After multiple rounds of selection, there were still some sword manuals left.

If this were the cultivation era, without exception, all these sword manuals would be considered heretical. If encountered by a straightforward orthodox master, they would surely shout “demonic influence!”

Even though he had read them before, Ethan Brooks still felt anxious and fearful. These sword manuals were bizarre and unfathomable, completely beyond the limits of normal imagination. For example, there was a manual that used the cultivator’s seven emotions and six desires to forge the sword, ultimately severing all emotions and desires to attain the supreme sword path. Another, the Nightmare Demon Sword Manual, required the practitioner to sleep in a giant coffin using secret techniques, forging the sword within nightmares. Those who mastered it could turn illusion into reality, and the sword would possess mysterious powers of its own.

Previously, flipping through these sword manuals was just a curiosity, without much real feeling. Now, thinking that he would have to actually practice these sword manuals, he couldn’t help but shiver.

Ethan Brooks finally found a sword manual that didn’t seem too strange or unorthodox. This manual had no name and was incomplete; it only described one thing—how to plant the seed of a sword embryo.

After careful study, Ethan Brooks finally understood the general idea of the so-called sword embryo. Actually, it was quite simple: the human body’s growth has limits, but the intangible essence, energy, and spirit have no limits. However, essence, energy, and spirit are ethereal and diffuse, like mist, and have no destructive power. The creator of this sword manual proposed a very interesting idea: the human body is like a sword sheath, while essence, energy, and spirit are the true sword.

So how does one condense the formless and intangible essence, energy, and spirit into a sword? The manual offered a unique idea: since essence, energy, and spirit are hard to condense, use them as soil to nurture the seed of a sword embryo.

Compared to the other sword manuals, this one was clearly much more normal.

Ethan Brooks didn’t hesitate and began cultivating according to the manual. He actually succeeded in planting the seed of the sword embryo.

If he were at a sword cultivator’s training ground, he would never have taken such a risk. But in the wilderness, what was there to hesitate about? People fell every day; he didn’t even know if he’d survive until tomorrow. So-called risks were hardly worth mentioning. What he cared more about was whether the sword embryo would be useful.

Survival was the most important thing.

Three years passed, and he survived the wilderness and entered the induction field.

The seed of the sword embryo was still just a seed, showing no movement or change.

Ethan Brooks was quite calm and at ease about this. The fact that it had helped him survive the wilderness made it all worthwhile; he had no unrealistic expectations for the sword embryo. The manual was incomplete, with not a word about how to continue cultivating it.

Sword manuals from the cultivation era emphasized returning to the source. No matter how bizarre or unorthodox the manual, in the end, it always came back to “spiritual power.” He guessed that further cultivation would also require spiritual power.

Sword cultivation was outdated, and the manuals he relied on were worthless. He wasn’t the boss, obsessed with sword manuals and thinking sword cultivation was so great.

He didn’t even think about how to further cultivate the sword embryo.

Although the manual said that meditating while holding the sword could nourish the seed of the sword embryo, in reality, what mattered more was that meditating with the sword helped him stay alert at night.

The sword embryo was quite mysterious. When he held a sword, the sword embryo would be activated. Once activated, his six senses became exceptionally sharp; any slight movement around him, and he would notice. Later, many elemental cultivators knew he was good at keeping watch, so night duty became one of his main tasks.

This was also why he was able to get a share of the spoils, even if it was just scraps.

Meditating with the sword replaced sleep, and he kept at it for three years, day in and day out.

Back then, he shivered in the cold wind and mud; now, he spent the night in a warm, safe room.

He was very content, and now, very happy.

Today was the first day of classes, and he was full of anticipation. Ever since he got his fifty thousand credits, he hadn’t gone out for the past two days.

Outside the window, the night sky was deep, the faint light tinged with cold, and there was still some time before dawn.

Ethan Brooks nimbly jumped out of bed, his bare feet landing on the carpet. He moved like a nimble feline, every action silent. The carpet was woven from coarse, stiff palm grass and was a bit prickly, but Ethan Brooks didn’t feel a thing. He didn’t turn on the light; the faint glow from the horizon outside the window allowed him to see everything in the room clearly.

By the faint light, in the pitch-black room, he began to wash up.

He was already used to the darkness—another gift from the wilderness. In the perilous wilds, even the slightest glimmer could put him in danger.

He deftly disarmed the simple trap behind the door, pushed open the wooden door, and the chilly air filled his lungs, making Ethan Brooks instantly more alert.

Under the faint light, in the tranquil training ground, he felt as if he had returned to the sword cultivator’s training ground. The familiar feeling spread through his body, the chilly air seemed sweet, his stiff, angular face softened, and a long-lost warm smile unconsciously appeared at the corner of his mouth.

He began fetching water and mopping the floor, his movements light and quick.

His body’s memory was quickly awakened, and his actions soon shifted from clumsy to skillful.

Before the sun had risen, Ethan Brooks had already finished cleaning. Without bothering to wipe his sweat, he looked at the spotless training ground and felt a deep sense of satisfaction and joy.

Looking at the clean training ground, he was almost reluctant to step on it.

Three years in the wilderness, crawling through swampy mud and rotting leaves and branches, encountering the decaying corpses of monsters was an everyday occurrence. His clothes were stained with blood, which over time became mottled brown patches of varying shades—he didn’t even know if it was from beasts or himself.