A desolate place, a single point in existence. Within this locus, endless black miasma enveloped the world. This was the demonic energy of the Ten Heavens and Nine Hells; legend held that the Demonic Civilization was divided into ten heavenly factions, nine hellish factions, and nineteen overarching powers, each possessing a distinct type of demonic aura. Now, however, the energies of all the Ten Heavens and Nine Hells had converged. What grand purpose could compel so many members of the Demonic Civilization to cooperate? In an instant, a gentle surge of sword energy swept across the expanse. Though this sword energy was profoundly mild, utterly lacking in sharpness, it effortlessly pulverized the amassed demonic energy of the Ten Heavens and Nine Hells. That single, faint strike resonated with the screams of dozens. And in the center, a placid middle-aged man materialized. This man possessed striking good looks, imbued with an air of sorrow and melancholy—the very essence of a scholarly recluse weighed down by existential gloom. Furthermore, this man radiated an aura befitting an Emperor among Gods, a King among Immortals, and an Ancestor among Buddhas. Celestial Venerable Realm! Only those who had attained the Celestial Venerable Realm could rightly be called Divine Emperors, Immortal Kings, or Buddha Ancestors.

Zhou Qingxuan frowned slightly. Indeed, having recovered the memories of his previous life as the Civilization Thunder Lord, Zhou Qingxuan had arrived at this state. Lu Yuan had now essentially reached the Second Level of the World Realm. Zhou Qingxuan wondered how he would manage his Celestial Tribulation. Zhou Qingxuan himself had obtained an exceedingly rare divine artifact: the Primordial Mark. The Primordial Mark differed from the Bronze Mark; once used, the Primordial Mark could be erased, whereas the Bronze Mark, once cast, could never be removed. As for Yan Cangtian, Zhou Qingxuan knew that Yan Cangtian had not acquired a Primordial Mark artifact. Instead, he seemed to be using an extraordinarily perilous method to suppress the outbreak of his Heavenly Tribulation, holding it off until this very moment. This suppression technique was rare and dangerous; any slight misstep meant utter ruin, and it necessitated remaining within the Lost Lands while demanding tremendous willpower. Moreover, once the Heavenly Tribulation fully erupted, it would utterly annihilate Senior Brother Yan. Of course, Zhou Qingxuan understood Yan Cangtian's plan: he intended to wait until his strength increased further, then directly storm the Desolate Ancient Civilization to seize the Seal of Desolation. After all, after entering the Central Heavenly Dynasty, there would still be some time before the Tribulation erupted with terrifying force. Right—if it isn't given, snatch it. That was Yan Cangtian’s style. Never mind. Lu Yuan had his own path. Zhou Qingxuan needn't worry too much. The Three Myths of Mount Hua—each cultivator walked their own road. Others could only offer guidance or advice from the sidelines; how they chose to walk was ultimately their own decision.

Here at the Sword Oblivion Stele. Calamity clouds blazed, heavy and dark, lightning like sharp edges cleaving heaven and earth, met by a furious storm. Seated upon the immense Sword Oblivion Stele was a man clad in green. The man in green remained dashing, yet there was a subtle current of confusion and aimlessness about him. Memories flowed away in streams, most flashing across the surface of the Sword Oblivion Stele. Yet, a very small number of deeply hidden secrets were interspersed among the other memories, invisible to outsiders, who could only discern that Lu Yuan’s memories were vanishing one by one. And now, finally, it was time for the memories of Mount Hua. The multitude of memories from his time on Mount Hua flickered across the Sword Oblivion Stele. Scenes played out: practicing the sword with his Master, Li Yuanbai; roughhousing with his fellow disciples; gatherings where numerous senior disciples and elders were present; the moment Yan Cangtian passed the sword to him, instructing Lu Yuan to guard Mount Hua; the chaos of the Three Sword Qi Sects of Mount Hua, and his emergence to defend them; and finally, the massive assault by demons and monsters, and his defense of the mountain. Countless scenes flashed across the Sword Oblivion Stele. These were profoundly imprinted moments. The Light of Forgotten Dust shimmered, one stream after another, intent on washing these memories clean. This was a critical juncture. If even the memories of Mount Hua were scrubbed away, Lu Yuan’s mind would essentially be lost, leaving him an imbecile. Never! Yun Xiuxue clenched her hands tightly. "Lu Yuan, even if you forget me, you cannot forget everything else. Even if you forget me, you must live well. You cannot become an idiot!" The many figures nearby harbored their own complex thoughts. The atmosphere grew intensely strained.

