No.

However, this cultivation method was extremely difficult to begin with, and the required merit points were extraordinarily high. By the time someone was able to accumulate enough merit, they had usually already chosen a fixed path for their cultivation, so very few would exchange for it.

He was among the rare few who not only cultivated the Heart of the Universe but also succeeded in entering its foundational level. Not only in this world, but even within the Galactic Transcendent Alliance, it would be difficult to find others like him.

Yet, this was not something he could easily explain to the Butcher.

To be perfectly honest, he was an invader in this world. If he were discovered by the most powerful “Guardians” of this realm, he would be doomed without a doubt.

Li Miao hesitated, unsure how to speak.

He didn't want to lie to a powerhouse like the Butcher, but at the same time, he could not reveal his origins.

As he was lost in thought, a string of footsteps suddenly sounded outside the door.

More than a dozen figures, led by a young servant, entered the main cabin in single file. The cabin, already not very spacious, became even more crowded.

Li Miao instinctively turned to look and was surprised to see that all of these newcomers were cultivators.

Without exception, they had all reached the early stage of Core Condensation, and two had even reached mid-stage.

Sensing something amiss, he looked more closely and recognized a few somewhat familiar faces in the crowd.

"Zhou Li."

"Ji Ning."

"They’re from the Duel Tournament," he realized instantly.

Without a doubt, these people had come to seize the Spirit Sword Ziyun.

After entering, they sat down in the available seats around the cabin, and silence immediately fell.

The common folk, who had previously been chatting and laughing, instantly fell mute upon seeing these murderous cultivators, not daring to utter a word lest they invite trouble.

Li Miao frowned.

Butcher, on the other hand, paid them no mind and continued drinking.

"Li Miao."

A voice spoke up.

It was a middle-aged man, dressed in black, with the aura of an early-stage Core Condensation cultivator and an expression full of obvious hatred.

His name was Sun Lie, the last surviving Core Condensation cultivator of the Sun Family.

He sat at the table nearest to Li Miao, and coldly asked, "Was it you who wiped out my entire Sun Family? And that spirit treasure flying sword—did you snatch it from our clan leader?"

He went straight to the point.

The others watched Li Miao, waiting to see how he would respond.

They were all experts from various sects who had once been close with the Sun Family.

Li Miao’s possession of a powerful treasure was no secret; nearly every cultivator knew of it. The reason no one dared to seize it so far was partly because of Li Miao’s strength, and partly because most were not united.

But because of the Sun Family, Sun Lie had managed to gather them all, forming a formidable force.

Although their strongest only reached mid-stage Core Condensation, their combined power was far greater than that of Lu Yan.

Li Miao knew they were formidable adversaries.

In the confines of the cabin, if he wasn’t cautious, he could easily suffer a major loss if attacked by a dozen magical treasures at once.

He glanced at the Butcher, hoping to gauge the expert’s attitude.

But the Butcher simply drank, showing no reaction.

Left with no choice, Li Miao stood and addressed them, "It’s true that the Sun Family fell because of me. But the spirit treasure has another origin. With Sun He’s wealth, he could never afford something so precious."

"Liar!" Sun Lie glared, eyes wide with rage.

To him, Sun He was a kind and benevolent elder, the one he respected most. Not only had his ancestor been killed, but Li Miao was now defaming him—Sun Lie was furious.

"You shameless robber!" Sun Lie spat. "You slaughtered my clan, murdered my kin, and stole our treasure. Your crimes are unpardonable. Friends, for our ancestor’s sake, let us strike together and kill this vicious murderer!"

The others said nothing, but their looks made their intentions clear.

The mortals in the cabin, seeing the looming conflict, quickly rose from their seats and fled down the corridor.

Li Miao knew the fight was inevitable; he drew his war blade from the microcosmic ring, preparing for battle.

But unexpectedly, the Butcher reached out, pressed down on his blade, and took it from him.

