The Heavenly Sword Tomb quaked. Deep within its stone heart, ancient runes flickered, their light fading like dying stars. A sarcophagus, scarred with sword runes, groaned under the weight of a millennium. Its lid cracked, the sound a thunderclap in the suffocating dark.
Ye Tian's eyes snapped open.
Pain seared his body, a relentless fire in his bones. His muscles were frail, his dantian a hollow ruin pulsing with black corruption. Memories flooded in—betrayal, blood, a blade that once split mountains. He was the Sword Sovereign, the Nine Heavens Continent's unchallenged legend. His name silenced sects. His will bent the heavens.
Now, he was a shadow of that glory.
He clawed at the sarcophagus, fingers trembling with weakness. The air was thick with dust and decay, choking his lungs. His cultivation, once a roaring river, was a mere trickle—Body Refinement Stage 1. The Void Scar in his dantian throbbed, a cursed knot twisting his meridians.
"A thousand years," he rasped, voice echoing in the tomb. "Lin Feng. Zhao Wuji. You thought stone could hold me?"
He staggered upright, legs shaking. The chamber was vast, its walls carved with sword marks—his marks, etched in battles long forgotten. This was his prison, built by traitors. The formation that sealed him was shattered now, its runes dull. But why? Who broke it?
His hand reached for his side. Empty. The Starshatter Sword, his soul's edge, was gone. Stolen by those snakes—Lin Feng, his disciple; Zhao Wuji, his sworn brother. His fists clenched, nails biting flesh. "A sword drawn for vengeance drinks blood before it rests."
He shuffled toward the chamber's exit. Each step was agony, the Void Scar sending black Qi spikes through his veins. It wasn't just a wound—it was a Celestial Court curse, woven by Lin Feng's hand, sealed by Zhao Wuji's betrayal. A chain on his soul.
The tunnel sloped upward, faint light piercing the gloom. Voices drifted—harsh, mocking, edged with greed. Ye Tian pressed against the cold stone, listening.
"Another cripple from the tomb?" a rough voice sneered. "Weak as a mortal. Probably got a few spirit stones."
"Strip him," another laughed. "His bones might fetch a coin."
Rogue cultivators. Vultures scavenging legends' graves. Ye Tian's lips curled. Weak or not, he was no prey. He stepped into the light, his shadow sharp against the tunnel's mouth.
Three men turned. Tattered robes, scarred faces, Body Refinement Stage 3 at best. Their leader, a wiry man with a crooked grin, gripped a rusty saber. "Well, well," he said. "A walking corpse. Hand over your treasures, old man, or we carve you."
Ye Tian's eyes narrowed. Old man? The formation had remade his body—young, lean, but frail. His aura was dim, his robes rags. To them, he was nothing. "Leave," he said, voice cold as steel. "Or die."
The leader barked a laugh. "Big talk for a cripple!" He lunged, saber slashing at Ye Tian's chest with crude force.
Ye Tian moved, his body slow but his mind a storm of sword mastery. He sidestepped, fingers curling into Iron Vein Slash. His fist struck the man's wrist, channeling raw muscle force. Bone snapped like dry wood. The saber clattered to the stone.
The leader screamed, stumbling back. His men froze, eyes wide. "Who are you?" one stammered.
Ye Tian snatched the saber, its weight clumsy, its edge dull. No Starshatter, but it would serve. He stepped forward, gaze like a blade's edge. "Last chance."
The lackeys bolted, tripping over rubble. The leader, clutching his wrist, spat. "The Iron Fang Gang will gut you!" He scrambled after them, vanishing into the ruins.
Ye Tian tossed the saber aside. Trash. He needed a true blade. And answers. The Heavenly Sword Tomb sat on the Nine Heavens Continent's edge, a wasteland of broken shrines and forgotten graves. Why had the seal broken now? What had become of his enemies?
He emerged into blinding sunlight. The sky burned blue, the air thick with spiritual Qi. Jagged cliffs framed the tomb's crumbling arch. Below, a valley sprawled, dotted with ruins. No sects, no cities—just wilderness.
His dantian pulsed, the Void Scar gnawing at his Qi. He sat on a rock, forcing his breathing to steady. He probed the scar with his mind—a black knot, twisting his meridians like a parasite. Even gathering Qi sparked pain, risking deviation.
"Lin Feng," he growled. "You didn't just betray me. You chained me."
He stood, jaw tight. The Void Scar was a shackle, but he'd broken shackles before. Body Refinement demanded tempering flesh with beast blood and elemental trials. He needed resources—a sword, spirit herbs, and blood for the Bone Tempering Ritual.
A roar shattered the silence. Ye Tian's eyes gleamed. A Bloodfang Wolf, by the sound—Body Refinement Stage 4. Its blood was perfect for the ritual, a step toward Stage 2. He moved toward the noise, bare feet crunching on sharp stones, the Void Scar slowing his healing.
