The Forgotten Valley remained as peaceful as a dreamscape. Golden sunlight spilled across the verdant meadows, while the crystalline lake acted as a massive mirror, reflecting the sky and clouds. Two years, to a place seemingly forgotten by time, was merely the blink of an eye. But for the youth sitting within the cave behind the waterfall, it was a complete metamorphosis, a rebirth from the ashes.
When the milky-white, nine-petaled lotus dais of his Foundation Establishment Dao Foundation fully condensed and stabilized, Tran Kien slowly exhaled a long breath. The stream of white mist this time was no longer a sharp arrow; instead, it transformed into the shape of a miniature Lac Bird. It circled the cave once before slowly dissipating into the air.
He opened his eyes. The world in his vision was completely different.
He could perceive the flow of Spiritual Qi in the air, could see how every drop of water falling from the cascade carried the life force of Heaven and Earth, and could observe the profound workings of life within every blade of grass and every leaf. The Mid-Foundation Establishment stage had brought him not only power but a far deeper comprehension of the fundamental essence of the world.
The Primordial Qi within his body was no longer a flowing river; it had transformed into a small lake, utterly tranquil yet harboring a heaven-shaking power. The Solar Essence Guard fragment and the Lac Bird fragment of the Soaring Lac Feathers had thoroughly fused with his aura, becoming a part of his Dao Foundation, allowing him to summon their power at will.
He stood up. His physique no longer possessed a skinny, frail appearance. It was well-proportioned and robust, every line of muscle containing explosive strength. As he clenched his fists tightly, the surrounding air seemed to compress, producing faint pop-pop sounds.
This level of power, compared to two years ago, was like the difference between Heaven and Earth.
He grasped his matte-black saber. For the past two years, it too had been ceaselessly nourished day and night by his Primordial Qi. The blade was no longer a dull black; it now possessed a profound, lustrous sheen like dark jade. It had transcended the bounds of a Mortal Weapon and developed a trace of spirituality. It could barely be considered a Low-grade Magical Artifact now, yet its compatibility with him was absolutely flawless.
"It is time," Tran Kien murmured.
He did not have much to pack. His entire net worth consisted of the clothes on his back, his saber, and the two legacy fragments. Stepping out of the cave, he stood beneath the waterfall that had been his companion for two long years. He bowed deeply—an expression of gratitude to the land that had sheltered him and catalyzed his rebirth.
Then, he walked to the cliff face, the only exit from the valley. Once more, he used his Primordial Qi to communicate with the barrier. The invisible door opened again.
When he stepped outside and returned to the real world, the air was no longer as pristine, and the Spiritual Qi was not as abundant as inside. But this was the true world. A world of bitter struggles and deep-seated grudges, the place where he truly belonged.
He stood atop the mountain peak, gazing toward the distant south. Two years had passed. He did not know how the situation outside had shifted. Was Lam Vy safe? How was Uncle Sword? How far had the chess game in the capital progressed?
He did not rush off blindly. He knew that after two years of concealment, the first thing he needed to do was grasp the current situation. The greatest stratagems were always built upon a foundation of accurate intelligence.
He descended the mountain and made his way to a nearby small town. He no longer played the role of a rustic country bumpkin. With his Foundation Establishment cultivation base and a deeply restrained aura, he now looked like a disciple of some sect descending the mountain for experiential tempering—not overly conspicuous, yet not someone others would dare to look down upon.
He sought out the most crowded tavern. Such places were where news traveled the fastest. Ordering a jug of plain wine and a plate of side dishes, he sat quietly in a corner and listened.
"Have you all heard the news? The Eldest Young Master of Marquis Vinh An's Estate, Lanh Thien Phong, will be challenging the 'Little Sword God' of the Thuong Quan Clan at Howling Wind Ridge in three days!"
"What? Lanh Thien Phong? That foppish silk-pants who only knows how to eat, drink, and play around actually dares to challenge the Little Sword God?"
"Shh! Keep your voice down! He's no longer a mere silk-pants! Rumor has it that over the past two years, he took a mysterious expert from the Black Dragon Stronghold as his master. His cultivation has advanced by leaps and bounds; he's already at the Mid-Foundation Establishment stage! I even heard he's mastered an incredibly vicious demonic art!"
"Is that true? Then things are looking grim for the Thuong Quan Clan. Although the Little Sword God is a genius, he only broke through to the Early Foundation Establishment stage half a year ago."
Tran Kien quietly took a sip of wine, a cold light flashing deep within his eyes. Marquis Vinh An, Black Dragon Stronghold... you have finally exposed your tails.
The Thuong Quan Clan was a name he had read about in books. They were one of the few major aristocratic families in the capital that dared to openly support Duke Dingguo's Estate. For Marquis Vinh An to have his son challenge their genius was clearly an act of provocation, a slap to the face aimed directly at Duke Dingguo.
"Howling Wind Ridge..." Tran Kien murmured the name. He pulled out a map to check. Howling Wind Ridge lay directly on the path he planned to take back to the capital.
What a coincidence.
But he did not believe in coincidences. He only believed in Heaven's Will. Perhaps the Heavens intended for him, before returning to the capital, to use this very battle to announce his return.
He drained his cup of wine and placed a piece of silver on the table. Asking nothing further, he stood up and quietly left the tavern.
He had found his next target.
Howling Wind Ridge.
He was not going there just to watch a play. He was going to be a spectator who could, at any moment, step onto the stage and rewrite the entire script. The tiger had descended the mountain. And it required prey sufficiently strong to sharpen the fangs and claws that had slumbered for the past two years.