The scholar leaned back slightly.
"The sword must be selfish," he responded. "Only those who cut through everything reach the peak."
"A man who cuts everything," Lin Mu said calmly, "has nothing left to protect."
A wind howled around them—silent, without source.
Their philosophies danced like dueling sword souls. The air was filled with unseen strikes, slashes, thrusts, and counters—all formed from declarations of belief.
They spoke of purpose.
Of legacy.
Of pain.
"The sword is an inheritance," the scholar said.
"The sword is a responsibility," Lin Mu returned.
"The sword is a burden."
"No," Lin Mu whispered, eyes glowing with quiet fury. "The sword… is a promise."
That phrase landed.
Like a mountain.
It split the stone beneath them, cleaving a massive gash through the ground.
The scholar's head dipped. His breath slowed.
"A promise, is it?" he said softly. "Then yours… is strong."
The jade slip in his hand cracked. The ink brush behind his ear broke.