The valley was treacherous. Rocks sliced his soles, blood trailing. He found tracks—clawed, deep, fresh. The wolf was close. He crouched behind a boulder, gripping a sharp stone as a makeshift weapon. His stolen saber was too crude for this.
The wolf emerged, massive, its fur matted with blood. Its eyes locked on him, sensing weakness. Ye Tian didn't flinch. No sword, no Qi, but his will was forged in a thousand battles. The beast charged, claws raking the earth.
Ye Tian rolled, stone in hand. He struck with Body Sword Stance, his arm a blade, slicing the wolf's flank. Blood sprayed, but the beast spun, jaws snapping. He ducked, the teeth grazing his shoulder, tearing flesh. The Void Scar flared, pain blurring his vision.
He roared, forcing focus. The wolf lunged again, claws gleaming. Ye Tian sidestepped, stone piercing its ribs. The beast howled, staggering. He struck again, aiming for the throat. His arm moved like a sword, precise, deadly. The stone sank deep, blood gushing. The wolf collapsed, its breath fading.
Ye Tian knelt, panting, blood dripping from his shoulder. The Void Scar burned, but he'd won. He carved the wolf's hide with the stone, collecting its blood in a hollowed rock. The Bone Tempering Ritual required starlight and demonic blood. Tonight, he'd break through.
Dusk fell. Ye Tian found a shallow cave, its walls damp with moss. He poured the wolf's blood into a natural stone basin, its surface shimmering under fading light. Stripping to his waist, he stepped into the blood, the cold liquid stinging his wounds. He sat cross-legged, the Void Scar pulsing like a second heart.
He chanted an ancient sword mantra, voice low. "My body is a blade. My will is its edge." The blood seeped into his skin, burning like molten iron. His bones creaked, muscles tightening. The ritual was brutal—demonic blood fused with flesh, strengthening it beyond mortal limits.
The Void Scar fought back. Black Qi surged, twisting his meridians. Pain exploded, his vision swimming. Memories flashed—Lin Feng's smirk as he drove the curse into his dantian, Zhao Wuji's cold gaze, the Celestial Court's shadowed figures watching. Ye Tian clenched his fists, nails drawing blood.
"Break!" he roared. His mantra grew louder, each word a sword strike against the curse. The blood's energy surged, fusing with his bones. They hardened, cracking, reforming stronger. His muscles pulsed, denser now. The Void Scar writhed, but he forced it down, his will a blade cutting through pain.
Hours passed. The pain faded. Ye Tian exhaled, blood dripping from his skin. Body Refinement Stage 2. A small step, but his body felt solid, his strength doubled. The Void Scar quieted, though its presence lingered, a constant threat.
He stood, stars glaring above. A faint glow flickered in the distance—Qingyun Village. A place for answers, a sword, a start. He moved toward it, the stolen saber back in hand. His wounds ached, but he ignored them. Vengeance drove him.
Footsteps crunched behind. Cultivators, not beasts. Ye Tian hid behind a tree, peering out. Five figures in grey robes, cloud emblems gleaming—Iron Cloud Clan, vassals of Heaven's Edge Sect. Body Refinement Stage 5, led by a Stage 7 youth.
"These ruins," the youth sneered, kicking a stone. "The Sword Sovereign's tomb, they say. Just rubble. His legend's dead."
Ye Tian's blood boiled. Dead? His fingers splintered the tree's bark. The Void Scar urged violence, but he held back. Too weak for a massacre. Yet.
The group headed for Qingyun Village. Ye Tian followed, silent. Extortion, likely. A chance to strike. To send a message. The village appeared—huts circling a small square, a spirit stone shop glowing faintly.
He spotted a blacksmith's stall, shuttered. A short sword hung on the wall, dull but sturdy. He broke the lock, taking it. Heavy, unbalanced, but better than the saber. He approached the square, where the youth shook down a shopkeeper, demanding spirit stones.
Ye Tian stepped forward. "Enough."
The youth turned, sneering. "A beggar? Kneel, or I break you."
Ye Tian's smile was ice. "Ye Tian. Burn that name into your soul."
The youth laughed, drawing a saber. "Kill him!"
Ye Tian moved, Iron Vein Slash surging. His sword flashed, slicing the youth's sleeve. Blood welled. The youth stumbled, eyes wide. His men charged, but Ye Tian's gaze froze them. The Void Scar pulsed, but his will held.
"Tell Heaven's Edge," he said, voice low. "The Sword Sovereign has returned."
He turned, vanishing into the night. Villagers whispered, fear and awe mixing. The Iron Cloud group fled, blood trailing. Ye Tian's heart pounded—not from the fight, but from truth. His path was set.
High on a cliff, a shadowed figure watched. Their robe bore no emblem, their face hidden. A jade slip glowed in their hand, pulsing with black light. "Ye Tian," they murmured. "You're awake. But who will claim you first?"
Their gaze shifted to the forest, where a faint song drifted—a woman's voice, mournful and ancient. Was it a lure? Or a warning of the trap closing around him?