Chapter 1998: Three-Sword Style on the Fourth Floor of the Sword Pavilion

"Looks like it's going to snow."

As the proverb says, read the clouds to tell the weather. After a moment, Fu Qian finally withdrew his gaze from the completely cloudless sky and marveled to himself.

Naturally, the logic behind that deduction was undeniably mind-boggling.

Take Old Man Weilong, for example, who was watching him leave from behind. Without even turning his head, Fu Qian could sense the elder's heavy heart.

But Fu Qian turned his head anyway.

For an expert of the Demigod Realm, the distance offered no barrier to overhearing his earlier remark.

Old Man Weilong wore a grave expression, but he ultimately restrained himself and kept his confusion from showing.

Clearly, after surviving the vicissitudes of life, he had distilled a core truth: when dealing with Apocalypse's interim spokesperson, silence is golden.

Even if the man initiated a conversation, he had to think thrice before replying—

Unfortunately, Professor Fu seemed to have no intention of speaking either. Instead, he let his body language do the talking.

His gaze didn't linger on Old Man Weilong for even a second. With a crisp crash, Fu Qian's arm abruptly elongated, and a single slap shattered a window behind him.

In an instant, this grand and majestic building followed in the footsteps of the Benevolent Curse Institute.

Riiip—

Professor Fu's movements didn't even pause. His extended arm flexed inside the building, and as he pulled it back, he yanked down a thick, luxurious dark brown curtain.

Deftly draping it over his shoulders, he casually wrapped the fabric around himself to conceal his blood-soaked clothes. Then, without a single backward glance at the ruined scene, Fu Qian simply walked away.

This time, undoubtedly, far more eyes watched his departure.

Aside from Old Man Weilong and the initial few spectators, the growing crowd of Linghui Courtyard elites drawn by the noise arrived only in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of his tall, straight back.

No one tried to stop him. He could even hear Old Man Weilong coldly ordering the crowd back inside.

Today, Linghui Courtyard was visibly exercising immense tolerance.

...

"Professor Fu, do you wish to go inside and take a look today?"

While his makeshift outfit was bizarre, it was, overall, far less glaring than his blood-soaked garments.

In no rush to return to the Laboratory, Fu Qian instead chose to wander the Academy campus under the winter afternoon sun.

Strolling at a leisurely pace, he soon came upon a building even more familiar than Linghui Courtyard.

The Sword Pavilion.

Its terraced platforms and soaring eaves stood in quiet majesty. Although the annual open day was still a long way off, the gatekeeper's demeanor was as serious as ever.

Staring intently at the eccentrically dressed figure approaching, the gatekeeper recognized him before he even drew near. Startled yet respectful, the man took the initiative to greet Professor Fu.

He even volunteered to ask if Fu Qian wanted to tour the restricted grounds. Coming from another notoriously proud faction, this attitude was a stark contrast to Linghui Courtyard's.

"I can go in?"

Since the man had offered so readily, Fu Qian asked out of curiosity.

"Of course. Dean Li left specific instructions that the Sword Pavilion is completely open to you at all times."

Despite Professor Fu's casual tone, the gatekeeper didn't dare show the slightest neglect, answering with deep respect.

Oh... just look at the sheer class of the Sword Comprehension Institute.

To think Li Weixuan had granted an outsider like him such a special privilege. Such a distinct honor was likely rare throughout the entire Academy.

Clearly, when it came to friendly relations, Apocalypse and the Sword Comprehension Institute were enjoying far more fruitful results.

Once Cass returned, he might have to suggest reciprocally opening some areas of Apocalypse—provided the faculty and students of the Sword Comprehension Institute didn't mind.

"Yes, I was just about to head in. If you'd be so kind as to open the door."

Whether they minded or not, Fu Qian certainly didn't. Giving an earnest nod, he stepped up to the entrance.

...

The heavy, dark doors parted silently. The familiar sight and a chilling, solemn aura immediately washed over him.

"Professor Fu, you may freely enter every floor. Please call me at any time if you have questions."

Upholding the crisp efficiency of a sword path cultivator, the gatekeeper wasted no words after leading Fu Qian inside. Having emphasized that there were absolutely no restrictions on his movements, the man quietly withdrew.

"Understood, thank you."

Given such grand hospitality, how could Fu Qian fail to uphold the grace of Apocalypse? Offering a mild word of thanks, he ventured deeper into the Sword Pavilion. A moment later, he stopped before a black Longsword.

It bore the same craggy appearance, yet that distinctively anomalous vibe was gone. Clearly, it had been swapped back for the genuine article—it was no longer the Mushroom Sword from before.

Indeed, this was the very weapon Professor Rob had secretly tampered with.

While the replica had been vividly lifelike, even harboring a unique wickedness thanks to its special materials, it ultimately lacked a certain inherent grace compared to the original.

But this still wasn't what he was looking for.

Fu Qian pressed forward, climbing the stairs to the second floor... Sure enough, a dazzling array of arms greeted him, overflowing with a heroic aura.

The Rank of these items might not be exceptionally high, but they truly served as a testament to the rich, accumulated history of the cultivation path.

Fu Qian's phrasing was strict, because, as noted earlier, swords were far from the only weapons housed here.

Admiring the exhibits as he walked, Fu Qian couldn't help but recall his own glorious days—when he was wreathed in sword intent, a master of a hundred disciplines.

Looking back on it today, it was almost too painful to remember.

Clack!

The next moment, he simply reached out, plucked a medium-length straight sword from its pedestal, and examined it closely in his hand.

Once he verified that its vermilion hilt perfectly complemented the hue of his new overcoat, Fu Qian transferred it to his other hand with a satisfied nod. He then proceeded up to the next floor—casually snatching another sword along the way.

His selection criteria this time had nothing to do with the hilt's color. Even as a long-standing antique, the blade remained as bright as autumn water, capable of vividly reflecting his image. It could be used as a mirror.

Clang!

Tossing the box he'd been carrying all this time onto the floor, Fu Qian withdrew the Ji Family's Incense Axe. He casually lifted it to his mouth, clamping his teeth down on it, then crossed the two remaining swords into an "X", striking a deliberate pose.

Maintaining this highly embarrassing stance, he made his way to the top floor of the Sword Pavilion.

...

"In youth, I knew not the taste of sorrow... I loved to ascend the high tower..."

The Three-Sword Style clearly wasn't so easily mastered, but Fu Qian maintained his staggering presence, slurring the verse past the axe in his mouth.

The floor was completely empty. Evidently, no instructors from the Sword Comprehension Institute were training here today.

But that was fine. An Apocalypse instructor was here.

Wearing an arrogant expression, Fu Qian finally shifted his posture. Slanting his twin swords outward, he spread his arms wide. Treating the multitude of ancient blades and relics on the sword path as if they were nothing, he looked ready to unleash a whirlwind slash—

Amid a chaotic eruption of shattering sounds, a layered storm of blades actually manifested within this Sanctum of the Sword Comprehension Institute.

Not only were countless precious relics instantly swept into the fray, but the sweeping gale devoured everything in its path, violently tearing the ancient building apart from the inside out.

Startled cries seemed to echo from below, but they didn't impede Fu Qian's sword-wielding hands in the slightest—until those hands simply ceased to exist a moment later.

Right as the sharp edge of his blade met a tumbling Shortsword in the chaos, the Weapon in Fu Qian's grip instantly dissipated into sand without so much as a sound. The disintegration surged upward, swallowing his fingers, his palms, his arms...

The flesh-and-blood resilience of a Tier 2 Transcendent yielded not the slightest resistance.