SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS - Chapter 1006: The Sword That Stirred the Winds!
Chapter 1006: The Sword That Stirred the Winds!
The world did not stay silent.
Phillip descended the white marble steps of the White Clan’s main gate and left on the chariot.
Within an hour, the winds had carried the story far.
“The timid boy from the Salt clan, Phillip, has claimed the Heavenly Sword!”
“He tore through the White Flame’s deception, exposed their schemes, and left with the true sword of fire!”
“The White Matriarch herself handed it over… willingly!”
By sundown, the entire Central Sea Realm buzzed.
Crowds gathered in tea houses, whispering around steaming kettles. Street performers turned the tale into impromptu plays. Talismans flew through the sky, carrying jade-transmissions to the major sects. Sword scholars and flame-forgers paused their cultivation, stunned.
“Who is this Phillip Salt?!”
“He was a joke, wasn’t he? Just a shadow in the background.”
“Not anymore…”
—
At the Salt Clan
Inside the austere marble gates of the Salt Family Manor, the patriarch sat motionless, hand clenched around a cup of bitter tea. His brows furrowed, his face unreadable.
In the hall, Elder Rengu, the third seat of the Salt Clan Council, paced back and forth.
“This is madness,” he spat. “The Heavenly Sword? The White Clan gave it to him? After decades of silence, after so many tried—he succeeded?!”
“He didn’t succeed,” said a younger voice. “He tricked them. He must’ve.”
All eyes turned to Kayle Salt, Phillip’s cousin. Clad in sharp blue robes, his features twisted with barely concealed envy.
“I’ve trained ten years in the Outer Realm, gained five titles in sword tournaments, and faced soul beasts in the Rain Abyss,” he hissed. “And this—this quiet rat walks into a snake pit and walks out with a divine treasure?”
“Mind your tongue,” the patriarch finally spoke, voice low and cold. “Phillip is of our blood.”
“Then why didn’t we know he had such talent?” Kayle shot back. “Why was he always hidden like a servant boy?”
“Because he never wanted the spotlight,” replied another elder. “He cultivated alone. Spoke little. But perhaps… that silence hid steel.”
Silence fell. The great bronze doors creaked open.
And then… he appeared.
Phillip entered the Salt manor.
He wore plain black robes.
But the Heavenly Sword on his back glowed softly with golden runes, making even the lanterns dim by comparison. Wind followed him. Dust dared not cling to his boots.
The guards at the gate bowed unconsciously. Even the haughty Kayle stepped back half a pace.
Phillip walked straight to the patriarch, knelt respectfully, and offered a jade scroll.
“Grandfather,” he said. “This is the White Matriarch’s letter. She confirms the transfer of the sword, and dissolves the prior betrothal.”
The room was silent.
Elder Rengu took the scroll with trembling fingers, read it, and exhaled slowly.
“It’s real.”
The patriarch looked at Phillip, long and hard.
“You have surprised me, child.”
Phillip bowed again. “I am done hiding, Grandfather.”
A pause.
Then the patriarch stood—and stepped forward.
“Then stand tall.”
He lifted Phillip’s shoulder and raised his voice.
“This is my grandson, Phillip Salt,” he declared to the gathered family. “The one chosen by the Heavenly Sword. Let every elder and junior remember this day.”
Even Kayle could only bow—though bitterness boiled in his chest like poison.
—
Elsewhere — Lan Family Manor
The sun had barely set behind the violet peaks when the news arrived at the Lan Family compound.
It struck like lightning.
Manuka Lan sat in her chamber, staring out at the garden pond. Her face was pale, but her eyes sparkled with unspoken emotion.
A slip of spiritual paper hovered before her—words glowing faintly in gold:
“Phillip has claimed the Heavenly Sword. He defied the White Clan and left unharmed. The sword followed him.”
A faint smile rose on her lips.
She clutched her chest.
“I knew he would…”
But before she could savor the moment, her door burst open.
Elder Lan Jiusen stormed in, followed by two more clan council members. His face was dark with rage.
“Manuka!” he roared.
She turned slowly, bowing respectfully.
“Elder.”
“What have you done?!” he barked.
“I have done nothing but choose,” she replied calmly.
“You chose wrong!” Elder Jiusen snarled. “A man who dared accept the sword from our enemies! From the White Clan! You would shame our family’s pride by clinging to such a reckless boy?”
Manuka’s eyes did not flinch.
“He is no boy,” she said quietly. “He is the first man I’ve seen who does not bow to pressure, nor sell his soul for glory.”
“You speak like a lovesick fool!” Elder Lan Wenzhi snapped.
“Perhaps,” she whispered, “but at least I am not blind.”
Elder Jiusen slammed his staff down.
“You are forbidden from seeing him again. From this day forward, Manuka Lan is under disciplinary house arrest, until the summit ends.”
She did not cry.
She merely nodded.
But once they left, she turned to the moonlight creeping through the window bars.
And whispered, “Phillip… I really want to see you now.”
–
The Ancient Well of Scale Echoes…
Beside the ancient well in which Kent jumped, sat the old man. His robe was patched with mismatched fabrics, and his wild silver beard trailed to his knees. A wine gourd, dusty and cracked, hung from his waist by a thin vine.
He took a slow sip, smacked his lips, then chuckled.
“Heh… what a rascal…”
In the waters of the well, a vision unfolded. Not just a man — but a soul within a soul.
Phillip Salt, the forgotten son of the Salt Clan, was currently holding the Heavenly Sword, flames dancing around him like blazing snakes.
But the old man was no fool. His eyes glimmered with golden scale-light, and he could see beyond illusion.
“Phillip, eh? No… You’re not the real Phillip. You’re the one wearing his shell.”
The elder swirled the wine in his gourd. His gaze sharpened as he saw Kent cut a deep scar into the pillar of the White Clan Hall with a single movement.
The Heavenly Sword sang as if awakening.
“What grace… what rebellion…”
He laughed.
“Out of thousands who lived as Phillip in this trial, you’re the only one who dared to reject the script. Hah! The only one who spat on the script and rewrote it.”
His voice trembled with excitement.
“Others cried, begged, fell in love, got betrayed, and died like ants. But you… you took the fake sword, exposed the farce, mocked the White Clan to their faces, and forced the matriarch’s hand. Ha! What an audacious brat!”
A sudden wind blew over the plains. The old man tilted his head, whispering to the wind.
“Sea God, are you watching? This one… this one might actually find your Scale Heart.”
He watched as Kent, calm and proud, walked through the White Clan gates holding the real Heavenly Sword, the same sword that no previous trial-soul could obtain so directly.
Another sip. Another laugh.
“He changed Phillip’s fate entirely. The Salt Clan’s ’timid disgrace’ is now the man the heavens bow to. If this isn’t rewriting karma, what is?”
His eyes misted for a brief moment.
“I’ve watched a thousand Phillips rise and fall. Some came close… but all followed the same shackles. Even the gifted failed. But this Kent… he’s not playing the game. He’s playing the gods.”
The sparrow beside him chirped once. The old man snorted.
“Yes, yes, I remember what I said. If someone ever breaks the cycle, I’ll drink a whole barrel of demon wine and go down there myself.”
He raised the gourd and gave the well a toast.
“To the only man who made the Heavenly Sword bow… cheers.”
The vision in the well faded.
But the old man didn’t stop smiling.
He laid back on the jade-stone, placed the gourd over his chest, and chuckled into the twilight.
“Now I’m excited again. I thought I was done watching trials. But you… you made this old ghost believe again.”
–
Tq @Niqphit @Asmodeus5 and @aaaninja for many Golden Tickets! Tq for the-support guys!
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