Sword Peak, a mountain straight as a sword, presented entirely in black, as if coated with the patina of years, imbued with a sense of historicity, both ancient and weighty.
This massive mountain towered tens of thousands of feet high, piercing the clouds, so that the nearby thousand-foot peaks paled in comparison, looking like mere disciples standing quietly beside their venerable ancestor.
From afar, everyone could sense the extraordinariness of Sword Peak.
It was covered in all sorts of Flying Swords, standing silently without emanating any imposing aura or dazzling brilliance, modest and unassuming.
It was as if it had weathered countless vicissitudes and countless years, having shed all superficial glitz to return to its original purity, giving one the sense of a realm beyond reach, transcending the mundane.
Gazing upon it, everyone felt an inexplicable calm in their heart.
