The phantom figure stretched its body, and a set of familiar slashing moves was performed just like that.

"Basic blade technique!"

Immediately, he was stunned.

The moves demonstrated by the phantom on the bronze coffin were exactly the basic blade technique.

He had practiced this basic blade technique since childhood; it couldn't be more familiar.

The moves were also very simple: chop, hack, lift, hook, slash, stab, block—emphasizing practicality.

The dazed Samuel Thompson snapped out of it, jumped straight out of bed, grabbed his long blade, and headed to the training ground.

Today, the training ground was empty. He closed his eyes, raised his hand—chop, slash, upward lift...

Since the rise of martial arts among the human race, emphasis had always been placed on the practicality of moves; these techniques were built upon the blood and bones of their predecessors.

Moves could be seen as an extension of one's own explosive power; the increase in physical strength also needed to be manifested through technique.

Whether it was blades, swords, fists, or palms, all were extensions of strength.

For different martial artists, possessing strength did not necessarily mean being able to fully utilize it.

After arriving at the outpost, the training ground machines here did not upload data, so Samuel Thompson secretly tested himself.

His base strength was 7732kg; with the blade technique, it was 8230kg—an increase of only 498kg, not even a 10% boost.

This figure was truly dismal.

During this period, he had increased his strength by several thousand kilograms, but his control over his own power was unbalanced, resulting in this situation.

Previously, when he performed the basic blade technique, the power boost was about 30%.

To return to that 30% state, he would have to fully integrate his increased strength, which would take quite some time.

At this moment, following the phantom's movements derived from the bronze coffin, Samuel Thompson swung his long blade.

Constantly verifying the phantom's actions, the bones throughout his body were gradually mobilized, and cracking sounds came from within.

Gradually, he found that the blade in his hand and his body were merging into one, moving as if it were an extension of his arm.

This state was quite marvelous; all his bones and flesh moved in unison with the blade.

Was this still just the basic blade technique?

It also had the effect of tempering his own strength.

Ten minutes later, the phantom on the bronze coffin dissipated, and soon after, Samuel Thompson emerged from that mysterious state.

Clang!

A moment later, gripping the blade, his body trembled slightly as all his strength gathered in his arm.

The long blade fell, striking the alloy target.

The screen flickered violently, displaying a number—9982kg!

An increase of 2250kg!

10,000kg was the threshold for the Mountain-Splitting Realm; this strike was already on par with that level.

Whew~ Sheathing his blade, he let out a long breath, and Samuel Thompson quietly watched the number disappear from the screen.

He hadn't expected that the bronze coffin and the refined demon blood could not only be used for cultivation but also to assist in comprehending techniques.

The only issue was that the consumption seemed rather high.

The demon blood at the Thousand-Jin Realm was already running low after such a short time; he felt a bit drained.

"Can the Tiger-Subduing Fist be deduced as well?"

At this moment, Samuel Thompson thought of the fist technique for tempering blood and energy.

Since the rise of martial arts, the Tiger-Subduing Fist had already undergone its third revision.

Now, with the demon blood depleted, if he wanted to verify it, he would have to hunt more demons to obtain more demon blood.

Sheathing his blade and savoring the blade technique he had just performed, Samuel Thompson walked toward the dormitory.

The "Po Jun" stance that Teacher Xiong mentioned was still beyond his comprehension, but he would take it step by step and first improve the boost that blade technique gave to his combat power.

The next day.

"Achoo~" Wearing a big hat and covered in bloodstains, Baldy Wood walked into the outpost.

"Hurry up and call to ask why the medicine hasn't arrived yet. The brothers are fighting bloody battles—do they have any shame at all?"

George Thompson followed behind, wearing a wry smile. Chief Wood had been demoted, but his temper had only gotten worse.

"I'll take care of it right away."

"Wait."

Baldy Wood stopped George Thompson and said, "Tell the canteen to quickly make some hot food and send it to the street. Even the emperor doesn't let his soldiers go hungry."

"We're a bit short on logistics staff," George Thompson said.

Hearing this, Baldy Wood pulled out his phone and dialed directly.

"Charles Harris, are you asleep? With all this commotion, are you useless or what?"

On the screen, with the port area as the background, an old man wearing a straw hat appeared.

"Cut the crap! Look where I am now. I brought five hundred academy students—they're all helping out."

In the ruins of the port, the old man jumped and cursed, spittle flying everywhere.

Behind him, a silver-haired, kindly old lady was disinfecting and bandaging a wounded person with alcohol.

After his tirade, Charles Harris turned to look at the old lady and said, "You keep busy, dear. I'm going to settle accounts with Baldy Wood."

Chapter 8: Mountain-Splitting Realm (Please add to your favorites)

Inside the outpost, in the office.

Bang!

Charles Harris kicked the door open, strode in, and started berating: "Little Six Wood, you've grown bold—now you're the director, and you even dare to scold your teacher."

"Look at what you've done! Such a big incident and you didn't report it. If the port had been destroyed, would you still want to keep your skin?"

Inside the office, Baldy Wood was also helpless. He had wanted to report it, but who could have expected the Blood God Cult to be so insane.