Damon turned from the window and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake the girls.

He opened the status panel and scrolled to the rewards section.

The Chaos Devourer Sword had bonded to his soul and with it came something he hadn’t fully examined yet.

[Chaos Edge Technique]

[Grade: ???]

[Description: A combat technique born from the Pre-Creation Era, forged by the first being to ever wield the Chaos Devourer Sword. The technique draws from the sword’s ability to devour space and time, converting spiritual energy into sword technique, a force that exists outside elemental classification and cannot be blocked by conventional spiritual defenses.]

[Current Forms Unlocked: 1 / 10]

[Requirements to unlock subsequent forms: Sufficient cultivation realm, Chaos Devourer Sword, and mastery of the previous form.]

Damon stared at that grade on the system.

’Another question mark.’

He already know that question mark indicate something higher grade that this world can handle like Neko.

’This was amazing as expected a technique that higher that Origin Grade.’

The highest technique anyone in the Azure Dragon Sect possessed was Saint Grade.

That was Sect Leader Hector’s personal sword art.

Selene’s techniques were Earth Grade and her best one was at Heaven Grade Peak.

And here Damon was sitting on the edge of a bed in Solaris City having a technique that higher than Origin Grade that came with ten forms and a sword that ate space and time.

He kept reading on the technique.

[Form One: Chaos Slash]

[Description: The user channels spiritual energy along the blade and releases it as a single compressed strike. The strike fractures the space directly in front of the blade, creating a spatial tear that travels in a straight line for up to fifty meters. Any object, technique, or barrier caught in the tear is devoured by the sword’s strike unless the target possesses a cultivation realm two full stages above the user.]

[Current Mastery: 0%]

Damon read it twice.

A spatial tear.

Not sword qi, not sword intent, not sword aura.

An actual fracture in the fabric of space that traveled forward and consumed whatever it touched.

He thought about his sword aura, about the way it had cut through Argon’s broadsword in the arena like the metal wasn’t there.

Sword aura was already beyond what most cultivators in the True Spirit Realm could produce.

But sword aura still operated within the rules of the world.

It was compressed spiritual energy shaped into an edge.

Chaos Strike didn’t care about the rules.

He scrolled further to see the remaining form descriptions, but the system had locked them behind a grey veil.

[Forms 2 through 10: Locked. Master Form One to reveal Form Two description.]

He closed that window and leaned back on his palms, looking at the ceiling.

’Ten forms.’

He had no idea what the upper end of this technique looked like, but if the first form was already producing spatial tears, he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out in a crowded area.

He needed somewhere isolated to practice it.

The Chaos Devourer Sword’s inner world had a hundred-to-one time ratio.

One day outside was a hundred days inside.

He could enter the sword’s inner world and spend what felt like months working on Form One while only a few hours passed in the real world.

He was at the Heavenly Spirit Realm - First Level in his true cultivation and hid it behind Polymorph at True Spirit Realm - Third Level.

He would need to test it carefully.

He pulled the formidable Chaos Devourer Sword from his hidden storage ring, the cold sensation of the hilt grounding him as he rested the lethal weapon across his knees.

Inside the dimly lit hotel suite, where the first tentative, grey light of dawn began to bleed through the heavy curtains, the blade appeared deceptively ordinary to the uninitiated eye.

It was crafted from a matte, obsidian-like metal, slightly elongated beyond the proportions of a standard combat sword, its surface seemingly unadorned, completely smooth, without a single decorative etching, dragon-wrought mark, or inscription.

However, the dark anomaly of the blade lay in its unnatural weight—or rather, the total lack thereof.

When Damon held it suspended, gravity seemed to treat the iron as if it were a mere phantom, a void of mass.

He could balance the pommel upon just two fingers, as if the weapon possessed a sentient internal that adjusted its weight to match his expectations at any given moment.

He leaned forward, as his eyes narrowing and pressed his index and middle fingers against the flat of the cool blade.

Then he pushed a thin thread of his spiritual energy toward the sword.

The reaction was instantaneous and profound; a subtle vibration surged upward, traveling through his skin and settling deeply into his body.

The surface of the metal flickered, the already abyssal black deepening into an almost liquid darkness for a fleeting heartbeat before it settled back.

’It’s reacting to me.’ he amused with a smile touching his lips.

He refrained from pouring more energy into the weapon, wary of the dormant power simmering within.

’Not here, not in a hotel suite with four sleeping women and a tiger cub two feet away from him.’

He stored the sword back in his ring and stood up.

One more day in Solaris City.

He needed to use it well.

The pills were sorted.

The new sword was bonded.

The technique was waiting.

What he needed now was information about the tournament, specifically about who else would be competing, which families and sect were sending representatives, and whether the Reventon name would appear on that list.

Alistair Reventon had walked away from the auction preview hall with the kind of calm that came from someone who had already decided what he was going to do next.

That kind of calm was always more dangerous than open aggression.

Damon moved to the window again and watched the first real light of morning break across the golden towers of Solaris City.