Chapter 126: The Crimson-Gold Edge
Hours slipped by as the sun continued its steady climb across the sky. By midmorning, it had shed the last of dawn's gentleness entirely—its rays sharp and punishing, more blade than light.
Su Tianhao sat cross-legged beneath its searing radiance, motionless and deliberate. This was exactly what he wanted. He needed the sun to work on his complexion, and the sun was cooperating fully. His once snow-white skin had already taken on a faint crimson flush—like the tender flush of a newborn's skin, which was somehow worse.
While his body endured the sun's tempering, his mind was fixed entirely on one thing—mastering the Third Form of Shadow-Splitting Flash.
Ninefold Deathflash.
His brows were furrowed, his expression tense and unwavering. The technique was unlike anything he had attempted to master before. Its complexity sat heavy in his mind, pressing against the limits of ordinary comprehension.
As time drifted on, beads of sweat formed at his temples. His back grew soaked. Whether from the physical toll of the sun or the mental strain of what he was reaching for, one thing was clear—his endurance was nearing its limit.
---
By midday, the sun stood at its zenith—pressing down on the world like a furnace lid sealed shut. Su Tianhao's entire body had flushed deep crimson, drenched in sweat, brows knitted in frustration.
Then—
"Aaaaah!"
He gasped sharply, jolted from the depths of concentration as if surfacing from deep water. His face was slightly pale.
"What is it with this technique?!" he muttered, massaging his temples as a dull headache throbbed relentlessly.
"This is the first time something like this has ever happened to me," he said, though he smiled despite himself—no disappointment, no regret.
As the saying goes: the rarer the treasure, the harsher the trial to claim it.
He understood this. And he was up for it.
He rose slowly, bones cracking with each movement. Mentally spent, physically exhausted. Neither would stop him.
He extended one hand into the empty air, his voice carrying quiet authority.
"Devour."
A suction force rippled outward—thirty meters in every direction.
Whoosh.
The vortex within his dantian stirred to life, drawing in the spiritual energy of the surrounding area. But there was no distortion in the air. No turbulent wind. No cascading surge of force.
Just pure, deliberate intent.
This was the Devouring Dragon Tactic at work. Su Tianhao was no longer submitting to the wild instinct to consume—he was redirecting it with clarity and purpose. A gentle stream of spiritual energy seeped into his body with barely a disturbance in the air—almost impossible to detect from the outside. The vortex refined it instantly into revitalizing force that flooded through him, washing away every trace of physical weariness.
Although this level of controlled recovery might seem unremarkable compared to his other abilities, it was extraordinary in its own right. With such mastery, he no longer needed to fear exposing his devouring ability in a public setting. In any evenly matched fight, the moment one opponent could restore stamina and vitality in an instant while the other could not—the outcome was already decided.
Su Tianhao flexed his arms, feeling the restored power settle through him. Physical exhaustion—gone. But mental exhaustion was another matter. That couldn't be recovered miraculously, at least not yet.
'I'll have to wait and let that recover naturally,' he thought.
'Time to test what I've learned.'
Shing!
Shadowfang left its scabbard, the dark blade gleaming beneath the scorching sun.
Then—
BOOM!
His aura exploded outward like a shockwave, rippling through the courtyard in visible waves. This wasn't just presence or physical momentum.
His spiritual energy had flared to life around him.
And it was golden.
Shimmering, radiant, liquid gold in the sunlight—pulsing gently with profound depth. Something ancient. Something reverent. It commanded awe without aggression. Respect without demand. Power without arrogance.
Su Tianhao froze, staring at his own hands as golden light danced across his skin.
"What...the hell?"
The words came out strangled.
A cultivator's spiritual energy was influenced by their personality, their techniques, and their bloodline. The color of one's Qi wasn't random—it reflected something fundamental about who they were, and could hint at future potential.
But golden spiritual energy? He had never seen it. Not once. Not even in the vast inherited memories passed down from his parents.
'Mother has silver-colored spiritual energy as a result of her physique and her connection to the moon,' he thought, mind working quickly. 'Father has a cosmic purple spiritual energy, which likely has something to do with his title—the Devouring Dragon of Celestial Depths...'
He paused.
'What about me? What explains this?'
He searched through his inherited memories—but apart from his parents' own spiritual energy, which he could see clearly, everything else remained obscure. Even memories of their battles, despite his clear recollection of the fighting styles and techniques used, revealed nothing about the observers or those they had faced.
'I'll have to wait until further layers unlock before I find answers. But this golden energy is definitely not ordinary.'
