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Chen Jiu guarded the sword tomb for thirteen years.
Twelve thousand swords filled the valley. Each one belongs to a fallen sword cultivator. There is an unwilling sword intent left in every handle.
He was five years old when the master left him here. Master said: The sword guard cannot use the sword. Then he never came back.
No one taught him how to speak, so he just talked to the sword. No one taught him how to practice, so he just held a sword and felt the memory of their owner——
The master of Duanshui cut off the waterfall, cut off the thread of love, and finally committed suicide with this sword. The owner of Blood Drink had a lifelong bloodlust. Before his death, he injected murderous intent into the sword, turning the sword into a beast thirsting for blood. Qianjun's master, with mediocre qualifications, used a heavy sword to chop for a hundred years and forcibly carved a path.
Thirteen years. Twelve thousand swords. Twelve thousand sword intentions. It's all in his head.
He thought this would be it for the rest of his life - guarding a bunch of dumb swords, waiting for the master who would never come back.
Until that evening.
Screams came from outside the mountain. In the town at the foot of the mountain, the mortals who brought him salt every year were being slaughtered.
Moyun Sect.
Chen Jiu walked out of the sword tomb for the first time. The first time I was stabbed. This is the first time I know that it hurts so much.
It was also the first time I drew my sword.
The moment the sword was unsheathed, deep in the sword tomb, the sword that had never been unsheathed moved.
Twelve thousand swords began to tremble at the same time.
He knew that from this moment on -
The whole world is an enemy.
