sword immortal’s art lies in the flying sword; only with such a blade does one truly earn the title.

The right moment for forging comes when the minor elixir is formed—then, the alchemical fire is present, and the process becomes much simpler.

He recalled in his previous life, forging a flying sword required materials fused through advanced technology to form a sword blank. Then, layer upon layer of runes were inscribed with his own blood, constantly refined with mind and spirit, and precious herbs were added to nurture the sword’s intelligence, binding it to his life. Finally, it was buried in a site rich with Geng Metal to absorb its essence and boost its power.

Throughout, the sword had to be kept linked to his mind, becoming a part of himself. Only then was it complete—though it couldn’t kill at a thousand miles, within a few it moved as an extension of his will.

That process took nearly three years.

But with the alchemical fire, things would be easier. He needed only to find superior refined iron, forge a sword blank, then fuse it with his own blood and spirit. The sword would naturally develop the runes of the Dao, becoming his second life—a method similar to external alchemy, yet distinct.

Once completed, its power would multiply.

A casual release of sword energy could shatter gold and jade, breaking through all manner of evil.

Shangguan Chuanyun glanced outside. Tonight felt strangely eerie. Normally, the estate’s guards patrolled each night, but now there was no one—an unnatural silence.

Though his courtyard was remote within the marquis’s estate, his status was too high for anyone to neglect his security. The commotion he’d caused should have drawn attention, but not a single person had come to inquire. Something was off.

Most of the estate’s guards were skilled men brought from the army by his father, Marquis Wu’an, Shangguan Jin. Yet Wu’an had only secured his position in the military thanks to General Zhenyuan. So it was possible the Lady, the chief wife, was behind this.

If so, though the estate seemed under Shangguan Jin’s control, the Lady had infiltrated much beneath the surface. What was she scheming, or perhaps General Zhenyuan himself?

Unable to fathom their motives, Shangguan Chuanyun stopped pondering. Judging by tonight, it was merely that the Lady, angered by him, had lost her composure and prematurely revealed her hand.

In other words, for now the threat was directed only at him; his mother remained safe.

Moreover, his mother’s quarters were heavily guarded by experts his maternal grandfather had hired, making it nearly impossible for the Lady to intervene. If any danger arose, those men could surely protect his mother and younger brother.

He pressed down all distracting thoughts and steadied himself, silently reciting, “Only by strengthening myself can I truly resolve these troubles.”

Shangguan Chuanyun had always lived by this maxim. The way of the sword immortal was to trust only himself, only in the flying sword in his hand. All else was external, less real than one’s own strength.

Some matters require personal involvement; no one else can take his place. So, he prepared to forge his flying sword.

He tidied the courtyard, gathering useful items. The rest, he burned to ash with a flicker of flame from his fingertips.

The useful items included a knife, a bow, and a quiver with eight thunderfire-forged arrows.

—

After storing these, Shangguan Chuanyun took out a small chest from the room. Opening it, he found it filled with metals.

This was what he had spent two years collecting after awakening in this world—materials for forging his flying sword.

There was blood-patterned steel, made by refining fine iron with blood to create distinct veins; starlight iron, extracted from meteorites and imbued with celestial force; purple gold, refined from pure gold; and numerous other metals, filling the chest to the brim.

He carried the chest before the altar where the image of the Heavenly Sovereign was enshrined.

After arranging everything, he lit incense and prayed sincerely. Since arriving in this world, Shangguan Chuanyun had faithfully worshipped the Heavenly Sovereign, believing, as taught in the sword immortal tradition, that the Sovereign was the embodiment of the Dao. All practitioners sought the Sovereign’s favor, hoping for divine guidance and the gift of true methods.

He silently recited the petition, praying to the Heavenly Sovereign: now that his minor elixir was formed, he could enact the sword immortal method to forge a flying sword. He beseeched the Sovereign to favor him and grant success, allowing him to step through the gates of sword immortality.

With all preparations complete, Shangguan Chuanyun felt his mind clear, free of distraction.

He settled in, reciting the incantation:

“Spirit of the void, ruler of all beings,
Ancestor before heaven and earth, moving sun and moon’s essence,
Arrayed radiance bestows form, forging sword, transforming spirit,
Primal origin stabilizes, proclaiming to all souls.
Mighty flames blaze, let the flying sword swiftly form.”

After adjusting his state, Shangguan Chuanyun placed the three-foot green blade upon the altar for protection—a sword immortal’s unique method of safeguarding the Dao. All cultivators, upon entering meditation, face demonical disturbances. Those unfamiliar with cultivation, or who practice blindly, experience odd phenomena as their qi shifts: sudden disturbances, arguments, or eerie noises in the silence—trees rustling without wind, the cry of the night owl, its voice like the groans of the dying, or bats knocking on doors at midnight. Without protection, such happenings could lead the timid to madness, or destabilize the soul, lowering fortune and inviting misfortune.

But the sword immortal’s method needed no such precautions. A magical sword in hand established a natural field, preventing evil from disrupting cultivation; sword light flickered, and lesser spirits dared not approach.

Having set his sword, Shangguan Chuanyun sat upon a meditation cushion and produced a nine-aperture furnace, neither jade nor gold. This furnace, used by Taoists for refining pills and medicines, had been custom-made at great expense by his grandfather from the priests of Mount Lao—worth its weight in gold.

The furnace was engraved with mysterious runes, and beneath it glowed a fiery red crystal—the ignition device. Shangguan Chuanyun circulated his minor elixir, producing a ball of flame—his natal fire, unique to each person, arising from the heart. With a flick of his fingers, a thread of flame shot forth and landed upon the crystal atop the nine-aperture furnace.

With a rush, the furnace ignited.

Shangguan Chuanyun carefully manipulated the flames, swirling them up and down within the furnace—preheating. When the temperature was right, he placed the prepared materials inside, one by one.

He controlled the flames to burn the metals, slowly melting them into liquid.

Heating further, he waited until the metal was nearly vaporized, then divided the liquid into nine portions, placing each in a separate compartment around the furnace.

When the time was right and the heat perfect—just as in pill-making, where excess heat ages the medicine, draining its vitality—he drew a shimmering portion of star iron to the furnace’s center. Focusing his spirit, he formed a hand seal, sent his mind into the liquid, then bit his tongue to force a ball of blood, spraying it onto the material.