Nonsense!

If you practiced swordsmanship for three hours straight, wouldn’t you be exhausted too? To treat a fellow beautiful disciple like this—Jack Morgan, you have no heart!

Earlier today, Elder Senior Brother said his piece and left, not giving her a single chance to regret. Grace Carter waited anxiously until late at night, and not only did he actually show up, he even brought a sword manual.

That’s right, what Jack Morgan called “things beyond her age.”

It was a set of rare, earth-shattering, soul-stirring advanced sword techniques—just one round left her half dead from exhaustion.

Truly, it was a burden far too heavy for someone her age to bear, ha.

Fine, you win.

What on earth do you sword cultivators think about all day? Can’t you use a normal person’s logic for once? Did what she said sound like she was desperate to learn swordsmanship? Huh?

But Jack Morgan didn’t see it that way at all.

When the little junior sister first spoke, he did instinctively suspect Grace Carter of having ulterior motives and was about to refuse. But her expression—honestly, it was just too awful.

Have you ever seen someone invite a man to meet at midnight with a face like a corpse? Have you ever heard anyone try to flatter someone in the tone of a martyr going to their death? Have you ever seen anyone try to seduce someone with eyes bulging like copper bells and a face as pale as a ghost?

Jack Morgan hadn’t.

He’d seen plenty of women try to get close to him, all of them with soft voices and gentle eyes, wishing they could melt into a puddle and throw themselves into his arms.

But the little junior sister wasn’t like that.

Her expression was full of shame, embarrassment, and indignation—most of all, a determination to face death unflinchingly.

—Clearly, she was just unwilling to accept her defeat to an outer disciple and wanted to ask for swordsmanship advice!

The shame and anger of losing to Henry Clark, the shyness of speaking to him first for the very first time, and the knowledge that he never went easy when teaching—knowing she might be worked half to death, yet still determined to ask for guidance.

With this understanding, everything made sense.

This is what it means to be a sword cultivator!

Who would have thought that the naturally headstrong little junior sister was actually so motivated? Jack Morgan was deeply moved.

“Senior brother,” after three hours of nonstop practice, Grace Carter’s eyes were as lifeless as a dead fish. She felt like a young sword cultivator who had lost all her dreams tonight. “I really can’t learn it. Really.”

So please, just let her go!!!

Blown up by a pill furnace, tormented by sword techniques, mistaken for a lovesick fool following a little boy back to the dorm.

She was just an ordinary villainess! Was this really the fate a villainess should endure? This was clearly the cultivation version of “To Live”!

Grace Carter felt even more wronged than Xianglin’s Wife. She was so naive, truly.

She thought this whole sect was crazy.

And besides the three she’d already met, there were still several more capture targets left. Who knew what other monsters and demons were hiding among them, waiting to torment her in new and creative ways.

In her ear, Elder Senior Brother’s clear, ethereal voice sounded, gentle as jade and full of care: “Little junior sister, you’ve already learned more than half of this sword technique. With a bit more practice, you’ll surely make a breakthrough. For a cultivator, the worst thing is to give up halfway. Why not have a little more confidence?”

Grace Carter took a deep breath and nodded.

She had never spoken with such conviction before. Word by word, every syllable was filled with unshakable certainty and confidence: “Senior brother! I really can’t learn it! I can’t!”

Confident enough for you, you damn sword cultivator!

Chapter 5

Grace Carter was a total klutz when it came to sports in her previous life.

She could play piano, sketch, and do calligraphy, but her physical stamina was abysmal. If you asked when she ever exercised growing up, it was probably only during those ballet and swan arm classes.

Other girls became graceful little swans, but halfway through, she was already half dead from exhaustion, looking more like a moth about to be served on a platter.

In the end, she never mastered posture, but her facial muscles nearly cramped—because Grace Carter’s expressions during “death ballet” were always especially dramatic.

All from being tired.

So, all things considered, she really wasn’t fond of moving around. She was fundamentally opposed to Jack Morgan’s offer to teach her swordsmanship.

But she just couldn’t resist how tempting it was.

A cultivator’s physique was completely different from her past life. Her body, soaked in spiritual energy, refined essence into qi, and qi into spirit. Sword heart, sword intent, and sword bones all gathered in her palm when she drew her sword. The moment the starlit blade was unsheathed, her blood surged with excitement.

A sword cultivator’s swing wasn’t just a simple movement—it was more like obeying an instinct from deep within. As her posture shifted, the spiritual energy of heaven and earth filled her like never before.

It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling at all.

So even though Grace Carter groaned like a tired old dog, “I’m never practicing again,” after a short rest, she still continued learning move after move under Jack Morgan’s guidance.

Come on, she was a girl who once planned to conquer the college entrance exam.

Practicing swordsmanship wasn’t all that different from studying. Everyone had different talents, progress depended on hard work, and you couldn’t do without a teacher. Some geniuses fell, while others climbed up from the bottom step by step.

Not to mention all those big and small exams—weren’t they just like the secret realm trials in the cultivation sect?

If she could survive the sea of questions in history, geography, biology, math, physics, and chemistry, how could she possibly be afraid of a sword technique that barely required any thinking to master?