It truly couldn't be blamed on the guards for not trying their utmost. How does one guard against something so ethereal and strange that a blade vanishes seemingly into thin air while under the relentless, impenetrable watch of fifty men, right before everyone’s eyes? Moreover, this wasn't an isolated incident; every lost weapon followed the exact same pattern—vanishing with an inexplicable suddenness that made defense utterly impossible.

"Fine, it’s just a knife and a sword," everyone muttered to themselves, simultaneously cursing under their breath: Damn it, with skill like that, you could easily empty the Emperor’s treasury. Why bother stealing a few paltry weapons?

It was simply incomprehensible! Damn it all!

In the following days, Dugu Xiaoyi threw every trick in her arsenal at Jun Moxie, launching a powerful offensive. This young lass from the military faction, seeing that Guan Qinghan was on the verge of achieving her goal, finally grew desperate!

For the sake of her future lifelong happiness, the young girl completely disregarded how others might view or judge her actions. This frenzy caused the Dugu family brothers accompanying the expedition to chew their lips raw with anxiety, yet their efforts were completely futile.

Conversely, Guan Qinghan returned entirely to her usual icy, aloof demeanor after that day’s council meeting in the main tent, showing Jun Moxie not an ounce of warmth. She avoided him whenever possible. But Jun Moxie remained undeterred, repeatedly attacking only to be repulsed, yet repeatedly attacking again—he seemed to enjoy the process.

The sheer thickness of this young master’s skin had reached the point where city walls might bend in admiration. During this period, the assembled soldiers witnessed a spectacle that truly opened their eyes!

Jun Moxie wasn't obsessively clinging to Guan Qinghan, either. Every morning, he would stroll by, exchange greetings with the nearby soldiers, then knock on her door, only to be met with a closed one. Afterward, he would return to chat idly with the enlisted men, waiting for the two women to emerge for washing. Then he’d approach, flash a grin, exchange a few pleasantries—whether acknowledged or ignored—without pressing the issue further.

Ah, the morning routine was done.

He was done, but Dugu Xiaoyi was just getting started. Sometimes, she wouldn’t even wait until she was fully washed before latching onto Jun Moxie, employing tactics identical to those he used on Guan Qinghan. Jun Moxie’s reaction was nearly the same as Guan Qinghan's—not too close, yet not too distant, maintaining that teasing ambiguity. Thus, Dugu Xiaoyi grew bolder with every setback, fighting harder after every defeat, caught in a perpetual cycle where frustration fueled greater effort. This created a loop involving the three of them.

By noon, this cycle repeated itself once more, and in the evening, it commenced again, endlessly revolving.

Eventually, the soldiers lost all interest in watching the show. Can’t you three just get to the point? Constantly haggling like this—isn't it tiresome? Hell, even we roughnecks are getting bored watching this!

However, one other anomaly puzzled everyone greatly. Most people woke up feeling refreshed, or at least not sluggish. Yet, Young Master Jun looked utterly exhausted every morning upon rising, as if he hadn't slept well all night, engaged in some continuous activity for several nights straight. Over these few days, his usually plump cheeks even seemed to be thinning slightly. Only after breakfast and a period of rest would he gradually regain his vigor and become lively once more.

Everyone was confused. It seemed Young Master Jun didn't engage in any tiring activities at night; he slept alone. How could he be so weary? He certainly didn't do any chores during the day. What was happening? Miss Qinghan and Miss Dugu retired early these past few nights, so it shouldn't be them. Who else could it be?

Concerned by this abnormal phenomenon, his Uncle Dongfang Wenqing endured it for a long time before finally pulling his nephew aside conspiratorially. He whispered urgently: "Moxie, young man, you must learn restraint. Uncle knows you've just tasted that wonderful pleasure for the first time, and suddenly having no outlet must be agonizing. Uncle has been through it too; I understand perfectly. But you need to control how often you 'comfort' yourself all night. Being celibate every other night won't kill you. Just don't go at it several times a night until you’re fully satisfied—that truly drains the body, especially for us martial artists, and it’s no good for future generations either. You must exercise temperance!"

Jun Moxie stared, thunderstruck, listening to his uncle’s earnest advice, caught between shock and laughter.

"Uncle, you’re overthinking this. I’m not—" Young Master Jun tried to explain quickly. Good heavens, where did he even get this idea?

"Not what?!" Dongfang Wenqing glared for a moment, then softened his tone, leading by example: "We are both men, and I am your uncle; I know your little tricks. What’s there to hide? It’s normal for a young man to have those needs. Uncle’s been around the block, I know very well. Back in my youth, I lacked restraint too, sigh... In short, don't do this again, understood? Uncle is saying this for your own good. Don't argue; just listen and obey."

Young Master Jun's face turned dark with frustration. His uncle had just used himself as a cautionary tale; what else could he possibly say? What dared he say?!

"Heh heh," Dongfang Wenqing continued warmly, patting his nephew’s shoulder while resuming the dignified bearing of the Divine Profound Realm master he was, adopting the air of an elder: "We all understand. Young men have urges; just try to control them and keep it quiet." He walked away with the satisfied air of a mentor who had successfully imparted crucial wisdom.

