In the northern commandery of Qin, within the halls of the Qingyun Sword Sect, a cold decree rolled through the grand chamber.

“Outer disciple Burton Shepherd, his meridians shattered and his cultivation abolished, has no fate with the martial path. From this day forth, he is expelled from the sect and shall never again set foot in Qingyun Sword Sect.”

The indifferent voice echoed against the stone pillars.

Burton Shepherd, robe trailing behind him, walked calmly out of the hall.

“So, expelled in the end.”

“Two years ago, he won first place for the sect in the Northern Commandery’s Seven‑Sect Trials. One year ago, he fought bloody battles over the silver mine and secured it for the sect. Eight months ago, he rooted out the infiltrator from an enemy sect, saving us from severe losses. Six months ago…”

“In just two years, he offered the sect merit after merit. Yet now, the moment his meridians shatter, only seven days pass before he’s thrown out the gates. This is really…”

Not far away, a few disciples of the sword sect sighed, voices filled with regret.

Burton didn’t spare them a glance. He simply walked toward the sect’s outer grounds, the corner of his lips lifting in a faint, almost unnoticeable curve.

Losing his cultivation was true. Being expelled was not. It was all part of a plan he and the upper elders agreed on.

Two years ago, he’d beaten Quinlan Mistborne of the Nine‑Mystic Sword Sect for the title of top outer disciple in the Seven‑Sect Trials. Ever since, Quinlan had held a deep grudge, provoking him again and again, only to fail each time.

Seven days ago, after his meridians ruptured, Burton considered briefly and then approached the sect’s upper echelon. He asked them to leak the news to Quinlan Mistborne, claiming that as long as Quinlan offered one hundred thousand silver notes and one thousand Essence‑Nurturing Pills, the sect would cast Burton out.

Quinlan agreed instantly. He begged his elder grandfather for the payment. Today, Burton received half—fifty thousand silver notes and five hundred pills—and acted out the scene of expulsion.

“Tsk, tsk… isn’t this our glorious outer‑gate first place, Senior Brother Shepherd? A while back you were quite the sharp blade. Rumor said you’d make the inner sect soon. How’d you end up tossed out like some homeless mutt?”

A man in blue strode over, short blade strapped to his leg, a thick sneer on his face.

Quentin Ashwood.

The Qingyun Sword Sect’s outer‑gate second place.

“For two years Quentin’s been stuck as number two. Always under Burton’s shadow. He resented him to the bone. Now Burton’s cultivation is gone and he’s been expelled… Quentin won’t let him walk away easy.”

“Most likely not.”

A few disciples whispered among themselves.

Burton Shepherd looked at Quentin Ashwood with a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes.

That look made Quentin instantly bristle. He bared his teeth in a cruel grin and snapped, “You think you’re still the Burton you used to be? Wake up. You’re nothing now. A cripple. Understand?”

Burton gave him a brief glance, too lazy to waste breath, and kept walking.

“So easy to leave?” Quentin stepped in front of him, blocking the path. He lifted his right foot, voice dripping with mockery. “Wind’s strong today. Dirt all over my shoe. If you want to walk out safely… lick it clean.”

A glob of phlegm hit the tip of his shoe with a wet slap.

“Isn’t that going too far?”

“Yeah… that’s a bit much…”

Some disciples muttered under their breath.

Quentin’s gaze swept across them, sharp as a blade. “Shut up. You courting death?”

Pressed down by Quentin’s strength, the disciples shrank back, silent.

Quentin’s smirk returned. He tilted his head toward Burton and tapped his shoe. “Go on.”

Burton stared at him again, amusement deepening.

Quentin’s face darkened. “You cripple, putting on airs in front of me? Want a beating—”

Before the words left his mouth, Burton’s palm whipped across his face.

A sharp crack split the air.

Quentin flew more than ten feet, rolling across the dust.

The watching disciples froze, shock draining the color from their faces.

“Wasn’t he crippled? How did he send Quentin flying—”

The path of cultivation was divided into five great stages: Martial, Origin, Arcane, Soul, and Immortal.

Among them, the Martial stage held six realms: Tempering Body, Forging Bone, Blood-Nurturing, Qi-Nourishing, Unity, and Penetration—together known as the Six Realms of Martial Dao.

Quentin Ashwood was already at the peak of the Tempering Realm, yet now he was sent flying a full ten feet by a single slap from Burton Shepherd—a man who was supposed to have lost all his cultivation.

Quentin crashed to the ground, several teeth scattering, half his face swelling up like a steamed bun. Rage twisted his features.

Burton had slapped him. In front of everyone.

“I’ll kill you!”

With a snarl, Quentin yanked out the short dagger strapped to his leg. His eyes went blood‑red as he lunged, the strike sharp and vicious.

Burton’s expression didn’t even flicker. His hand moved like catching a drifting leaf—light, steady—and the dagger was already in his grip, its cold edge pressed against Quentin’s throat.

Quentin froze, shock and fury tangled together. He struggled, but the moment he exerted strength, he realized something terrifying: he couldn’t break free. “Burton! Let go of me!”

“If I were you,” Burton said, voice calm as a winter lake, “I wouldn’t be shouting right now.”

The dagger in his hand pressed down a fraction.

A thin line of blood slid out immediately.

Quentin’s body trembled. That dagger was razor‑sharp. If Burton pushed even a little deeper, his throat would split open. “You’ve already been expelled from the Sword Sect,” he stammered, trying to sound bold but choking on fear. “If you kill me, you challenge the Sect’s authority. Y‑You… you don’t dare!”

“Want to test that?”

Burton tightened his grip. The blade sank another inch into flesh.

Seven days ago, a nine‑colored strange sword had pierced down from the heavens. It didn’t harm Burton’s body, but slipped straight into him, shattering every meridian he had and stripping him of his cultivation in an instant.

But it also left behind a mysterious technique in his mind—One Sword to Shatter the World.

Even with broken meridians, he could cultivate it.

Seven days was short. His cultivation wasn’t back yet… but his strength was far beyond what it used to be.

Terror flooded Quentin’s face. He suddenly understood Burton might really kill him, consequences be damned. His voice cracked as he begged, “Senior… Senior Brother Burton! I‑I was wrong! Please! Spare me! I beg you!”

Burton lifted a foot and kicked, sending Quentin tumbling two yards across the dirt like a broken sack.

At the same moment, he flicked the dagger aside. It sliced past Quentin’s cheek, grazing the skin before burying itself hilt‑deep into the massive boulder behind him.

Quentin Ashwood’s face split open with a fresh line of blood. His legs shook like they could snap any moment, and the stench of fear burst out as the front of his trousers went wet.

“Slapped, kicked, and scared into pissing himself…”

“What a disgrace.”

A few outer‑sect disciples muttered under their breath, stealing glances his way.

Burton Shepherd cast Quentin a cold, disdainful look, the corner of his lip barely lifting. Then he turned on his heel and walked off without another word.