Walker Of The Worlds

Chapter 2967: The Dance of Gold and Steel

The arena had become utterly silent, yet every soul watching could feel the thunderous anticipation hanging in the air.

Elder Yan Dao stepped forward once more, his sword humming with Sword Qi. This time, there was no testing strike, no gentle probe. His movements were fluid and swift, like a river fed by the torrents of countless seasons, each motion honed by centuries of sword practice.

And Lin Mu—still without a weapon—met him bare-handed.

Clang!

Clang!

Clang!

Sparks burst with each impact as Lin Mu parried strikes with the back of his hand, his forearm, even his palm. Sometimes he would even use a single finger to deflect a strike, or use his finger nail to poke as if it were the tip of a sword.

Each block echoed like hammer on anvil, the sheer power of Yan Dao’s strikes scattering Sword Qi in gales that made the outer disciples clutch their robes.

But Lin Mu remained steady.

He did not budge. He did not falter.

Instead, something began to shimmer beneath the loose folds of his robes—subtle at first, then unmistakable.

A Physique slowly revealed itself.

With every parried blow, a golden glow pulsed beneath Lin Mu’s skin, as if his flesh itself had been cast in molten gold and gilded brass.

The light traced patterns—sweeping mountains, rolling cliffs, towering peaks, a giant plateau, a smoldering caldera, an erupting volcano and vast skies that contained them all. It was as if his body bore the very landscapes of the world carved into it.

Disciples watching from the stone pavilions gaped.

"What is that glow...?"

"Are those... tattoos? No, they’re moving and changing!"

"They look like... actual vistas?"

The murmuring rippled outward like a tide.

In the elders’ seating area, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed. Most couldn’t identify what they were seeing—but then, the Grand Elder finally spoke.

His voice was low. Barely more than a murmur.

But it carried like a gong struck through divine mist.

"That is no mere body cultivation technique..."

"It is a physique."

The words moved like wildfire.

Gasps broke out. Even among the core disciples, many had never seen a true physique of this level on display, let alone one this refined.

"A physique?! But it’s not innate, is it?"

"No... it can’t be. No child is born with mountains etched into their flesh."

The elders quickly conferred in hushed tones.

"It’s acquired," said Elder Qiu. "The result of a mortal body being refined far beyond its limits."

"That level of transformation... his body must have been reborn multiple times under peak-grade materials."

"What kind of body cultivation even leads to this?!"

The elders continued to guess and tried to identify it but they were having a hard time. One of the elders even asked a disciple to fetch a book from the library that contained information about thousands of types of physiques.

They began to compare the characteristic and yet they were unable to pinpoint just what kind of physique Lin Mu had.

It was expected.

After all, Lin Mu’s physique was entirely unique that he had made himself!

Lin Mu didn’t respond to their amazement. He simply continued to engage High Elder Yan Dao—dodging, deflecting, redirecting.

Fifteen minutes passed like a dream.

And in all that time, Lin Mu didn’t bear a single scratch.

Soon a hint of disappointment was felt by him.

A small crease formed in Lin Mu’s brow.

"Even the full power of Elder Yan Dao’s Sword Intent couldn’t pierce the Boundless Dominator Physique?"

Part of him felt disappointed. He had hoped for at least one wound. One opening. Something that might push him to greater heights.

But another part of him—the Sword Cultivator—felt pleased. This body was now more than a shield. It was a battlefield.

Still, this was no way to finish a duel.

"It’s time," Lin Mu said softly.

He stepped back and reached behind him.

Two blades shimmered into his grasp.

In his left hand—Afternoon Pine, a traditional double-edged straight sword, its spine etched with ancient pine leaf patterns and imbued with calm, balanced Sword Qi.

In his right—Ocean Raker, a long, curved sword with a wave-like blade, forged to flow with rhythm and brutal elegance. It exuded sharpness like crashing tides and howling storms.

The onlookers stared in confusion.

"He uses two different swords?"

"A straight sword and a long blade? That’s... unconventional."

"It’ll upset his center of gravity!"

But they quickly realized the truth.

"No. It doesn’t."

"He’s perfectly balanced!"

It was a storm of unequal swords.

Lin Mu moved.

Afternoon Pine swept forward in a precise horizontal arc, deflecting the elder’s advancing blade. At the same moment, Ocean Raker danced in a fluid crescent, slashing upward and forcing Yan Dao to retreat.

His footwork was graceful, yet purposeful.

Every strike was a lesson, every movement a statement.

With the long sword, he overwhelmed. With the straight sword, he corrected and countered. The two weapons flowed together like wind and water—different forms, one rhythm.

The crowd no longer breathed.

"He’s... ambidextrous?"

"No, he’s using each sword as an extension of a different concept."

"He’s not just using technique—he’s wielding a philosophy."

Even Yan Dao, seasoned and sharp, found himself stepping back more often than forward.

"So this is the true measure of your sword," the elder said, breathing deeply.

"Two blades, two flows, one path."

Lin Mu nodded, respectful but focused.

"My cultivation is not built on imitation. I do not walk the path of any single sect or master."

"I forge my own."

The Duel continued.

They clashed once more, and this time, the sky itself seemed to sway.

Afternoon Pine intercepted a downward cleave from Sky Severing Radiance with impossible timing—deflecting it just enough for Ocean Raker to twist around and flick the elder’s sleeve, shredding a small slit in the fabric.

Yan Dao’s eyes narrowed.

"Sharp."

He leapt back, only to find Lin Mu already advancing.

This was no longer a test.

It had become a dance of understanding.

And Lin Mu—glowing golden, dual swords weaving arcs of silver and blue—was leading it.

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