He set the question aside. His eyes dropped back to Shadowfang, the golden radiance now engulfing the dark blade as naturally as if it belonged there.
'First—the true power of Killing Sword Sense.'
He closed his eyes.
His mind turned inward, sinking into the inherited memories. Visions rose unbidden—fields of corpses stretching to the horizon, rivers running red, the screams of the dying swallowed into silence. Slaughter. Endless, merciless slaughter.
He didn't flinch. Didn't recoil.
He let the visions wash over him. Through him. And in their wake, something crystallized deep within—something dangerous and precise.
When his eyes opened, there was a subtle but unmistakable shift in his presence.
His golden eyes blazed with terrifying killing intent—pure, refined, tyrannical.
The golden spiritual energy engulfing his form began to change. The radiant gold darkened at its edges, bleeding into a deep, ominous crimson—until both colors coiled together, alive and pulsing.
Crimson-gold.
"What is this feeling..." Su Tianhao's voice fell low, heavy, echoing across the courtyard like steel grinding against bone.
If others had witnessed this moment, they would have been stunned speechless. Only those who had truly walked through death—who had survived the chaos of slaughter and emerged with their will intact—could manifest killing intent so refined it altered not only their presence, but their spiritual energy itself. For someone so young to reach such a state was not merely rare.
It was supposed to be impossible.
But Su Tianhao carried centuries within him—memories, experiences, and instincts inherited from a bloodline steeped in destruction and supremacy. That alone placed him in a different category entirely.
He understood the danger clearly. Killing intent without restraint could consume the user—distorting thought, burying humanity beneath pure bloodlust. Only an unshakable will could wield such intent without being lost to it.
To him, killing intent was not a frenzy. It was a blade. Cold, precise, and always under control.
'Killing Sword Sense fuses the user's perception of the sword with killing intent,' he recalled, his voice dropping to a whisper as the understanding settled deeper. 'Every swing carries the essence of death. Movement becomes sharper—not just to strike, but to sever all opposition, life, and resistance. Not mindless bloodlust, but focused lethality. Clarity in execution. Purpose in every cut.'
Killing Sword Sense.
He moved.
A blur of crimson-gold light—Shadowfang slicing through the air in a blinding arc.
Swoosh!
The blade tore through space like a comet splitting open a dark sky—sudden, blazing, impossible to track.
He moved again. And again.
Swoosh. Swish. Slash.
Each strike carried brutal force and a killing intent sharp enough to cut through the presence of any ordinary 4th level Martial Adept. His form blurred across the courtyard, leaving storms of afterimages behind—crimson-gold arcs rippling through the air like phantom flames.
Not reckless flailing. Refinement in motion. Every insight woven seamlessly together.
Sword Assimilation. Sword Sense. Killing Sword Sense.
The blade moved as an extension of his soul—flowing smooth and precise like ink guided by a master calligrapher. Elegant. Exact. Lethal.
Slash. Cleave. Thrust. Feint. Riposte. Reverse Grip Slash.
Each technique executed with surgical precision, every attack embodying the true essence of sword dao—the Realm of Perfect Edge moving through him like breath.
---
As time passed, his movements grew simultaneously more refined and more terrifying.
The air thickened, electric and heavy with tension. A restless wind stirred through the courtyard as if heralding something approaching. The ancient oak trembled, its leaves cascading like falling blades.
Su Tianhao's aura surged—crimson-gold energy writhing as if possessing their own will. His face remained calm. His eyes burned.
He leapt.
Mid-air, Shadowfang flashed downward in one flawless arc.
CRACK!
A deep scar split the courtyard floor—stone tiles cracking several inches thick, a faint haze rising from the impact. Not heat. Raw cutting force.
Still spinning, he twisted mid-fall, dragging the blade through a sweeping arc. A blazing spiral of crimson-gold energy trailed behind Shadowfang like a flaming wheel.
The oak's canopy rippled again—leaves dislodging despite nothing physical touching them.
Su Tianhao's eyes locked onto the falling leaves with fierce focus.
Slash. Swish. Swoosh.
His sword became a blur of rapid succession—then Shadowfang slid back into its sheath with a sharp, satisfying click.
Whsst. Whsst.
The leaves froze mid-fall then—Whsst!—they split cleanly in two, drifting down like lazy feathers.
Su Tianhao stood still, hand resting on his sword hilt. He exhaled slowly. His aura settled—not fading, just sharpening into something quieter and more precise.
"This," he murmured, golden eyes calm and certain, "is only the beginning."