Chapter 10: Beyond the Limit

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From its name alone, one could tell exactly what sort of saber art the Tiger-Fierce Eighteen Blades was.

Ferocious. Ferocious. Ferocious!

More than anything, it was ferocious!

Overwhelm others with force. Crush them beneath sheer momentum!

Advance with fearless vigor. With a blade in hand, cut through every obstacle in your path!

If it lacked ferocity, it would lose the very essence of the art and sink into mediocrity.

This was a saber art that cowards could never hope to master. Only those of a domineering and ruthless nature could grasp its true essence.

Yet Li Qi, in both his past and present lives, was, judging from his experiences, actually a gentle and decent man.

But Li Qi knew that this was merely a facade.

Many a night, when all was silent and darkness filled the world, he could feel the violence within himself beneath the covers.

The darkness and brutality in his heart. The whispered resentment toward the injustice of the world and the shadows lurking within human society.

It was only that he had once been physically frail, struggling merely to keep himself fed and clothed. What could he have dared to do? What could he possibly have done?

In truth, ever since the Sage and the King had swept across the world a century ago, the most basic cultivation arts had never been scarce.

The foundational arts of the various great lineages had also circulated throughout the world. Some of the more powerful inheritances were even rated White—Extreme, placing them above the Tiger-Fierce Eighteen Blades.

As for the arts that followed, these foundational methods were originally bait cast out by the great lineages. If you truly possessed talent and managed to produce results, they would allow you to join their sects. It was, in effect, a business requiring no capital.

That was why Li Qi had nearly fallen into a trap before. Since he had his status panel, naturally he ought to cultivate the strongest and finest art available.

But the truth was that if a martial art did not suit you, then even if the panel forcibly added proficiency, the amount gained might not reach a fifth of what could be obtained from an art perfectly suited to you. The panel’s guarantee merely represented the lower limit of proficiency gained. The better the compatibility, the greater the proficiency acquired, and the cultivation speed could differ by several times over.

The Tiger-Fierce Eighteen Blades suited his heart and mind, and was exceptionally compatible with him. Gentleness was merely his outward appearance; ferocity and explosiveness were his true nature.

Moreover, he had learned this saber art from childhood in this life, and had even received hands-on instruction from its creator, laying an exceptionally solid foundation.

With both advantages combined, Li Qi would undoubtedly cultivate the Tiger-Fierce Eighteen Blades faster, better, more purely, and more powerfully.

As for the future, once this saber art reached the Spirit-Illuminating Reflection realm, he could cultivate other arts alongside it for reference.

Spirit-Illuminating Reflection was an exceptionally special domain. The first martial art to reach it would be transformed into one’s foundation; all the others would become nourishment.

Reflected on the panel, this was Level Max.

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Martial arts in general could be divided into Beginner, Minor Achievement, Great Achievement, Perfection, and Spirit-Illuminating Reflection. These corresponded respectively to Levels One, Four, Seven, and Ten on the panel, with the final stage—Max—being the ascended state reached after filling the progress bar beyond Level Ten.

Spirit-Illuminating Reflection was the point at which every martial art underwent a qualitative transformation.

Under normal circumstances, if one was willing to train hard and possessed sufficient comprehension, then by devoting oneself entirely to the saber and relying on the accumulation of time, one could cultivate a martial art to Perfection. But to reach Spirit-Illuminating Reflection required insight—an epiphany. Only when one had made the art truly one’s own and completely refined it could it be called Spirit-Illuminating Reflection.

With his status panel, Li Qi naturally could not be constrained by martial arts manuals. To forge and nourish all arts, then create his own martial art, was inevitably the path he would take. Otherwise, he would be wasting this cheat-like advantage of his.

Of course, at present, what he needed was not breadth but purity—absolute purity. He would reach the divine through a single blade.

The long saber swept through the air. The wooden blade had no edge, yet amid the shifting interplay of light and shadow, it seemed faint flashes of saber light were surging forth.

Li Qi put all his strength into every stroke. The more he swung, the more he could feel the harmony between body and spirit, the blending of flesh and mind. Some invisible will, some intangible traces, were being branded into his nervous system and etched into his spiritual world.

