The Author's Draft-Chapter 47: Sword Ascension Platform I

Long Chen sat on his cultivation platform, eyes closed, qi circulating through his meridians in steady rhythms. The Heavenly Demon Cultivation Technique pulsed through his body, compressing spiritual energy into his dantian over and over again.

Three days had passed since Azazel’s warning about the ancient enemies. Three days of non-stop cultivation.

And still, no breakthrough.

He could feel it—the barrier between peak Qi Gathering and Foundation Establishment. It was right there, just beyond reach, like trying to grasp smoke with bare hands.

His jaw clenched as he pushed harder, forcing more qi into his dantian, compressing it further and further until—

Pain shot through his chest.

Long Chen’s eyes snapped open, gasping. His hand clutched at his ribs where a sharp ache had flared. Not external or internal, like something inside had been stretched too far.

*You’re forcing it,* Azazel said, his voice cutting through Long Chen’s concentration with that infuriating casual tone.

"What?" Long Chen said between breaths, the pain slowly fading.

*Foundation Establishment isn’t something you push through with brute force. It’s a transformation. Your body needs to build a foundation, like constructing a building. And remember that technique you used while it didn’t have external consequences.*

"So what am I supposed to do?" Long Chen asked, frustration bleeding into his voice.

*Temper your body, make it heal from internal injuries. Let the breakthrough come naturally. You’re already at the peak, the next step will happen when your foundation is solid enough to support it. Think of it like this: you’re trying to build the second floor of a house while the first floor’s foundation is still setting. Keep that up and the whole thing collapses.*

Long Chen exhaled slowly, frustration simmering beneath his skin. Azazel was right, he knew that. But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

The problem was time. Azazel had said they had months, maybe a year before those ancient enemies tracked him down. And he needed to reach Saint Realm just to hide from them.

’Five full realms away from where I am now. Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, King, Emperor then Saint Realm.’

The distance felt impossible.

*Stop overthinking,* Azazel said, reading his thoughts as usual. *You’ve already grown faster than most cultivators dream of. Now you’re at peak Qi acquisition who can give a king realm cultivator a run for his money. Give yourself some credit.*

"Credit doesn’t help when divine hunters show up to kill me."

*True. But panic doesn’t help either. So stop panicking and start thinking strategically.*

Long Chen stood up, rolled his shoulders, and was about to sit back down when something vibrated against his waist.

His disciple token.

Long Chen pulled it out—a jade token with his name carved on one side and the sect’s symbol on the other. It was glowing faintly, characters appearing across its surface like they were being written by an invisible hand.

*All disciples report to Sword Ascension Platform immediately.*

*Attendance is mandatory.*

Long Chen stared at the message. "Guess cultivating will have to wait."

*Good. You need a break anyway before you rupture something important.*

He tucked the token back into his robe, grabbed Demon Dweller from where it leaned against the wall, and strapped it to his waist. Dragonfang remained sealed on his back—still waiting for the day he could actually use it.

Then he left the cave abode.

——-

The path to the Sword Ascension Platform was crowded with disciples moving in clusters.

Long Chen walked alone, keeping to the edge of the main path. Groups of outer disciples chatted excitedly about what the summons might be about, inner disciples moved with more composure but still talked among themselves. Even a few core disciples passed by, their expressions bored, like mandatory gatherings were beneath their attention.

No one approached Long Chen.

Some glanced his way, a few whispered. But no one directly engaged him.

He preferred it that way.

The path wound upward through the mountain, past pavilions and training grounds, until finally the Sword Ascension Platform came into view.

Long Chen stopped walking for a moment, just taking it in.

It was massive.

Circular, easily two hundred meters in diameter, carved from dark stone that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The surface was perfectly smooth, polished to a mirror shine, and covered in intricate formations that glowed faintly with spiritual energy.

Raised seating surrounded the platform in three distinct tiers, each one higher than the last. The architecture reminded him of Roman gladiatorial arenas—built for spectacle, built for combat.

Protective formations shimmered along the edges of the platform, forming a translucent barrier. Long Chen could feel the power radiating from them even from this distance. Those barriers could withstand attacks from Foundation Establishment cultivators, maybe even Core Formation.

’This is where disciples prove themselves,’ Long Chen thought. ’Where reputations are made and destroyed.’

He continued walking, joining the flow of disciples entering the seating areas.

The seating arrangement was already filling up, and the hierarchy was obvious.

Core disciples sat at the top tier. Their section was the smallest but also the most luxurious—cushioned seats, wider spacing, better view. They sat with the kind of relaxed confidence that came from knowing they were at the top of the food chain. Some were meditating, others chatted casually. A few didn’t even bother looking at the platform, like whatever was about to happen wasn’t worth their full attention.

Inner disciples occupied the middle sections. This tier was larger, more crowded. Disciples sat in loose groups based on familiarity or cultivation level. The atmosphere here was different—more energy, more conversations , people sizing each other up, making connections, and forming alliances.

Outer disciples filled the bottom rows, packed together shoulder to shoulder, their section was the largest and loudest. New faces mixed with veterans, some looked excited, others looked nervous and more than a few looked like they’d rather be anywhere else.

Long Chen scanned the inner disciple section, looking for an inconspicuous spot.

He found a spot near the edge of the inner disciple section—not too prominent, not too hidden. Somewhere he could observe without drawing unnecessary attention.

He sat down, crossed his arms, and waited.

More disciples filed in over the next ten minutes. The noise level rose steadily—conversations, laughter, speculation about why they’d been summoned. Some disciples practiced hand signs while they waited, others polished their weapons or reviewed technique manuals.

A girl two rows down was arguing with her friend about whether the sect would announce a tournament.

"I’m telling you, it has to be a tournament! Why else would they summon everyone to the combat platform?"

"Maybe it’s just an announcement. Not everything is about fighting."

"This is one of the great sects. Everything is about fighting."

Long Chen just watched, listening to fragments of conversation, getting a feel for the sect’s social dynamics.

Then the air shifted.

It was subtle at first—a change in pressure, a sudden chill but Long Chen felt it immediately. His cultivation base responded instinctively, qi circulating faster as if preparing for danger.

The disciples noticed it too. Conversations died down. People stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to the platform.

The space at the center rippled, distorting like heat waves rising from stone.

And then a figure appeared.

An elder.