Chapter 42: The Five Divine Scriptures: The Turning Point for the Sacred Body

Jun Xiaoyao had never forgotten the Luoxian Sword Art.

One sword slash, reflecting the terrifying scene of countless immortals falling.

The Ancestral Dragon Nest’s quasi-supreme being was slain in three strikes.

Though this was partly due to the Eighteen Ancestors’ extraordinary cultivation base, it was also because the Luoxian Sword Art was simply too formidable.

The Eighteen Ancestors said, “In the Huangtian Immortal Realm, there are countless sword arts, but only five rise to the pinnacle—our Jun family’s Luoxian Sword Art is one of them.”

“The Five Divine Sword Arts…” Jun Xiaoyao murmured.

Though he had long suspected the Luoxian Sword Art was no ordinary technique, he never imagined it was one of the Five Divine Sword Arts.

“No wonder I couldn’t find the Luoxian Sword Art in the Jun family’s martial hall,” Jun Xiaoyao realized.

“Of course not,” the Eighteen Ancestors explained. “This sword art is notoriously difficult to master. Even if we allowed ordinary clan members to learn it, they’d waste years without even entering the first stage—purely a waste of time.”

Jun Xiaoyao strongly agreed.

Those without extraordinary talent and insight would achieve nothing by practicing the Luoxian Sword Art—only squander time.

But unfortunately, Jun Xiaoyao was precisely the kind of prodigy whose talent and insight bordered on monstrous.

“So, Ancestor… this Luoxian Sword Art…” Jun Xiaoyao’s voice trailed off.

“I withheld it before to avoid hindering your cultivation, but now that you’re about to leave and roam the world, you truly need a trump card. Though your Ancient Wasteland Sacred Body and Supreme Bone are powerful, martial techniques and divine arts are still indispensable,” the Eighteen Ancestors warned.

Then, the Eighteen Ancestors imparted the Luoxian Sword Art to Jun Xiaoyao.

The Luoxian Sword Art consisted of three moves.

The first move, Immortal Fall, was a magic power sword targeting the physical body.

The second move, Immortal Annihilation, was a soul sword targeting the spiritual palace and primordial spirit.

The final move, Luoxian, was a unified strike of spirit and flesh—the very technique the Eighteen Ancestors used to slay the quasi-supreme being in three strikes.

“If you can master the first move within three years, you may fully succeed in cultivating this art,” the Eighteen Ancestors said with a faint smile.

“Understood,” Jun Xiaoyao nodded, though inwardly he thought:

“Three years? I can’t wait that long…”

The Eighteen Ancestors glanced at Jun Xiaoyao, hesitated a moment, then spoke again: “Xiaoyao, there are two more things I must tell you.”

“Ancestor, speak freely,” Jun Xiaoyao said.

“When you turn eighteen at your coming-of-age ceremony, I will reveal to you the hidden history of our Jun family—and the truth about your father.”

At these words, Jun Xiaoyao’s eyes trembled.

The hidden history of the Jun family?

Jun Xiaoyao was deeply curious—what secrets lay behind such a powerful, brilliantly glorious clan?

But above all, he wanted to know about his father, Jun Wu-hui!

The words “White-Robed Divine King” had been drummed into Jun Xiaoyao’s ears until he was sick of them.

What kind of man was his father? Why did he leave and never return?

What exactly happened back then?

“You’re not ready to know this yet. At your coming-of-age ceremony, I will tell you everything,” the Eighteen Ancestors said.

Jun Xiaoyao nodded slightly and did not press further.

At present, among young prodigies, he indeed swept all before him.

But he still lacked the strength to confront such hidden truths.

In the following days, Jun Xiaoyao remained by the Eighteen Ancestors’ side, who personally explained the Luoxian Sword Art to him.

When the Eighteen Ancestors cultivated the Luoxian Sword Art, he mastered it in one year—an astonishing feat.

Yet three months later:

In the Jun ancestral grounds, Jun Xiaoyao raised his hand, and vast golden magical energy surged forth.

He formed a sword with his fingers; a brilliant, dazzling blade of light erupted into the sky, as if phantom figures of immortals and gods materialized around him.

The blade swept forward, as if ready to sever celestial stars—space trembled, and the clouds above shattered.

