Emma Sullivan looked through the layers of overlapping leaves to observe the situation below: several black-robed cultivators were surrounding a young man who had not yet come of age.

The youth’s silver robe was stained with blood and mud, his high ponytail somewhat disheveled, and his face obscured by blood-matted hair, making it hard to see his features.

He appeared to be gravely injured, relying on a long silver spear for support to keep from collapsing to the ground.

Emma Sullivan's gaze fell to the youth’s waist, where a vermilion silk sash was tied. His waist was slender as a willow, making her feel a bit self-conscious. But she wasn’t coveting his looks—she was simply drawn to the sword at his side.

As a sword cultivator, Emma Sullivan could be certain: that was a fine sword.

Unfortunately, the youth’s wide robe blocked the blade, so she couldn’t see it clearly.

Gripping the spear, the youth looked utterly battered, yet his words were especially defiant: “If you’ve got the guts, beat me!”

“Haha—” The black-robed cultivator’s hand trembled on his curved blade, as if he’d just heard a joke.

He sneered, “Why don’t you look down and see what state you’re in now?”

Up in the tree, Emma Sullivan couldn’t help but make a slight sound.

“Who’s there? Come out!” The leading cultivator reacted swiftly, shouting as the others warily scanned their surroundings and assumed defensive stances.

Realizing she’d been discovered, Emma Sullivan didn’t bother hiding. She jumped straight down from the tree, smiling cheerfully at the fierce black-robed cultivators.

Tilting her head in thought, she said, “If I said I was just passing by, would you believe me?”

“Are you kidding me!” one of the more hot-tempered cultivators shouted directly.

This little girl clearly didn’t take them seriously—she was even more arrogant than the brat on the ground.

“Boss, this little girl must be in cahoots with that kid. Why don’t I take care of her?” The scar-faced black-robed man made a throat-slitting gesture.

As he spoke, he raised his broadsword to advance, but was stopped by the leader, who looked at Emma Sullivan with a dark expression. “She’s a Golden Core cultivator.”

A Golden Core cultivator?

And a sword cultivator at that.

This was truly unbelievable!

How old could this little girl be? They had cultivated for thirty or forty years and were only at the middle stage of Foundation Establishment. Only their boss, thanks to a stroke of luck, had managed to form a Golden Core and reach the late stage.

The others couldn’t help but swallow nervously, already feeling a bit of retreat in their hearts.

The five of them had already struggled so much to besiege a single Golden Core brat, and now another Golden Core girl had shown up. Were Golden Core cultivators so common these days?

“So, boss, what now? Are we just going to let this opportunity slip away?” he practically ground out the words through clenched teeth.

As rogue cultivators lacking talent, they couldn’t join any major sects. Now that such a great opportunity had fallen into their laps, how could they bear to give it up?

If they could enter the Sword Tomb, maybe they’d have a chance to form their own Golden Cores. That would be the true threshold of the cultivation world.

Only by forming a Golden Core could one be considered a true cultivator.

The leader pondered for a moment, then made his decision. “She’s just formed her core—her cultivation is still shallow. Leave her to me. You all, hurry and search that boy for the Sword Tomb map!”

“Remember, neither of them can be left alive!”

At such a young age, to have this level of cultivation—they must be from a major sect. Only by killing them and destroying the evidence could the group be safe.

So what if she was a sword cultivator?

A newly advanced Golden Core was no match for him, a late-stage Golden Core. There was no chance of survival.

Each stage of cultivation was a massive chasm—how could an ordinary person hope to cross it?

The youth on the ground opened his mouth to warn the unfamiliar girl, but the black-robed cultivators suddenly launched their attack, clearly aiming for a quick victory.

“Don’t worry, just hold off these Foundation Establishment guys,”

the girl’s voice was soft and clear, like a breeze in the summer forest.

Clearly, she didn’t take the late-stage Golden Core cultivator before her seriously.

She was a sword cultivator—all she needed was a sword.

“Little girl, didn’t your elders teach you to show respect to your seniors? So arrogant, and you still have time to worry about that brat.”

Emma Sullivan still smiled brightly, not the least bit angry.

It had been a long time since she’d fought anyone—she was actually looking forward to it.

The treasured sword left its sheath, its light as white as snow.

A look of greed flashed in the eyes of the Golden Core cultivator opposite her. “What a fine sword! I didn’t expect such a pleasant surprise, hahahaha! Once you’re dead, I’ll treasure this sword for you—I won’t let it gather dust.”

Frost Snow Ming trembled twice, as if a bit angry. It was a peerless sword—falling into the hands of someone like this, it would rather return to the Sword Tomb and sleep forever.

“You have a good eye, recognizing this as a peerless sword.”

“And you’re quite lucky—to die by this sword.”

As she finished speaking, snowy white light flickered. The Golden Core cultivator touched his temple, and a lock of hair slipped from his fingertips.

That was close!

If he hadn’t reacted quickly, that long sword would have pierced his brow.

He no longer dared to underestimate the bright-smiling girl before him, and braced himself fully for the fight.