Immortal World : MILF Dual Cultivation

The Outer Sect’s Grand Plaza was filled to the brim. Over ten thousand disciples in standard grey and blue robes packed the open ground, the crowd buzzing with a mix of excitement and nerves, the golden light of late morning spilling across the jade stones beneath their feet.

For the ordinary disciples, this wasn’t just a spectacle. Whatever weapon was approved today would be the exact blade they carried into the Dark Mist Forest tomorrow. A brittle sword meant a lost life, and everyone in that crowd had buried someone who had learned that lesson the hard way.

At the center of the plaza stood a raised platform of pristine white jade, its surface scrubbed to a mirror shine for the occasion, catching flickers of gold from the sun overhead.

Seated at the back, upon three chairs carved from spirit-wood, sat three Inner Sect Elders, stroking their long beards, eyes half-closed in meditation. They were the judges today.

Standing at the front of the platform was Deacon Liu.

Dressed in dark-green silk robes threaded with silver, his rat-like face beamed with unconcealed triumph. Behind him stood a row of racks holding fifty gleaming longswords, each one radiating an icy-blue aura that seemed to chill the air around the platform.

"Respected Elders, honorable Deacons, brave disciples of the Outer Sect!"

Deacon Liu’s voice rang out across the plaza, carried flawlessly by a Sound-Amplification Array carved into the jade floor.

"For a decade, our disciples have bled and died in the Dark Mist Forest. Why? Because the Artifact Pavilion, under Head Manager Shen’s rigid oversight, has handed you brittle, impure scrap! How many of your brothers and sisters have fallen because their swords shattered against a demon beast’s hide?"

A heavy murmur rippled through the crowd. Fists clenched at the memory of fallen comrades.

Deacon Liu seized the moment, his voice climbing. "But that tragedy ends today. Behold!"

He drew one of the glowing blue swords from the rack. As it left the scabbard, a sharp whistle cut the air.

"The Blue-Edge Spirit Sword, gifted by our senior brothers of the Inner Sect’s Fire-Forged Peak! Forged from purified cold-iron, carved with a Tier 1 High-Grade Sharpness Array!"

He signaled an attendant, who dragged a heavy profound-iron shield onto the stage. Deacon Liu channeled a wisp of Qi into the blade until it flared brilliant blue, then swung it down with a shout.

CLANG!

The shield split cleanly in two. The cut was mirror-smooth, and the blade showed not a single chip.

"Whoa!"

"Heavens, what an edge! That could cut straight through a Stone-Scaled Boar’s hide!"

Someone near the back let out a low whistle, already imagining the difference such a blade could make against the things lurking in the Dark Mist Forest.

Deacon Liu basked in the cheers, then turned to bow toward the Elders. "It’s clear whose weapons are superior. Head Manager Shen’s pavilion is sinking. She promised a weapon to challenge me today, yet the sun climbs higher and she’s nowhere to be found. I suspect her stubborn old crafters failed to forge a single blade, and she’s hiding in shame."

"Is that what you believe, Deacon Liu?"

A crisp, glacial voice sliced through the noise. It wasn’t loud, but it carried enough pressure to silence ten thousand people at once.

The temperature in the plaza dropped.

From the main entrance, a wave of Qi Gathering Level 9 aura rolled forward, and the crowd parted on instinct, opening a clean path.

Madam Shen had arrived.

Draped in crimson robes, silver-black hair pinned with a jade hairpin, her face was an unreadable mask of authority. She walked like a queen descending among her subjects, each step deliberate, unhurried, as though the entire plaza existed simply to make way for her.

No one watching could have guessed that a day earlier, this same icy Matriarch had been pinned to her own desk, flushed and gasping beneath another’s hands.

Right now, she gave nothing away.

Half a step behind her, folded into the edge of her presence, walked Lin Tian.

He wore plain obsidian robes, his scarred face calm, his eyes sweeping over the plaza, the cheering crowd, and Deacon Liu with the detached patience of a predator watching sheep mill about a pen.

Insight Eye.

A violet-and-gold interface unfurled, locking onto the sword in Deacon Liu’s hand.

[Ding! Scanning Target: Blue-Edge Spirit Sword]

[Grade: Tier 1 High-Grade]

[Material: Cold-Iron Alloy (Impurities: 12%)]

[Array: High-Grade Sharpness Rune]

[Flaw Detected: Structural density sacrificed for edge sharpness. Blade is highly brittle under blunt, high-velocity impact.]

A fragile toy, Lin Tian thought. They traded durability for a sharper edge. One good blunt strike and it shatters like glass.

