The stinging pain from the wound on his forehead and the fatigue in his body once again became distinct.

The injury, in truth, could have been avoided.

With his true power, it would have been impossible for the massive beast to hit him.

But with the strength he was displaying, of course, it was impossible. So he deliberately slowed by half a beat, allowing the dark red limb to collide with his Flying Sword as his body was flung back into the stone house behind him.

Amid the flying dust, the wound bled freely. It looked dangerous, but in reality, it was only a flesh wound.

Murphy once again produced a Glazed Bottle, took out the Dust of Dawn inside, and consumed a small pinch.

The potent Qi in his body began to circulate faster, guiding the pure Spiritual Qi from the Dust of Dawn to converge on the wound on his forehead.

The skin around the wound grew slightly hot, accompanied by an itching and tingling sensation—a sign that his flesh was rapidly regenerating and healing.

Combined with his already formidable regenerative abilities, this superficial wound would soon disappear completely, without even leaving a scar. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

All the while, his mind had not been idle.

The attack on Ximu Town, the appearance of the mutated beast, those few abnormal fluctuations, the feeling of being watched from the southwest... these details were like scattered puzzle pieces, gradually forming a clear picture in Murphy’s mind.

This was no simple monster attack.

From the organized nature of the monsters and the timing of the mutated beast’s appearance to the hidden runic fluctuations... it seemed more like a carefully laid trap, a conspiracy using Ximu Town as bait to wear down the "reinforcements"—him.

’Fishing?’ Murphy sneered inwardly. ’Then let’s see who ends up being the fish and who’s the bait.’

But regardless of his speculations and precautions, one thing was certain.

Power was the root of everything.

In this maelstrom, only absolute power was the foundation for dealing with any variable and breaking through every trap.

The reinforcement of his Flying Sword had to be completed as soon as possible.

This unexpectedly acquired Spiritual Material was the key.

Murphy calmed his mind and thought no more, focusing all his effort on circulating his Qi to accelerate the absorption of the medicine, repair his body, and conserve his energy for testing the Spiritual Material and the true refinement to come.

...

In the days that followed, Blackstone Fortress grew increasingly bustling, yet also increasingly grim.

As the supreme Cardinal Decree was forcefully implemented and time went on, Great Knights at the Peak of Mortality and their elite forces from across the Continent poured into the border fortress like a flood, turning the stronghold into a focal point of attention.

The mix of regional dress and sigils, commands shouted in various accents, and the wary, scrutinizing gazes exchanged between them added another layer of chaos to the already crowded fortress.

Battle reports from the front-line stalemate flew back like flurries of snow. An outpost had fallen here, a medium-scale charge had been repelled there. The casualty figures coldly stacked up, and the sulfur-tinged air grew thick with a suppressed, restless tension.

On the grounds that he had "sustained internal injuries during the battle of Ximu Town and required quiet recuperation," Murphy politely declined all subsequent offensive and defensive support missions assigned by the Ironspine Duke.

He hardly stepped outside, remaining in his relatively secluded stone house.

In the eyes of the various Great Knights fighting on the front lines, this quiet "recuperation" inevitably took on a different meaning.

In the afternoon, snippets of conversation drifted in from a squad of Knights passing outside the courtyard:

"...The one from the Northern Territory? I heard he was badly injured fighting some monster in a small town a few days ago and has been holed up ever since..."

"Hmph, just an empty reputation. Peak of Mortality? All talk, I say. I took a look at that beast’s corpse. It’s intimidating, sure, but big is just big. Who knows if he used some unorthodox method or just got lucky to take it down?"

"Keep your voice down... He’s a Great Knight, after all. Someone the Lord Duke and the Bishops value..."

"Value him? I think his core strength is damaged, and he’s scared of showing his weakness before the real war starts..."

"You’re wrong. He’s a coward, afraid to fight, so he’s deliberately hiding away..."

The voices faded along with the sound of their footsteps.

In the courtyard, Princess Elizabeth happened to be walking over, holding an exquisite white porcelain medicine jar. She had clearly heard the gossip as well; her young face was taut, her lips pressed into a thin line.

She took a deep breath before raising her hand to knock gently on Murphy’s door.

"Come in." Murphy’s voice, as steady as ever, came from within.

Elizabeth pushed the door open and entered.

Murphy was sitting by a low couch, holding what looked like an old book. The wound on his forehead had faded to a faint pink mark, almost imperceptible unless one looked closely.

