Three days later.

At the Iron Wall Pass’s material allocation office.

Su Ming stood before the counter, holding the chit approved by Zhao Tiji.

The manager behind the counter was a fat man, idly flipping through an account book.

“Third squad of the Formation Maintenance Battalion? Want to claim five hundred jin of ‘scrap Star Pattern Steel residue’? And two hundred jin of ‘Red Fire Copper waste’?”

The fat man looked up, staring at Su Ming as if looking at a fool. “What do you want this garbage for? This stuff isn’t even worth the fire to remelt it.”

A simple, honest smile spread across Su Ming’s face as he subtly slid a packet of “Heart-Clearing Incense Cake” from his sleeve over to the man.

“This senior brother, the brothers in our squad are poor. Their magical implements are broken, but they have no money to repair them. They just want to use these scraps to practice, see if they can melt a bit of iron to patch up the cracks.”

The fat man pinched the packet of incense cake, smelled the refreshingly clear and fragrant aroma, and his expression immediately softened.

“Alright, alright. It’s just garbage destined for landfill anyway. Since you’re willing to be the haulers, take it all away.”

The fat man made a grand flourish with his brush, stamping the chit. “But let’s be clear upfront. If you blow up your furnace, don’t blame the quality of the stuff the Material Office gave you.”

“Naturally, naturally.”

Su Ming thanked him profusely, took the chit, turned, and beckoned to Old Liu and the other brothers waiting outside to come in and move the stuff.

Watching the cartloads of waste material considered garbage being hauled away, a glint of sharp light flashed in Su Ming’s eyes.

In others’ eyes, this was trash.

But in the hands of him, proficient in the “Water Refining Method” and “microscopic structure reorganization,” this was the wall that would save their lives.

“Brother Su, can we really use all this scrap iron?” Old Liu asked skeptically while pushing a cart.

“Don’t worry, Brother Liu.”

Su Ming patted the rusty lumps of iron on the cart. “As long as it’s used in the right place, even mud can patch a wall.”

…

The dusk in Bing Battalion always carried the scent of rust that couldn’t be washed away.

Su Ming pushed a wheelbarrow filled with scrap Star Pattern Steel residue. The wheels crunched over the frozen earth, creaking and groaning.

As he passed the large greenstone on the west side of the barracks that served as a windbreak, his steps paused.

Chen Chuan was sitting there.

This wandering cultivator who had stabbed his sword through the belly of an Iron-Feathered Eagle on the night of the beast tide was currently sitting with his head bowed. In his hand was a rough whetstone, which he was rubbing, stroke after stroke, against the long sword laid across his knees.

The motion was slow, not like sharpening a sword, but more like wiping down the body of a dying old friend.

Su Ming parked the wheelbarrow to the side, his gaze falling on that sword.

It was a good sword. Refined iron mixed with Red Copper. In the mortal world, it would be considered a divine weapon. But in the cultivation world, it was just a common piece.

Right now, a glaring crack, spreading like a spiderweb, ran across the lower-middle section of the blade, almost penetrating the entire sword spine.

That was clawed out by the Iron-Feathered Eagle’s death throes.

“It’s broken.”

Chen Chuan didn’t look up, his voice hoarse as if filled with gravel.

He stopped the whetstone in his hand, his thumb gently rubbing over that crack. His fingertip was cut by the sharp metal edge, a trace of blood seeping out, but he seemed utterly unaware.

“It’s been with me for twelve years.”

Chen Chuan looked up. Those eyes, usually half-squinted, were now full of red veins. “From Qi Refinement third layer until now. Two hundred and seven demon beasts slain. I was thinking… just three thousand more military merit points, and I could trade for a Foundation Establishment Pill to gamble on a breakthrough…”

He gave a self-mocking twist of his lips, threw the half-ruined long sword onto the stone with a crisp *clang*.

“Now the sword is ruined. A sword cultivator without a sword, in the next beast tide… won’t even count as cannon fodder.”

Three thousand military merit points.

But for a low-level wandering cultivator like Chen Chuan, that was a life. Or rather, the final threshold on the path to the great dao.

Su Ming looked at that sword in silence.

In his “observation micro state” vision, he could clearly see that the originally dense crystal lattice inside the sword blade was now full of minute voids. The spiritual energy transmission channels were broken into seven or eight segments.

This sword was already dead.

“People can be saved, swords are hard to repair.” Lin Yu’s voice sounded lazily in the Consciousness Sea. “However, this is also an opportunity. This Chen Chuan is a ruthless man. You saw that night, he dares to trade his life for a chance. This kind of person, if he can survive, is more useful than those colleagues of yours who only know how to draw formation diagrams.”

Su Ming bent down and picked up a fist-sized, pitch-black lump of slag from the pile of waste material considered garbage.

“Brother Chen.”