These traces appeared ethereal and insubstantial, but they were real enough. In particular, once the traces within the spiritual world accumulated to a sufficient number, they could solidify, permanently strengthening the spiritual world itself.

That was why, upon reaching Minor Achievement in saber arts, one could enter the state in a single thought and activate one’s vital energy and blood.

The process of practicing the saber was, in truth, the construction of another life system.

As he cultivated, Li Qi’s sense of time gradually blurred. He forgot the passage of hours, pouring everything into engraving the saber art within himself.

Until, at last, a hollow sensation spread through his body, as though something was about to be exhausted. Fatigue arrived alongside wave after wave of pain, like an ordinary person who rarely exercised being forced to run a thousand meters at full speed. Every cell in his body felt as though it had been filled with concrete, becoming so heavy that he nearly wished for death.

There was no doubt about it—he had reached his limit.

The repeated agony twisted Li Qi’s expression into a grimace, but he did not stop. He knew that this limit could be surpassed.

When an ordinary person ran until they could go no farther, perseverance could carry them beyond their limit. Afterward, they would not feel quite so exhausted for a time.

But Li Qi was cultivating an extraordinary saber art. The intensity of its movements far exceeded that of running.

To surpass his limit was therefore far more painful.

Even so, during this period Li Qi had grown accustomed to it. He had adapted.

Once he surpassed his limit while cultivating the saber, the result would be reflected on the panel: the saber art would gain more proficiency, while his six attributes and vitality would grow more quickly as well.

Li Qi’s breathing remained steady, his spirit concentrated. His body was heavy, but the force of his saber did not diminish. If his rhythm broke at this moment, then surpassing his limit would become impossible.

One stroke, two strokes, three strokes…

At the fifteenth stroke, Li Qi suddenly felt his entire body grow light. Then he sensed that something engraved within him had become even more intense.

He had surpassed himself once.

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But this was only the beginning.

After swinging the saber thirty-two times, the weight and agony descended upon him once more. By then, Li Qi’s entire body was drenched. It would be more accurate to say that sweat was no longer merely seeping from him—it was pouring down.

A large patch of ground beneath him had already been soaked through.

Yet his saber remained steady.

Then came the second breakthrough.

By this point, Li Qi’s gaze had become vacant. Only his saber techniques remained immense and heavy, each stroke descending with the force of thunder.

Then, on the twentieth stroke, he reached his limit once more.

Then came the third breakthrough.

At that moment, if one listened closely, one could even hear the beating of Li Qi’s heart and the rushing sound of blood coursing through his body.

One stroke, two strokes, three strokes…

After completing three breakthroughs, Li Qi managed only twelve strokes before reaching his limit again. Then he swung the thirteenth and fourteenth strokes, and halfway through the fifteenth, his mind and consciousness suddenly went blank.

His entire body froze in place, utterly motionless.

Several minutes passed before the flush of blood beneath Li Qi’s skin gradually faded. Only then did he slowly begin to move again, like a stiffened machine. He lowered himself to the ground, settled his breathing, and entered meditation.

He carefully felt the pain that surged forth as his nervous system recovered. It rolled over him like a tide, like a mighty river surging endlessly onward, battering his will without respite.

He neither resisted nor fled from it. Instead, he felt it, accepted it, and used it to temper his will and purify his heart.

To surpass oneself was a superior method of cultivation, as well as the narrow ray of hope the world offered to ordinary people.

Talent was important, but it did not determine everything. If one could surpass one’s limits again and again, one could still achieve remarkable results.

Thus he sat in meditation for more than half an hour. Only then did the ceaseless pain finally subside to an intensity that Li Qi could largely ignore.

Although Li Qi possessed his cheat-like status panel, he knew very well that without the resolve to pursue the Way, even with such an advantage, he would never go far.

What was truly powerful had never been martial arts, but the person who wielded them.

Otherwise, in a martial contest, would it not be enough simply to compare the levels and qualities of one’s martial arts? Why would anyone need to fight at all?

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