บท 2291: 1047, the path of the sword ultimately has an end, right?

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Layer upon layer of illusions, sword after sword.

Han Muye ascended step by step from the Eternal Sword Platform, his comprehension of Sword Dao growing ever deeper.

In this world, there is no such thing as an unstoppable advance; it's all about severing the fetters before oneself with each sword strike.

No matter the race, no matter the status, there will always be fetters—entanglements with living beings, entanglements with heaven and earth, with enemies and friends alike.

As a sword cultivator, what one must do is have a sword sharp enough in hand, keen enough to cut through all shackles, advancing step by step.

Not knowing how long he had journeyed, nor how many illusions he had shattered, Han Muye stood before a white-bearded elder.

"Are you tired?"

The white-bearded elder, looking at Han Muye in front of him, asked softly.

Tired?

Indeed, he felt very exhausted.

Han Muye knew that this was a test for both his soul and body, he didn't truly need to answer.