Each step Lin Mu took upon the razor's edge of the Sacred Grounds was like a drop of ink falling into an endless scroll—silent, measured, and irreversible.
The world around him was still that same gloomy realm, where only a floating cliff had supported his first steps, and the rest was a void of dark, weightless sky. No sun, no stars, no wind—only the unrelenting sharpness of the path ahead.
From the very beginning, the Sacred Grounds had made its intention clear. It was not here to defeat him, nor was it a realm of illusions and tricks.
It was a forge. A crucible.
A place designed to grind down all that was unnecessary, to press upon the soul until only truth remained.
And Lin Mu… walked.
Thousands upon thousands of steps passed, the sword intent growing sharper, denser, more refined with each pace.