The Light of Forgotten Dust surged repeatedly, wave after wave. Under this sustained barrage, Lu Yuan’s memories began to blur, gradually fading until even the memories of Mount Hua vanished. Even the memories of Mount Hua were gone! "Satisfactory," Copper Cloud Chou chuckled, waving the feather fan in his hand. "This is as it should be." The Desolate Saint Imperial Scion glanced toward the Holy Speed Ship where the Sacred Saint Imperial Scion stood. Their gazes met across the air, and without question, the Desolate Saint Imperial Scion had gained the upper hand this time. Many from the Sword Gate looked on helplessly, and Yun Xiuxue collapsed weakly against the ship's railing. "The silken mat recalls quiet longing, a thousand-mile reunion ended in a single night. From now on, my heart holds no joy for lovely nights; let the bright moon shine upon the western tower," Yun Xiuxue murmured the ancient verse, repeating, "From now on, my heart holds no joy for lovely nights; let the bright moon shine upon the western tower." Tears streamed down her face, her sobs stifled into silent weeping. She knew she would never forget Lu Yuan, not in this life nor any other. Lu Yuan was finished! The peerless genius rumored to rival the Son of the Sword, the genius whose destiny was counted among the Seven Fortunate Ones—he was utterly destroyed. Some felt regret, others gloated, some were heartbroken, and some rejoiced. Expressions of every shade flickered across the onlookers. But what did any of this matter to Lu Yuan? He had forgotten everything around him. He didn't understand why he was sitting here, nor why the memories of the past several decades—from his birth until now—were almost entirely erased. Operating purely on instinct, he picked up his wine gourd and took a swig, taking a long moment to process what he had just drunk.

"Where is this?" Lu Yuan rose from the Sword Oblivion Stele. Beside him were many people, beings—was that how one referred to these creatures similar to himself? Where was he? What was that substance he drank at the entrance? Why did it leave such a strange sensation? Why? Wait. There was one thing he still recognized, something not entirely forgotten. Lu Yuan looked down at the long sword resting three chi and three fen from his side, its blade gleaming like autumn water. Sword. Yes, he still remembered the sword. Of all things in the myriad world, the only thing he retained was the sword. The sword! Lu Yuan stroked the blade piece by piece; it felt cool, faintly chilling. Upon the Sword Oblivion Stele, a single, massive sword shape projected outward. This was Lu Yuan's final memory. His final recollection was neither of family affection, nor romantic attachment, nor love—it was nothing of the sort. Casting aside everything external, all that was dusted over, sweeping away the grime, the true core of his spirit was finally revealed. Residing deep within Lu Yuan's heart was the Sword! The sword had accompanied Lu Yuan since he was ten. No, to be precise, from the very beginning of his memory, long before the age of ten, Lu Yuan had loved the sword; he formally began his study of the sword at age ten. This was Lu Yuan’s last true memory!

Ancient Sword Master! Truly an Ancient Sword Master! Copper Cloud Chou, the Desolate Saint Imperial Scion, and the Copper Saint Imperial Scion all twitched their brows simultaneously. For the deepest residue of memory to be the sword—this was almost unheard of. Legends stated that figures like this belonged to the lineage of the Ancient Sword Masters, a group notoriously troublesome. They had been thought extinct, yet here was another emerging. Ancient Sword Masters loved the sword with absolute purity, using the sword to defy the heavens, refusing to yield even unto death. A swordsman is formidable, but an Ancient Sword Master is terrifying. Fortunately, Lu Yuan was currently seated upon the Sword Oblivion Stele, where the Light of Forgotten Dust would cleanse his final memory of the sword, stripping him of his identity as an Ancient Sword Master. Let the Light of Forgotten Dust strive hard.

One stream of the Light of Forgotten Dust was struck out, yet the sword on the Stele remained perfectly defined, showing no blurring. Ten streams struck out, but the sword upon the Stele was still strikingly clear, showing no blur. Thirty streams struck out, and the sword upon the Stele remained clearly visible, still showing no blur. Fifty streams struck out; the sword upon the Stele remained relatively clear. One hundred streams struck out; the sword upon the Stele remained incomparably distinct.

The Light of Forgotten Dust continued to lash out, relentlessly trying to scour Lu Yuan's memories, but it failed again and again. This was the two-hundredth stream of the Light of Forgotten Dust; the memory of the sword upon the Stele was so intensely sharp. What was happening? The previous memories of Lu Yuan could be cleansed, so why could this final memory not be washed away? Copper Cloud Chou, the Copper Saint Imperial Scion, and the Desolate Saint Imperial Scion all turned their heads to observe. Three hundred streams of the Light of Forgotten Dust. This was already three hundred streams, and yet this memory regarding the sword had permeated so deeply that it refused to be erased. Four hundred streams of the Light of Forgotten Dust. Five hundred streams of the Light of Forgotten Dust! Seven hundred streams of the Light of Forgotten Dust! Nine hundred streams of the Light of Forgotten Dust! Nine hundred and ninety-nine streams of the Light of Forgotten Dust struck again! Yet the sword showed no discernible change, remaining just as sharp. In fact, as the onlookers gazed at the sword on the Stele, they felt a faint chill, as if they were witnessing the divine sword from Lu Yuan’s memory—a blade capable of shaking heaven and earth, traversing the might of the cosmos. If this man did not end up an imbecile, his future achievements would be limitless; the world would see another master of the Civilization Realm arise. Alas, even if the final memory of the sword could not be erased, all his other memories were already gone. He was ruined.

At that precise instant, the green-clad youth sitting on the Sword Oblivion Stele stroked the Yangwu Immortal Sword in his hand: "No, no. It’s not just these memories. I have other memories too. Who am I? My life? My emotions? I should possess these things. Why is there only the sword? Having the sword is good, but there should be more." "What is going on?" The green-clad youth shook his head, pondering deeply, involuntarily raising the wine gourd to his lips and taking a long drink. "Yes, I know now. Sword Oblivion Stele, give my memories back to me." This single utterance soared past the nine heavens, piercing the cosmos, reaching the highest zenith.