"Senior?" Li Miao was startled.

The dozen cultivators, just about to make their move, paused as well.

Only then did they notice the man in the bamboo hat sitting beside Li Miao.

But they were not concerned.

Sun Lie, blustering, barked, "Friend, this matter does not concern you. If you value your life, step aside!"

The Butcher did not even glance at him. He set Li Miao’s blade aside, picked a chopstick from the holder, and handed it to him, saying calmly, "You are unwilling to reveal the origin of your cultivation method, and I will not force you. For the sake of your Primal Power, I will teach you three moves."

Primal Power—three moves.

Li Miao was overjoyed.

The Butcher was reasonable; seeing his hesitation, he did not press him about his original cultivation method and straightforwardly agreed to teach him blade techniques.

But the mention of "Primal Power" confused him. Could it refer to his genetic primal energy?

Genetic primal energy was life force—what did it have to do with "opening the heavens"?

Before he could respond, the Butcher continued, "Remember, the blade and the sword are entirely different."

"A sword is a gentleman’s weapon; it can be humble or proud, soft or hard. When dueling, it often stops short of killing."

"But a blade is a butcher’s tool; if drawn, it must taste blood. Unless it is to slay the enemy, a blade should not be unsheathed."

Li Miao listened carefully and nodded slightly.

He had always known that the blade was the most efficient weapon for killing. That was why he chose the war blade over a greatsword or battle axe.

The Butcher went on, "The three blade techniques I will pass to you are not mere skills, but the true way of killing."

His voice was solemn.

Since he bore the name "Butcher," his blade was a slaughtering tool—not for show or bravado, but for killing.

"The first move I call Severing the Throat and Letting Blood."

The Butcher spoke, then raised a finger and tapped Li Miao on the brow.

In that instant, a surge of intent flowed into Li Miao’s mind.

Deep in his consciousness, a vision appeared.

A middle-aged butcher carried a slaughtering knife and approached a black pig awaiting death.

The pig, sensing danger, grew anxious and tried to run. The butcher casually grabbed its ear, lifted it so its front legs dangled in the air, then stabbed the knife lightly beneath its throat.

Blood gushed forth; the pig couldn’t even squeal before, after a brief spasm, its life ended.

Li Miao saw it all clearly. The knife, though it looked effortless, had severed the blood vessels and vocal cords with precision, killing the pig instantly—so swiftly it couldn’t even cry out.

The scene shifted: the butcher remained the same, as did the knife, but now a tiger stood before him.

The butcher approached.

The tiger, unlike the pig, did not flee—it roared and leapt at him.

Calmly, the butcher sidestepped the pounce, stepped in, raised his arm, and stabbed—the blade sliced down.

The movement was crisp, practiced countless times.

Blood sprayed like a waterfall.

The tiger thrashed about, but soon, like the pig, its life ebbed away.

The vision shifted again.

The butcher still stood, but now before him was a massive yellow dragon, ten fathoms long, with fierce horns.

The dragon soared into the sky, spewing gales that felled trees and tore the earth.

The butcher watched coldly. As the dragon circled and swooped close, he leapt up, stabbing the knife deep into the crescent-shaped scale beneath its throat.

The dragon was huge; the small knife could not open as large a wound as before, but the result was the same.

The reverse scale pierced, the dragon’s heart destroyed. The dragon gave a long, mournful cry, circled twice, and crashed to the ground, dead.

"A strike to the throat can kill any foe—beast, monster, or man. When you draw the blade, strike swift, fierce, and true," the Butcher’s voice echoed in Li Miao’s mind. "A barrel’s capacity is determined by its shortest stave; a cultivator’s strength by the lowest blow he can withstand. To you, a great demon may be powerful, but their weakness is also obvious. Given the chance, strike their vital point—killing a Core Return with Core Condensation is as easy as taking something from a sack."

The vision faded.

