Silence followed his request.

Fang Yuan stood motionless, waiting for a response as his senses stretched outward, trying to trace the origin of the voice.

"Very well, then."

The endless brilliance began to shift, folding inward upon itself and condensing into form.

Lines spread across the radiance like fractures in reality, yet as they deepened, Fang Yuan realized they were not cracks at all... they were space itself, being revealed.

His pupils shrank.

Layer upon layer unfolded before him, each strand as thin as silk yet carrying a weight heavier than mountains, weaving together in patterns that defied all logic.

Distances lost their meaning entirely; a single step could span a thousand miles—or amount to nothing at all.

Then, as the distortion reached its peak, a sword manifested before him.

It hovered in silence, simple in shape, yet its mere presence warped everything around it.

The space nearby bent subtly, like fabric drawn toward an invisible edge, as though reality itself feared the blade.

The voice echoed once more.

"Observe."

The sword moved without warning or flourish, its motion devoid of buildup or excess, yet within that single instant, Fang Yuan did not perceive the swing—only the result.

A line appeared.

It was so thin it was nearly nonexistent, so precise it felt inevitable, as though it had always been there, waiting to be acknowledged.

Everything along that line was separated—not torn, not destroyed, but divided with absolute clarity.

Fang Yuan’s breath caught in his throat, his mind trembling at the sight.

That was not sword intent, nor was it qi.

It was law—the manifestation of a fundamental principle, the pure embodiment of separation itself.

Before he could fully comprehend it, the scene shifted once more, and in the next moment, the sword was already in his hand.

The voice spoke again,

"Repeat what you just saw."

Fang Yuan did not question it.

He raised the blade, steady and composed, but the moment he tried to replicate what he had witnessed, nothing happened.

There was no distortion, no ripple, no sign of a cut... only stillness.

The space before him remained whole and untouched, as if rejecting his attempt entirely.

A faint pressure descended upon him.

"Again."

His grip tightened slightly around the hilt as Fang Yuan forced himself to slow his breathing, pushing away impatience.

He recalled the scene he had just witnessed—not the motion itself, but the underlying essence behind it.

It was not about cutting with force.

It was about defining a boundary.

Separating what was... from what would no longer be.

He moved once more, letting the blade fall in a controlled arc.

This time, something different happened.

A faint and fleeting ripple appeared, like a disturbance across perfectly still water. It was almost imperceptible, yet undeniably present.

The voice offered no praise, no acknowledgment beyond a single word.

"Closer."

Time began to lose its meaning.

Fang Yuan repeated the motion again and again, each attempt quieter than the last, each strike shedding something unnecessary.

Strength faded from the movement. Speed lost its importance. Even technique itself began to feel excessive.

All of it... irrelevant.

What remained was intent—pure and unadorned.

Then, at last, Fang Yuan moved again.

The motion was quiet, almost casual, as though it carried no weight at all.

And in that instant, a line appeared.

It existed for the briefest fraction of time before vanishing, yet its presence was undeniable.

Fang Yuan’s eyes widened as his breath stilled, his mind capturing that fleeting moment with absolute clarity.

He felt it. That truth.

The voice echoed one final time, its tone unchanged yet carrying a sense of finality.

"The path has been shown. Walk it."

The world shattered and Fang Yuan’s eyes snapped open.

He was back.

The familiar courtyard greeted him, the gentle flow of air, the faint rustling of leaves, the quiet stillness of reality restored.

In his hand, the scroll had already crumbled into ash, slipping through his fingers like dust carried by the wind.

Slowly, he raised his hand, extending two fingers as though they were a blade.

Then, without a word, he moved.

The motion was silent, controlled, and utterly devoid of excess.

The air before him trembled ever so slightly, and for a fleeting instant, a faint, almost imperceptible line flickered into existence before disappearing just as quickly.

Fang Yuan exhaled, long and steady, as a slow smile formed on his lips.

"Tyrant Light Sword..."

"...Spatial Cut."

Fang Yuan’s hand slowly lowered, and the faint line in the air had already vanished as if it had never existed.

Laving no trace behind as he stood there in silence for a brief moment before a sudden wave of exhaustion crashed into him, his vision blurring slightly as his body swayed and an unfamiliar heaviness settled deep within his limbs, forcing a quiet breath to escape his lips.

Only then did he truly notice his own state his robes were completely soaked, sweat clinging to his skin in a damp, chilling layer, his hair sticking faintly to his forehead.

His spiritual sea was depleted after that one use.

Fang Yuan lifted his hand and stared at it briefly, noticing the slight tremor running through it before slowly clenching it into a fist as his gaze deepened.

"So I can’t use it twice in succession despite knowing how it’s done."

His eyes sharpened as the earlier fatigue was forcefully pushed aside, replaced not by simple excitement, but by a profound sense of clarity.

What he had grasped just now was not yet a complete technique, nor something he could fully wield at will, but the path forward had already been carved open before him.

He exhaled slowly, steadying both his breath and his thoughts as his composure returned.

"...Worth it."

Lifting his head, Fang Yuan looked ahead, his expression settling back into its usual calm indifference.

"Now all I need is a proper bath." he said to himself, and void-walked towards the river.

As he got into the water and slowly let himself be at peace, a system message came once more.

[Congratulations, Host! Tyrant’s Light Sword has been upgraded from Low-Grade Black to High-Grade Saint.]