Behind Madam Shen and Lin Tian marched twenty armored guards, carrying ten heavy black canvas crates, their boots striking the jade floor in perfect unison, the sound rolling across the plaza like a slow, deliberate drumbeat announcing something the crowd hadn’t yet understood.

Madam Shen ascended the platform and offered the Elders a shallow bow, ignoring Deacon Liu entirely.

"Head Manager Shen," he sneered, masking the instinctive fear her aura stirred in him. "Fashionably late. I was just telling the Elders your pavilion likely ran into trouble."

"The Artifact Pavilion doesn’t deal in empty theatrics, Deacon Liu," she said, her voice crisp. "We simply saw no reason to present our work before the crowd had properly gathered."

She turned slightly and snapped her fingers. "Supervisor Lin. Present our weapon."

Lin Tian stepped forward, his Yang aura brushing past the nearby guards enough to make them hold their breath. He said nothing — only gestured.

THUD! THUD!

The ten crates dropped onto the jade platform. The guards unlatched the iron locks in perfect sync and threw the lids open.

Ten thousand necks craned forward. Even the three meditating Elders opened their eyes.

Inside, resting in beds of straw, sat one hundred identical black weapons — heavy, blunt, forged from dark profound-iron, each with a thick casing, a hollow chamber, and a long launching groove. They bore none of the elegant curves of a traditional flying sword, and beside Deacon Liu’s polished display, they looked almost embarrassingly crude.

A heavy silence fell. Then confusion.

"Crossbows? They brought crossbows?" someone whispered.

"Wait — look at the front!" a veteran disciple called out, eyes wide. "Where are the bowstrings? A repeating crossbow needs beast-tendon to store tension. These have no string at all. They’re just hollow shells!"

Deacon Liu’s eyes scanned the stringless weapons. He blinked once, twice — and then his face split into a look of pure, delighted realization.

He threw his head back and howled with laughter.

"Hahaha! Heavens, is this a joke, Head Manager Shen?" He clutched his stomach, pointing a shaking finger at the crates. "You promised a revolutionary weapon and brought me unfinished scrap! I know exactly what happened here!"

He turned to the Elders, his face twisting into mock sorrow. "Respected Elders, look at this. The Artifact Pavilion clearly hit a wall in production. Four days was never enough to source proper beast-tendons for a hundred bowstrings. So in a panic, they slapped together bare frames and brought these useless husks to bluff their way through the exhibition!"

The crowd erupted in murmurs of agreement.

It made sense by every rule they knew. The real bottleneck in ranged weapons was always the bowstring — beast-tendon strong enough to hold a cultivator’s Qi was rare and costly. Without a string to store and release tension, a crossbow was nothing but a heavy club.

"Deacon Liu’s right. No tendon, no force. Is it supposed to fire by someone blowing on it?" a senior deacon mocked from the side.

"What a letdown. I thought she actually had something up her sleeve," another disciple sighed, shaking his head.

The lead Elder frowned at Madam Shen. "Head Manager Shen. This exhibition is sacred tradition. Are you truly presenting us incomplete artifacts?" His two colleagues said nothing, but their silence carried its own quiet judgment.

Doubt and mockery poured down from ten thousand voices — enough pressure to break an ordinary person’s composure. Somewhere in the crowd, a young disciple who had lost his elder brother to a shattered blade last season looked at the strange black weapons with something closer to desperate hope than doubt, though his voice stayed silent among the jeering.

Madam Shen stood through it like a glacier, unmoved. Her gaze drifted, softening by the smallest fraction, toward the tall youth beside her.

She knew exactly what kind of monster she stood next to.

"Elders," she said smoothly, stepping aside. "The Artifact Pavilion doesn’t make mistakes. Let the weapon’s Chief Architect, Supervisor Lin Tian, explain its design to our ignorant colleague."

Lin Tian stepped forward.

He looked down at the still-laughing Deacon Liu with no anger in his eyes — only the flat, patient indifference of an engineer watching a man mock a firearm for lacking a sharpened rock.

A production problem? Lin Tian thought, faintly amused. You’ve built your whole Dao on the assumption that tension is the only way to launch a bolt. None of you have ever thought to ask what else might push. A thousand years of the same string, the same tendon, the same fragile answer.

He reached into the nearest crate and lifted a Spirit-Fire Repeating Crossbow one-handed, resting the forty-pound weapon against his shoulder as if it weighed nothing.

"Deacon Liu." His voice carried across the plaza, cutting straight through the laughter. "You call this unfinished because it lacks a string. You call your swords unbreakable."

He lowered the weapon slowly, the dark barrel drifting until it pointed straight at the rack of gleaming Blue-Edge swords.

"Let’s test that."

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