His complexion was normal, showing none of the listlessness common to the injured.

"Your Highness." Murphy looked up, giving the medicine jar in her hand only a brief glance.

Elizabeth placed the medicine jar on the tea table beside the couch, her movements somewhat sullen.

"Lord Melfield, this is Scars Healing Ointment I just got from the Holy Hall physicians accompanying the army. They say it’s the best for treating scars after a wound has healed." As she spoke, she couldn’t help but glance toward the door, her voice dropping lower with clear indignation. "Why... why don’t you let them examine you themselves? Those physicians are the best from the Church Court; they’re certainly better than us administering our own medicine. Outside... there are some nasty rumors going around now."

Murphy set down the book and looked at her calmly. "What rumors?"

Elizabeth hesitated for a moment before speaking. "They’re saying... saying that you’re not as strong as people think, that you were seriously injured just dealing with a beast that slipped in from the rear. That you... have an undeserved reputation. They also say there might be something strange about the beast’s corpse... and-and that you’re a... coward..."

Her voice grew quieter as she spoke, feeling embarrassed on Murphy’s behalf as her cheeks flushed slightly.

Murphy’s face showed not a trace of anger, nor even surprise. It was as if he were merely listening to a report on the day’s weather.

"Let them say what they will," he said, his tone flat. "I know the severity of my own injuries. The Church Court’s remedies have their uses, but their principles are different from the medicine I use. Mixing them would do more harm than good."

He paused, looking at Elizabeth’s still-furrowed brow and the indignation in her eyes, and offered a rare explanation. "Every person’s body is a unique battlefield. An outsider cannot possibly know how to condition it better than the person themself. The flesh wound is already fine. This quiet rest is for conditioning my internal state and restoring my combat strength. As for what others think..."

He shook his head slightly. "On the battlefield, life and death, victory and defeat—those will speak for themselves. A few rumors change nothing."

Elizabeth listened, stunned.

His words were calm, firm, and self-assured.

She suddenly realized that in the face of his tranquility, her own indignation seemed so unnecessary, even childish.

"I... I just think it’s unfair," she finally said softly, no longer insisting that he see a physician.

"There is no absolute fairness in this world." Murphy picked up his book again. "If Your Highness has the energy to spare, you would do well to pay more attention to the records on munitions allocation and refugee placement. Those are the places that truly reflect the hearts of men, and where you can truly sharpen your insight."

Elizabeth’s heart gave a slight jolt. She understood what he meant.

’Instead of worrying about a few idle words, it’s better to do something tangible and useful, something that will broaden my horizons.’

She glanced at the neglected jar of Scars Healing Ointment, then at Murphy’s tranquil profile, and suddenly felt that the noisy gossip from the outside world was indeed like the buzzing of flies—annoying, but ultimately insignificant.

"I understand, my lord." She let out a soft breath, her expression relaxing considerably. "Then... I won’t disturb your rest."

She curtsied and departed, her steps lighter than when she arrived.

The door closed once more, shutting out the faint voices and rumors from the courtyard.

Murphy’s gaze lifted from the book, drifting into the empty air of the room.

He truly didn’t care about the opinions outside, but the real reason was that he also needed a plausible excuse, one that wouldn’t draw undue attention.

The image of being "low-key" and "recovering from an injury" suited his current needs perfectly.

It allowed him to devote himself, without distraction, to the truly important matter at hand.

With a flicker of his will.

Within his Dantian Qi Sea, the Dark Gold Flying Sword let out a nearly inaudible, clear chime. It transformed into a stream of light, slowly emerging from his Dantian to hover silently in the air about a foot before him.

The body of the sword was archaic and plain, its radiance contained within. Only from certain angles could one see the faint, flowing light of its complex Dao Patterns.

It trembled gently, as if breathing in sync with Murphy’s own heartbeat and respiration.

In the same instant, he opened his left palm. A deep, silent black True Flame, which seemed to devour all light, flickered into existence, swaying without a sound.

His gaze was serene as he took the small Glazed Bottle he kept on his person from his clothes and uncorked it.

A single drop of liquid metal, its color an intertwining mix of Dark Gold and molten red, was drawn out with his Qi. Within the drop, a miniature nebula seemed to spin. He suspended it above the black True Flame.

Sword, flame, and Essence. In the profound silence, they would finally merge into one.