It’s a good thing I noticed early! The nephew hasn't developed an addiction yet. He was glad he had personally instructed him. If it had become a habit, it would have been truly disastrous, just like his own past—sigh, some memories are too painful to recall. Dongfang Shenxuan walked away feeling smug, yet with a hint of melancholy.

Later, Jun Moxie made discreet inquiries with his other two uncles and learned that while the eldest uncle had many wives and concubines, he had no children; his lineage was without heirs. The more this became the case, the more concubines he took, and the more concubines he took, the fewer children he had—a vicious cycle had formed.

It was said that Dongfang Wenqing's current harem numbered around forty or fifty—a truly terrifying number! Even if he visited one a night to distribute his favors equally, it would take nearly two months.

So that’s how it is!

Jun Moxie secretly chuckled twice, his mind racing. With the medical skills and medicinal resources he possessed, assisting his uncle in regaining his ability to procreate was certainly possible. But then again...

Furthermore, how could he let the old man get away with projecting his own situation onto him without asking for clarification? He’d slapped this huge label onto Jun Moxie. If he didn't retaliate, it seemed improper. Since he was his uncle, physical retaliation was out of the question. As for other methods... He decided to wait until they reached the Dongfang family estate. This matter couldn't be rushed.

Watching his uncle walk away, Jun Moxie hurried back to his tent. With a flip of his wrist, a gleaming long sword appeared in his hand. This sword measured two feet four inches, a full six parts shorter than the traditional three-foot Qingfeng. The blade was less than three fen wide, moderately thick. The hilt was utterly unadorned; judging by its external shape alone, it was ancient, simple, and utterly unremarkable.

Yet, it radiated sheer sharpness!

The moment the sword was drawn, the temperature in the entire tent seemed to plummet abruptly, filled with a chilling, severe cold! Even under the bright midday sun, the tent suddenly felt as if evening twilight had descended!

From the base to the tip, the blade appeared to be exhaling a frigid, spectral flame. It wasn't actually emitting radiant light; it simply rested in Jun Moxie’s hand, yet it naturally possessed the kingly aura of a weapon that could awe everything—making people instinctively feel that the sword was already radiating boundless light in some hidden dimension!

Jun Moxie lightly flicked the sword body with his finger. Almost simultaneously, an exceptionally clear, soaring cry burst forth, as if a bloodthirsty venomous dragon, dormant for ten thousand years, had suddenly awakened within the blade, uttering a cry of fierce hunger!

The sword cry pierced the air!

Everyone within a radius of dozens of yards felt a tremor in their hearts, and countless horses neighed in panic simultaneously! It was as if an ancient, unparalleled demon had suddenly descended among them, bringing an ineffable terror.

Jun Moxie took down a long saber hanging on the tent wall, extended the sword blade flat, pointing the tip toward the sky, and then gently lowered the saber from above without effort.

Ching.

A soft sound. The moment the gleaming saber made contact with the sword's edge, it split neatly in two, like tofu, and tumbled to the ground.

This light sound was as faint as a quick knife slicing into wood, almost completely inaudible. Yet, a battle-hardened saber lay broken in half!

Jun Moxie let out a soft breath, stroking the ridge of the blade, and whispered: "Compared to you, those so-called metal-slicing, hair-splitting divine weapons mean nothing. You are the true King of Weapons! The Emperor of Swords!"

The long sword remained silent, utterly still.

"Three hundred and thirty-three long sabers, three hundred and thirty-three sharp swords, three hundred and thirty-three long halberds—a total of nine hundred and ninety-nine weapons forged just to create this one sword of yours. How much blood will you need to quench your thirst?" Jun Moxie spoke softly and slowly, as if addressing a living being.

He knew this sword could truly understand!

Weapons of spirit had sentience; divine artifacts possessed a soul!

The long sword trembled slightly, yet perhaps it hadn't moved. But a strange ripple of light extended from the hilt to the tip, then drifted back, settling motionless on the ridge—like the soul of a bloodthirsty serpent gliding across the blade once.

Jun Moxie carefully drew the sword's edge lightly across his own arm, drawing a bead of blood that flowed onto the blade. The sword gently rotated, smearing this drop of blood across the entire surface, then dripped off the tip, leaving the blade as spotless and bright as autumn water.

Jun Moxie performed this action slowly, solemnly, and with profound reverence—even with a trace of nostalgia.

With my blood, I nourish my sharp instrument; with my soul, I honor my divine weapon! This was the long-standing tradition of Chinese swordsmen, an ancient ritual! Since the existence of swordsmen, this rite had continued for millennia, nearing extinction in the modern age with the rise of firearms and the decline of cold steel.

But here, in thisworld, at this very moment, Jun Moxie performed this intensely ancient ceremony with the utmost piety, to himself and to his sword! He sought to express his adoration for the longsword in this manner, and simultaneously remind himself!

No matter where he was, he was still of Yan Huang blood, a descendant of Huaxia! Even if he were the only one left beneath the heavens!