My thoughts swirled like a tempest as I pieced together the implications of what I'd just learned. Swordsmanship talent grades. It wasn't something that had been touched upon in The Saga of the Divine Swordsman. At least, not explicitly. But now, standing here in the heart of Mount Hua and getting the fragments of information from Master Li and Seraphina, it clicked into place.
This wasn't just about how good you were with a sword. It wasn't about how many hours you'd spent drenched in sweat and blood on a training field. This was something far more unfair. Something far more innate. Something more absolute
Talent. Pure, unalterable talent.
A Grade 5 talent meant you had the potential to create a Grade 5 art. Not just master it, not just refine it, but create it—something entirely your own, a unique mark on the world of swordsmanship. The creation of arts, as it turned out, was less about skill and more about the genetic and mystical hand you'd been dealt by the universe. The cold, unyielding hierarchy of talent dictated what heights you could reach, no matter how hard you worked.
In an already unfair world, this was the most damning blow. Even those with skill, grit, and relentless drive could hit a wall they would never break through. Talent, it seemed, was the unscalable mountain that those without could only look up at from below.
And now, I had confirmation of my place on that mountain. Grade 6 talent. The very same grade as Lucifer Windward. The very same as the Martial King himself. A talent so rare that it reshaped the air in the room just by existing.
Li's words echoed in my head. "Grade 6 talent."
I felt the weight of those three words settle over me. A Grade 6 swordsmanship talent wasn't just an acknowledgment of skill. It was a declaration. It meant I had the capacity to create a Grade 6 art or even evolve an existing one to heights no one else could imagine.
Li rubbed his chin thoughtfully, muttering more to himself than to me. "No, in terms of pure talent, you might be better than even Sun."
Sun Zenith. Seraphina's adopted brother. The prodigy of Mount Hua adopted by the Sect Leader when he was but a child orphan. A swordsman who had once been hailed as the future of the sect and the holder of Grade 6 talent. Even called the Divine Dragon of Mount Hua in the novel. But according to Li Zenith—his own uncle, no less—I surpassed even him.
That was the thing about grades, wasn't it? They gave you the general shape of someone's potential, but there were still layers within those grades. Just because Sun and I both had Grade 6 talent didn't mean we were equals. There were still levels to this.
Li studied me like one might study a curious artifact. His gaze was equal parts awe and scrutiny. He wasn't just seeing a student anymore—he was seeing potential. Possibility. A spark that could ignite into something unstoppable.
I tightened my grip on the wooden sword at my side, the reality of it all sinking in. My father, for all his strength and guidance, likely hadn't possessed more than Grade 4 talent. After all, if he had even Grade 5 talent, he would have been able to elevate his Grade 4 art to Grade 5. The leap from that to this… it wasn't just a small, petty difference. It was absurd.
Absurd. That was the only word for it.
"Well then," Li began, stroking his chin as if weighing the cosmos on his fingertips. "You want to create a Grade 6 art out of that light mana spell of yours, don't you? It's ambitious, but," his lips curled into a small smirk, "you must've realized by now that keeping it in spell form is limiting."
"Exactly," I said, nodding. The frustration of it had been gnawing at me for weeks. A spell, no matter how powerful, was always tethered to its circle count and casting limitations. But a movement within a Grade 6 art? That would transcend those boundaries entirely, bringing fluidity, adaptability—and far more destructive power.
"Ridiculous spellcasting talent on top of that, and affinity for both dark and light magic," Li muttered, shaking his head like he was trying to piece me together. "Honestly, Seraphina, you've dragged an absolute anomaly to Mount Hua."
Seraphina, standing quietly to the side, just tilted her head in response, as though this was the most ordinary thing in the world.
Li sighed, a sound that carried both exasperation and a begrudging kind of admiration. "I have no choice, do I? Someone like you—if I don't take you as my disciple, I'd be insulting the heavens."
My chest tightened, and for a brief moment, I could feel the weight of what he'd just said. A high Immortal-rank swordsman of Mount Hua—the greatest swordsman sect in the world—had just offered to take me under his wing. "Thank you, Master," I said, bowing low, the words coming out with a rare sincerity I couldn't suppress.
"Alright then," he said, clapping his hands together, his tone immediately shifting to one of amusement. "You've signed up for Mount Hua training now, boy. Let's see if you can handle it without crying to Sera."
Seraphina shot him a flat look, the barest flicker of warmth in her silver eyes.
"But," Li continued, waving a hand toward the distant training fields, "before we throw you into the grinder, let's sit down and have a chat. We'll discuss the theory behind how to turn that flashy God Flash of yours into something worthy of a Grade 6 art. Follow me."
He led me and Seraphina through a maze of winding stone paths, past courtyards where disciples were sparring under the watchful eyes of their elders. The sounds of clashing swords and shouted instructions echoed through the air, a symphony of discipline and ambition. Finally, we arrived at a modest room, sparsely furnished with a low table and cushions.
"Alright, Seraphina," Li said, turning to her, "off you go. This is between me and your… friend."
Her gaze lingered on me for a moment, searching, before she nodded and slipped out the door without a word.
Li took a seat, gesturing for me to do the same. "Now then," he said, leaning forward, his tone losing its usual lightness. "Grade 6 arts. Let me tell you something, Arthur. These aren't just techniques. They're monuments to talent."
I nodded, already sensing where he was going. The weight of the word "talent" had been looming over me ever since I'd arrived here.
"Talent," he said, his voice almost a whisper now, "is the single most important thing in this world. It doesn't care about effort. It doesn't care about how many sleepless nights you've spent training or how much blood you've spilled. In the face of true talent, hard work is meaningless. Talent makes hard work useless."
The words hit like a hammer, and yet they resonated. I'd heard something similar before, from Professor Gravemore, when he spoke of summoning sentient undead—the pinnacle of necromancy. The Wall of Talent, he'd called it. An insurmountable barrier that separated the chosen few from everyone else. And now, here it was again, casting its shadow over swordsmanship.
"The Wall of Talent," I muttered under my breath, more to myself than to him.
Li raised an eyebrow, then nodded. "Exactly. And yet, you've somehow scaled that wall without breaking a sweat. Grade 6 swordsmanship talent. That's a gift so rare, it changes the rules of the game."
He leaned back, his gaze sharpening. "But don't let that go to your head. Talent alone won't make this easy. Especially not with what you're trying to do."
I straightened, my focus sharpening as he continued. "Since you're aiming to turn God Flash into a movement for a Grade 6 art, you'll need to understand what separates an art from a spell. Spells are constructs of mana—rigid, structured, bound by their circle. Movements, however, are tied to the essence of the body and soul. They transcend the rigid framework of mana. They're alive."
He tapped the table between us, his finger punctuating each word. "Body and Soul. Those are the two aspects you'll need to focus on. The Mind aspect can take a backseat here—it's important, but not the crux of the art."
I nodded, absorbing his words like a sponge. "How do I start?"
Li's lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "Patience. First, we'll break down your God Flash. You'll need to reimagine it—not as a spell, but as an extension of yourself. A movement that compounds not with mana, but with your intent, your breath, your will."
He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "And that, Arthur, is where the real challenge begins. Are you ready?"
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his words, the weight of the task ahead. "I'm ready."