The Almighty Dominance (by Sunshine) novel Chapter 615

Alex stood within the illusory realm of the swordplay trial. An elder materialized before him, robes stirring as though touched by an invisible breeze.

“This is the Wudang Seven Moons,” the elder said. He lifted his sword and began to move.

Every arc of the blade summoned seven luminous moons that hung in the air like pale lanterns, their light flowing with each strike. The forms were graceful yet merciless, a dance of moonlight and steel.

When the demonstration ended, the elder lowered his weapon and met Alex’s gaze. “If you can defend yourself against seven times seven of those strikes—forty-nine in all—you will advance. You have one hour to study the art.”

Most who saw the technique only once would have needed rare fortune to grasp even its basics.

Alex had Gaia. The system captured every angle, every shift of weight and breath, then replayed the sequence hundreds of times inside his mind with flawless precision.

He sat in meditation while the hour ticked away in the real world. Gaia pulled him deeper, into a quiet realm of pure thought where time stretched hundredfold.

There, Alex let the sword art sink into his bones. He practiced the forms until they felt like his own, then sparred against phantom opponents who wielded the same moons.

Each clash sharpened him.

The hour ended.

The elder attacked without hesitation, his blade a silver blur. Alex rose to meet him. He did not simply survive the first forty-nine strikes; he answered them with the same art, his sword carving moonlight of its own.

The elder’s laughter died quickly. Their blades rang together more than a hundred times, each collision sharper than the last.

Alex felt the rhythm settle into his blood. Understanding turned to instinct. In one clean motion he cut straight through the elder’s illusory body.

A calm, resonant voice filled the realm. “You are the first to strike back with the same sword art. Your score has been doubled.”

Alex’s rank surged to fourth place.

A new elder appeared. “Now witness the Wudang Seven Suns.”

The demonstration unfolded again, fiercer this time—each swing igniting seven blazing suns that burned across the void.

Alex studied them the same way, Gaia carrying him once more into the slowed realm of the mind.

When the fight came, he met the elder’s fire with fire of his own. Blades clashed in a storm of heat and light. Alex pressed forward, confidence steady and bright, until his sword found its mark.

He rose to third rank.

Outside the illusion, the crowd had gone dead silent. Then the whispers began—sharp, disbelieving, spreading like cracks through glass—as every eye fixed on the rankings that had just changed in ways no one had thought possible.

Kuang Liang stared at the glowing stone stele, his face slack with disbelief.

“Third rank,” he whispered. “He’s really sitting in third.”

None of it made sense. Thousand Herbs Peak trained its disciples to tend gardens, raise crops, and brew medicine.

They were farmers and apothecaries, not warriors. A man from that gentle world should never have torn through the sword trial like this.

It was as absurd as watching a simple farmer cut down a battle-hardened knight. Yet the proof hung there in cold, shining characters.

His mouth stayed open, unable to close.

He knew exactly how savage the climb was—how many broke their spirits just trying to push past rank twenty-five. And now this man had stormed all the way to third.

“How long has it been since anyone reached the third rank?” a nearby disciple asked.

“Nearly five hundred years,” another answered quietly. “The last was Huang Jie. He was the only Wudang disciple in history to become Leader of the Murim Alliance—and he remained undefeated for a full century.”

“So Jun Jiu has that same kind of power?” someone breathed. “We’re looking at a living legend.”

Excitement crackled across Sword Peak.

A moment later, fireworks roared into the sky, blooming in brilliant bursts of red and gold to signal the elders that the impossible had happened.

Within minutes, several elders streaked through the air on their swords and landed in a swirl of robes. They crowded around the stele, eyes widening as they read the rankings.

“Someone has finally reached the third rank?” one elder said, voice rough with shock.

“Who is this man named Jun Jiu?” another demanded, a hungry light in his eyes. “I must claim him as my disciple.”

No one felt the triumph more deeply than the disciples of Thousand Herbs Peak. Pride swelled in their chests until they could barely contain it, as though they themselves had climbed those ranks.

They began to chant, voices rising together in a wave of joy and fierce belonging.

“Jun Jiu! Jun Jiu! Jun Jiu!”

High on the main peak, the Sect Master watched the scene unfold below. A long, quiet sigh slipped from him.

“Even I never reached the third rank on that stele,” he murmured. “And the monument has stood for ten thousand years.” The Sect Master lifted his eyes to the sky, voice low but steady.

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