In the woods, only Xu Yan was left alone.
He stood amidst the forest, his gaze scanning the surroundings, where sword marks crisscrossed. Numerous trees had small holes pierced through them.
Felled trees lay neatly cut on the ground, each split into over a dozen sections.
The remnants of sword moves could faintly be discerned.
The more Xu Yan watched, the more he felt he was on the brink of understanding—chaotic sword moves surfaced in his mind, all of which his master had once demonstrated.
But he had forgotten them.
No!
It wasn't accurate to say he had forgotten; he had forgotten the order of the moves, which sword strike corresponded to which sequence.
The chaotic sword moves in his mind, in conjunction with the traces around him, suddenly aligned—a particular move matched perfectly with a mark on the ground.
"This sword mark was made by this move," Xu Yan muttered to himself.