Boom!

After the blade passed, a vast stretch of clouds was cleaved in two; residual sword qi exploded in all directions, startling many Jun clan elders and major figures.

“That… that’s the aura of the Luoxian Sword Art. Could it be the Eighteen Ancestors?”

“No—though the power is astonishing, it hasn’t reached the Eighteen Ancestors’ level. It’s the Divine Son!”

Many Jun clan elders and disciples stared in stunned silence.

Only three months have passed?

Jun Xiaoyao hadn’t just entered the first stage—he could already unleash the first move of the Luoxian Sword Art.

Inside the ancestral grounds, the Eighteen Ancestors stared at Jun Xiaoyao, momentarily frozen, unsure what expression to wear.

“It took three months just to master the first move? This Luoxian Sword Art truly is difficult,” Jun Xiaoyao sighed, shaking his head.

He wasn’t pretending—he had never taken more than seven days to master any martial technique before.

Compared to that, taking three months to master the first move of the Luoxian Sword Art was undeniably slow.

“Cough…” The Eighteen Ancestors’ expression grew uneasy.

“Ancestor, what’s wrong?” Jun Xiaoyao asked.

“Nothing… nothing. I think I’ll go lie back in my coffin and sleep,” the Eighteen Ancestors said.

Being around Jun Xiaoyao was beginning to destabilize even the Eighteen Ancestors’ Dao heart—he needed time to calm his thoughts.

“Thank you, Ancestor, for granting me this technique. I’ll take my leave.”

Jun Xiaoyao, ever perceptive, did not disturb the Eighteen Ancestors further.

After leaving the ancestral grounds, Jun Xiaoyao headed straight for the Heavenly Emperor Palace.

To his relief, Jiang Luoli had finally left.

He had no interest whatsoever in such a little girl.

When Jun Xiaoyao entered the Heavenly Emperor Palace, he found Jun Zhantian waiting for him.

“Have you learned the Luoxian Sword Art?” Jun Zhantian asked.

"Alright, first form." Jun Xiaoyao said.

“You’re truly a little monster…” Jun Zhantian thought inwardly, then said aloud: “I never expected you to harbor a Supreme Bone as well.”

Jun Xiaoyao’s expression remained unchanged, though inwardly he thought: This bone came from a sign-in reward.

But after obtaining it, it was no different from a bone he was born with.

“Is there something you need, Grandpa?” Jun Xiaoyao asked.

Jun Zhantian wouldn’t come to him without reason.

Jun Zhantian said: “Xiaoyao, though you possess two top-tier body types, cultivating them demands double the effort—especially the Ancient Wasteland Sacred Body. You awakened your first phenomenon at birth: Ten Thousand Saints Pay Homage. But the Ancient Wasteland Sacred Body has six phenomena in total.”

Jun Zhantian’s words plunged Jun Xiaoyao into thought.

Indeed, cultivating the Ancient Wasteland Sacred Body was even harder than cultivating the Supreme Bone.

Awakening phenomena was no simple matter.

Though Jun Xiaoyao’s talent was monstrous, he still needed time to progress.

“Grandpa may know a place where you could accelerate your understanding of your second Sacred Body phenomenon,” Jun Zhantian said.

“Oh?” Jun Xiaoyao raised an eyebrow. Such a place existed?

“Have you heard of the Panwu Divine Dynasty?” Jun Zhantian asked.

“The Panwu Divine Dynasty? That’s a top-tier force at the level of an immortal dynasty,” Jun Xiaoyao replied.

In his spare time, he had read historical texts and had some understanding of the major forces in the Huangtian Immortal Realm.

“Correct. The founder of the Panwu Divine Dynasty was an Emperor named Emperor Panwu. But that’s not important—what matters is the rumor that he too possessed the Ancient Wasteland Sacred Body…”

“There are whispers that deep within the Panwu Divine Dynasty’s imperial palace lies a Panwu Mausoleum, possibly connected to Emperor Panwu…”

As Jun Zhantian finished speaking, Jun Xiaoyao’s mind was once again filled with the system’s mechanical voice:

“Ding! Congratulations, host! A new sign-in location has been refreshed!”

“Sign in at the Panwu Mausoleum!”