All that remained in Li Miao’s heart was the butcher’s thrust, slash, and stab—three deadly flashes of the blade.

He opened his eyes. The Butcher had, at some point, filled another bowl of wine and was drinking heartily.

The surrounding cultivators still glared at him, their murderous intent undiminished.

"Li Miao, facing death, do you have any last words?" Sun Lie sneered, his bravado barely concealing his fear.

The process of imparting the technique had taken but an instant—none of them had even noticed when the Butcher tapped Li Miao’s brow or sat back down.

A dozen cultivators gathered their energy, magical treasures shining, ready to strike.

Li Miao had just come back to himself from the essence of "Severing the Throat and Letting Blood."

He looked at Sun Lie and the others; for a moment, they seemed not like men, but lions and tigers poised to pounce.

"I..." He recalled the butcher’s movements in his mind, then said, "I’d like to practice my newly learned blade technique on you all."

"Insolence!" Sun Lie roared, "Everyone, avenge our ancestor!"

"Kill!" The others growled, unleashing their treasures and spells.

In the cramped cabin, the simultaneous casting of spells by more than a dozen Core Condensation cultivators was a fearsome sight.

Terrifying waves of energy shattered the window frames, and a dozen beams of various hues slammed toward Li Miao.

But Li Miao moved even faster.

Before the word “kill” had even fully left their mouths, he lunged forward with the chopstick, appearing beside Sun Lie, who was closest.

With a single thrust, driven by strength forty times greater than a normal man’s, the chopstick pierced straight through Sun Lie’s throat. His protective energy shattered instantly—the eight-inch chopstick punched through, killing him in a heartbeat.

In one swift motion, a single chopstick felled an enemy.

But before Li Miao could feel any satisfaction, the next instant, the spells of the other cultivators roared down upon him.

"Damn!" His heart leapt—there was nowhere to hide. Even if he smashed through the wooden walls, magical treasures would pursue him, leaving him gravely wounded.

The sheer numbers were overwhelming; even with his skills, beset by so many, he was stretched thin.

But just as the spells were about to strike Li Miao, the Butcher moved again.

"Learning quickly," he remarked.

With a soft "clink," the Butcher set down his wine bowl.

At that moment, time itself seemed to freeze.

The dozen spells and treasures hung motionless in midair, their accompanying lights suspended, neither fading nor stretching.

Li Miao’s eyes widened.

Was this time frozen or space sealed?

Such power was unfathomable.

As he stared in shock, the Butcher, as if he had only performed a trivial act, said lightly, "The second blade technique is called Flaying and Deboning."

He tapped Li Miao’s brow once more.

A new insight flooded Li Miao’s soul. In his mind, another vision unfolded.

The blood-drained black pig was laid sideways on the rack. Boiling water was poured over it, and the heavy butcher’s knife scraped away the black bristles.

Once the hair was gone, the butcher shifted his grip and slid the blade into the joints, separating meat from bone.

His cuts were clean and practiced; the knife slid only through the seams, never hacking through bone. There was almost no friction between blade and bone, as if slicing mud—dividing the animal with ease.

Soon, the pig was carved, the knife’s edge glinting without a trace of wear.

The vision shifted: a goat was laid on the rack, its hide scalded and scraped away.

One animal after another—pigs, goats, cattle—were slaughtered, their flesh divided for people to eat.

Yet the blade never dulled; it grew sharper, more terrifying with every cut.

Suddenly, the scene changed again.

Now the butcher faced not livestock, but a fearsome ox demon.

The demon snorted, exhaling waves of yellow energy, stamping its hooves and shaking the ground.

The butcher traced a few arcs in the air with his knife, saying, "True essence and magic are to immortals and demons as hide and claws are to livestock. Their bodies are but flesh and bone. The butcher’s blade can flay and debone, and so too can it slay immortals and demons."

As he spoke, the knife’s aura split the demon’s earth-shaking spell into harmless fragments.