In an instant, Brian White was filled with heroic spirit, his chest brimming with countless emotions. All the negative feelings from his transmigration were swept away, leaving only boundless ambition.

Sword Immortals were originally an unorthodox offshoot of the ancient Qi Refiners, and entry into the path always began with learning martial arts—an essential practice for tempering the body. Although David Stone had not mastered the Chicheng Heart Method, his martial skills were exceptionally refined. He had climbed this very Tongtian Peak by himself. Now that Brian White had taken over David Stone's body, all those skills remained, so climbing down the mountain would not be difficult. With the initial panic of arriving in such a desperate situation gone, Brian White was in no hurry to leave. He calculated inwardly: “Since I’ve already broken through the barrier of sensing the world’s Qi, it’s the perfect time, while undisturbed, to thoroughly familiarize myself with this body’s condition, lest someone sees through me.”

Brian White and David Stone shared one major similarity: both gave the impression of being silent and reserved, each preferring to bury themselves in practicing their respective skills. Thus, after transmigrating, Brian White found it easy to assume the new identity. For him, taking on a new persona was like switching to an alternate account in Shu Mountain 2—nothing to fuss about.

But their circumstances and inner worlds were vastly different; Brian White was, after all, not David Stone...

Brian White immersed himself in sword practice atop the cliff, forgetting his worries about transmigration. David Stone had already brought rations and a water pouch, so Brian White had no concerns about food or drink these past few days. He practiced swordsmanship on the sheer cliffs of Tongtian Peak, losing track of how many days had passed, cycling through his sword techniques until they felt second nature, confident he had fully adapted to the changes brought by transmigration.

It’s well known that swordsmanship becomes ever more exquisite and refined the more it is honed—there is truly no end to learning.

Take, for example, the sword strike he used to assassinate Dugu Qiouqiu. It seemed ordinary, but in fact, it consisted of three major steps: hiding the sword, drawing the sword, and urging the sword. Where to hide the sword light so it would go unnoticed, how to draw the sword for maximum speed and stealth, and how to accelerate the sword light to its peak in an instant. There were twenty-seven ways to hide the sword, nineteen postures for drawing it, and at least eight or nine techniques for urging it on. These three steps, combined, could produce at least a thousand variations.

He named that strike “Meteor,” meaning “a meteor streaks across the sky, vanishing in the blink of an eye.” The essence lay in the phrase “catching the opponent off guard”—so fast it was quicker than thought itself. By the time the opponent realized Brian White had drawn his sword, it was already too late.

It wasn’t until this day, after finishing his sword practice, that the sky suddenly erupted with thunder. Dark clouds surged like wild horses, converging from all directions, and it looked like a heavy rain was imminent. Only then did Brian White realize that this protruding rock offered no shelter at all—there was nowhere to hide from the rain.

“If I get caught in a downpour in a place like this, it’ll be miserable. I’d better hide below.”

With a flick of his incantation, Brian White sent his flying sword stabbing into the air, chiseling several hand- and footholds into the cliff. Then, with a lift of his Daoist robe, he leapt down to the underside of the protruding rock. The rock was quite large, and beneath it grew a pine tree, providing perfect cover for Brian White. Just as he was thinking this was a good spot to shelter from the rain, he happened to look up and saw a jet-black sword light, accompanied by a streak of emerald-green cloud, rolling through the dark clouds and descending onto the very rock above his head.

Although Brian White knew this world had immortals, monsters, evil spirits, and demons, it was his first time witnessing someone flying on a light, and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of curiosity and surprise.

Mount Chicheng was a land of outstanding people and abundant spiritual energy, vast in territory. Countless immortals had cultivated and ascended here since ancient times. Even now, there were many cultivators’ abodes among the thirty-six peaks of Chicheng. But the most famous was the patriarch of Chicheng, John Brooks, who claimed the name of the Chicheng Immortal Sect and established the sect gate atop the highest Jietian Peak.

Brian White guessed that the two above must be cultivators from other peaks of Chicheng Mountain. Seeing that one’s sword light was jet-black and the other’s green cloud was strange, he naturally didn’t dare to shout, “Greetings, fellow Daoists! Have you eaten today?” Instead, he held his breath and listened patiently to their conversation above, lest they turn out to be enemies of the Chicheng Immortal Sect and attack him while he was alone. After all, this wasn’t a game—if he died, there’d be no coming back.

“Cynthia Parker, that old ghost John Brooks is cruel by nature. You’re after his newly refined Illusory Face Pill—do you know how dangerous that is?”

Below, Brian White muttered, “This man’s voice sounds just like a rich businessman with a mistress. I wonder what the woman is like. Judging by his anxious tone, she must be quite attractive!”

The man’s persuasion did not dissuade the one called Cynthia Parker. She replied in a soft, seductive voice, “A few years ago, I lost my beauty in a duel with the Twin Ghosts of Chashan. Without the Illusory Face Pill, how could I regain my former looks? William Parker! I know you’ve coveted my beauty for a long time. I don’t ask you to steal the pill for me—just protect me and lend me two magic treasures. Once I’ve restored my appearance, I’ll let you have your way with me. How about it?”