“He not only survived the marked aura-he used it to break through. Such perception and will are terrifying,” Lyra murmured, bright wonder gleaming in eyes.

‘The Sword Sect just found itself a treasure,” Corin exhaled, a pleased smile softening his stern features. Stillness returned as Jared lowered the sword and stood upright, breath steady, shoulders loose.

At that moment, his aura felt several times greater, black energy curling around him, yet his eyes stayed bright and lucid, no hint of the madness that often stalked those who had gone off the deep end.

He flexed his fingers, marveling at how spiritual energy and marked aura fused as one, each casual movement edged with cutting intent.

Nearby, the ancient stone stele ignited again, archaic characters rippled across its face, faster and brighter, as though the monument itself applauded his insight. As the marked aura settled, the sword domain shield that sealed the grave began to thin, its edges fraying like frost under sunrise.

Jared tightened the leather strap around the scabbard slung across his back, then lifted his gaze to Corin. “Master Morden, the hour has come. We ought to leave for Darkwind Gorge now…”

Corin answered with a slow, deliberate nod, the gray at his temples gleaming in the lamplight. “Okay… You now stand at Wandering immortal Realm Level Nine. With the swordmaster’s legacy coursing through you. even an Earthly immortal Realm Level Eight should fail beneath your blade.”