Walker Of The Worlds

Chapter 2996: Honing Intent

Each step Lin Mu took upon the razor’s edge of the Sacred Grounds was like a drop of ink falling into an endless scroll—silent, measured, and irreversible.

The world around him was still that same gloomy realm, where only a floating cliff had supported his first steps, and the rest was a void of dark, weightless sky. No sun, no stars, no wind—only the unrelenting sharpness of the path ahead.

From the very beginning, the Sacred Grounds had made its intention clear. It was not here to defeat him, nor was it a realm of illusions and tricks.

It was a forge. A crucible.

A place designed to grind down all that was unnecessary, to press upon the soul until only truth remained.

And Lin Mu... walked.

Thousands upon thousands of steps passed, the sword intent growing sharper, denser, more refined with each pace.

The initial steps had cost him his boots—the soles shredded in an instant as he took his first stride. But the flesh of his feet had not even been scratched. His Boundless Dominator Physique, honed through countless temperings, was far beyond the reach of ordinary danger.

Or so he thought.

An unknown length of time later, as he strode in silence upon the infinitely stretching blade beneath him, the sharp winds had arrived.

They came suddenly—torrents of invisible force filled with sword intent so refined it felt alive. The first gust nearly toppled him, not because of its physical power, but because of how it resonated directly with the Sword Heart in his chest. His robes were torn away, reduced to fluttering scraps. The wind struck him not as a gale, but as a silent judgment.

The wind wasn’t meant to kill him.

It was meant to ask: Are you worthy to stand?

He had answered with his balance.

Lin Mu steadied himself, then surrounded his body in a veil of sword intent, allowing his comprehension to guide the energy into a barrier.

And with that, he continued walking.

More gusts came—some gentle as whispers, others shrieking with fury. Each one bore sword intent so potent that it could rend mountains, sever the heavens. Yet Lin Mu endured.

Not without struggle. But he endured.

And with time, something began to change.

The barrier of sword intent that protected him, once a visible shell of pale light surrounding his body like a second skin, began to compress. Its outer glow dimmed, growing thinner, more condensed—becoming denser in its essence, more complete in its purpose.

It was no longer a manifestation of defense.

It was integration.

The barrier shrunk to just a millimeter from his skin. Yet its strength grew. He could feel it pressing against him, not as a separate force, but as an extension of himself. Like armor fused to the body. Like flesh reborn from will.

Eventually, it became indistinguishable from skin itself.

Lin Mu stopped briefly and ran his fingers across his forearm. He felt the surface—smooth, solid, yet humming with dormant sharpness. There was no distinction now between body and intent.

His sword intent was no longer something he summoned.

It had become him.

There was no need to shout. No need to swing a sword or release techniques. The pressure of his will alone could cut. It was an evolution not of technique, but of state. A qualitative transformation, quiet yet absolute.

It did not surge.

It settled.

"I’ve... become sword," Lin Mu whispered, standing amidst the oppressive silence of the Sacred Grounds.

There was no reaction from the world around him. No thunderous phenomenon. No shift in the void. But he felt it. Deep within his being. A state of understanding—of alignment.

The Sacred Grounds weren’t just testing his endurance.

They were teaching him clarity.

And so he walked again.

Step after step, the edge beneath his feet grew more refined. The pain began—not as bleeding wounds, but as an internal ache. The soles of his feet burned, not from external injury, but from the sheer density of sword intent pressing past even his absurd defenses.

He should not have felt pain. His Boundless Dominator Physique had endured attacks greater than tribulation lightning and battle-hardened immortals.

But this was something else.

This was transcendent sword intent. The will of blades that had cut through the fabric of existence, that had perhaps even defied fate. And they judged him not with violence—but with pressure.

Lin Mu’s breath deepened, his focus narrowing. He called upon his sword intent once more, forming the barrier tighter, thinner. His entire focus turned to balance, to control, to refinement.

He could no longer afford wide, flaring bursts of power. Now, everything was about precision. Every waver in his intent was a chink in his armor. Every stray thought was a slip of the blade beneath his feet.

And through this struggle, Lin Mu’s sword intent changed again.

Not in scale. Not in power.

But in quality.

His intent, once a radiant flood, became a whisper. A thread of resolve, sharp as celestial steel. It did not shine. It did not roar. But it was. Quiet. Absolute.

It layered upon him like silk. And yet, the pressure it exuded made even the winds of the Sacred Grounds yield slightly—like junior swords lowering themselves before an elder.

As Lin Mu walked on, he felt old thoughts slipping away. Doubts about the future. Regrets of the past. Even ambitions and desires that had driven him for so long began to fall away.

It wasn’t that he was losing them.

It was that they were being tempered.

Tempered into something sharper, purer, cleaner.

A blade without rust.

A will without noise.

He was no longer simply enduring the Sacred Grounds.

He was being remade by them.

Somewhere far in the distance—beyond the path, beyond even time—the Formation Spirit of the Sacred Grounds stirred again. It had tested many. Broken many. Rewarded some.

But Lin Mu... was rare.

He did not merely resist the trials.

He harmonized with them.

He became them.

And at the unseen end of the path, where the edge of the world awaited, something ancient began to shift—awakened by the presence of a will not born from swordsmanship alone, but from the clarity of self.

Lin Mu continued walking. Silent, steady, sovereign.

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