Su Ming spoke, his tone calm. “If you trust me, I’ll repair this sword for you.”

Chen Chuan jerked his head up, staring fixedly at Su Ming. “Repair? The sword spine is cracked. Unless it’s remelted and reforged, it’s just a showpiece. Do you have connections at a smithy?”

“No connections.” Su Ming shook his head, reached out, and grasped the hilt of the broken sword. It felt cold and heavy in his hand. “But I have skill. Tonight, at Zi hour, come to stone hut number seven to get your sword.”

Having said that, without waiting for Chen Chuan’s response, he tossed the broken sword into the pile of scrap in the wheelbarrow, pushed the cart, turned, and walked into the deepening night.

Chen Chuan watched Su Ming’s retreating back, his lips moving slightly. In the end, he said nothing. But in those originally dull, gray eyes, a faint, ghostly flame had rekindled.

…

Midnight, at the Iron Wall Pass artifact forging camp.

This was the place in the entire pass where the earth fire was most vigorous. Even in the dead of night, massive ventilation shafts still spewed dark red flames and billowing waves of heat.

Su Ming didn’t rent one of those expensive, proper forging chambers. Instead, using his Formation Maintenance Battalion waist token, he slipped into the “Slag Pit” specifically used for processing discarded magical implements.

This place was located at the tail end of the earth fire vein. The fire poison was heavy, the temperature extremely unstable. Proper artificers wouldn’t deign to come here.

Su Ming found a corner and cleared a clean stone platform.

He sat cross-legged. Before him lay the broken sword and a small pinch of dark golden powder extracted from the waste material—Earth Gold Dust.

This was the treasure he had painstakingly picked out from that pile of “garbage.” Earth Gold Dust wasn’t top-grade material, but its strength lay in its extreme toughness, making it perfect for mending cracks.

“Let’s begin.”

Su Ming took a deep breath and formed hand seals with both hands.

He didn’t directly channel earth fire to burn the sword. Instead, he activated the *Like Water Art*.

Dark blue water spiritual energy flowed from his fingertips, transforming into a gentle sphere of water that enveloped the broken sword. Immediately after, he channeled a wisp of fire miasma from the earth vein, carefully injecting it into the water sphere.

Water and fire clashed, emitting a *sizzling* sound. White steam rose.

This was a variant of Su Ming’s unique “Water Refining Method”—using water as the furnace and fire as the hammer.

Wrapped in the high-temperature, high-pressure water vapor, the metal on the surface of the broken sword began to soften. Those minute cracks opened like mouths.

Su Ming’s eyes sharpened. His divine sense became like a needle, guiding that pinch of “Earth Gold Dust,” precisely filling every single crack.

“Not just repair.”

Lin Yu instructed within the Consciousness Sea. “This sword’s original material was too rigid. Rigid things break easily. Since you’re repairing it, add a touch of ‘flexibility.’ Use that ‘fluid heat dissipation’ idea of yours.”

Su Ming understood.

His divine sense probed into the core of the sword spine, the backbone of the sword.

Conventional artifact forging emphasized that the sword spine must be hard to support chopping and slashing. But Su Ming went against convention. He controlled the water spiritual energy, tracing a series of spiral patterns within the narrow space inside the sword spine.

That was his self-created “Gentle Water Sword Pattern,” imitating the flow of underground rivers.

This pattern wasn’t physical. Instead, by altering the arrangement of the metal’s internal crystal lattice, it formed a microscopic structure similar to a spring.

When the sword body endured great force, this sword pattern would dissipate the force layer by layer like water ripples, transforming the fierce impact into vibrations dispersed into the air.

Sweat trickled down Su Ming’s temple, dripping onto the scorching stone slab and instantly evaporating.

His face was somewhat pale. This kind of microscopic-level carving consumed his divine sense enormously. Each stroke of the pattern was like dancing on a knife’s edge.

“Steady, the final step.”

Su Ming gritted his teeth, sealing a wisp of his own pure water spiritual energy into the sword spine as the primer to activate the “Gentle Water Sword Pattern.”

“Condense!”

With a low shout, the water sphere enveloping the broken sword suddenly contracted, then violently exploded into a mist of water vapor.

*Hum—*

A clear, melodious sword hum echoed within the Slag Pit, faintly carrying a low, dragon-roar-like vibration.

Su Ming reached out and grabbed. The long sword fell into his hand.

The originally crack-covered blade was now smooth as new. Only a thin, dark golden line, like a lurking swimming dragon, remained along the sword spine. The blade edge was no longer that glaring snow-brightness, but instead gleamed with a faint, dark blue luster, restrained and profound.

“It’s done.”

Su Ming let out a long sigh of relief, his entire body almost collapsing against the stone wall in exhaustion.

This sword, although its grade hadn’t increased, had been completely reborn in terms of toughness and spiritual energy conduction.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep