Walker Of The Worlds - Chapter 2993

While the Grand Elder did not know about Xukong, he did know that Lin Mu had a mysterious master. He knew enough from his experience not to pry, as such had not asked for any details about him.

Lin Mu nodded, his expression solemn.

"Any advice?" he asked.

The Grand Elder chuckled. "No. Only this: Go with a still heart. The Sacred Grounds test not only your power, but your being. You’ve walked the path of the sword, Lin Mu. Let us now see if the sword walks with you."

The crack widened fully now, becoming a portal large enough for a man to walk through.

The very air trembled as the scent of foreign energy spilled through it. Lin Mu could sense it immediately—a different minor plane, rich with sword intent unlike any he’d felt before. Even more ancient than the Path of the Sealed Swords, and far more secretive.

He turned to the Grand Elder, gave him a slight bow.

"I’ll return," Lin Mu said.

"I have no doubt," the Grand Elder replied with a proud smile. "But don’t return too soon. Make it worthwhile."

With that, Lin Mu stepped forward.

The snow crunched one final time beneath his foot before he entered the glowing rift.

And then—he vanished.

The portal lingered for a moment longer, swirling with light, before slowly folding back in on itself... sealing the path behind him.

The Grand Elder remained still for a few moments more, watching the space where Lin Mu had disappeared.

Then, with a thoughtful look, he murmured, "The Sacred Grounds... you’ve waited long for a successor worthy of your tests. Let’s see how many of your secrets you’ll reveal to him."

And with that, he turned away—trusting the mountain to guard its chosen.

The moment Lin Mu stepped through the shimmering rift, the world around him changed utterly.

The first thing he noticed was the —a deep, melancholic gray, as though the heavens themselves were locked in eternal twilight. There were no clouds, no stars, no sun. Only a heavy pall of gloom stretched endlessly above, unmoving and unfeeling. The very air was still, without wind or scent.

He looked down.

He stood upon a , no larger than a courtyard, its edges jagged and weathered like the remains of a shattered world. Beneath the platform was... . No earth, no sea, no sky—just a vast, endless abyss that neither reflected nor absorbed light. Even turning back, Lin Mu saw only the same void. There was behind him, nothing to anchor him to where he had come from.

But in front of him—

There lay a .

Thin. Impossibly thin.

So narrow it could barely be called a path at all. It resembled the edge of a blade, stretched to infinity— forged from pure purpose, suspended through the void like a hairline fracture in space itself. Lin Mu could not see where it ended. It vanished far into the misted gloom, into some distant point that pulsed with a silent call.

He narrowed his eyes. He needed no voice to instruct him. No guide, no marker, no test description.

The message was clear:

Even from a distance, Lin Mu could feel the radiating from it—so sharp and so profound that it seemed to hum through the very air. It wasn’t just powerful—it was . It was purer and denser than anything he had felt even in the Path of the Sealed Swords. Not even Grand Elder Huo’s Sword Intent compared. This was something older, something ancient, something sacred.

And yet, Lin Mu felt .

His radiated quiet strength. His body had endured countless battles and trials. He had faced phantom swords, celestial temptations, trials of will and identity. His soul and sword had been tempered by fire, void, and silence.

This path?

This was simply the next step.

He took a breath and stepped forward.

The moment the sole of his boot touched the razor edge, he felt an invisible resistance—a crushing presence of pressure like walking into a wall of blades. It was not just physical, but spiritual. It sought to unmake him, to test every layer of his body, mind, and soul.

A hiss echoed faintly.

His , their tough leather sliced apart with surgical precision. Tiny threads of his clothing along his lower legs were severed cleanly, fluttering away into the abyss. Even the Illusory Clothes of the Silver Mirage Circlet were unable to bear it.

’They’re not recovering?’ Lin Mu was surprised.

Usually while the illusory clothes were damaged, they recovered quickly on their own. But it seemed like the Sword intent’s power was beyond what he had thought, they cut through illusions themselves.

And yet—.

There was no blood. No pain. No cut.

Only the glint of dull light reflecting off his bare feet, which remained pristine under the pressure.

Lin Mu let a faint smile touch his lips. "As expected..."

The sword intent within the path tested , but the . A cultivator’s very existence was laid bare here. Those who were incomplete, who faltered in their path, whose convictions wavered—they would be cut down before their first step.

But Lin Mu was resolute.

He raised his foot again and took another step.

Each time he stepped down, the pressure grew—not gradually, but exponentially. As if with each movement, the blade beneath him , adapted, and cut deeper.

Ten steps.

Twenty.

Fifty.

His stance remained balanced, the movements graceful. He did not sway, did not stagger. The , and yet he glided across it as though dancing atop a thread of fate.

With each step forward, Lin Mu felt the begin to press upon not just his body, but his .

It questioned him.

Not with words—but with pressure.

"Why do you seek the sword?""What will you cut?""What will you protect?""What will you sacrifice?"

They were not words—but Lin Mu felt the behind them seep into his bones.