Chapter Six – The Broken Sword's Whisper
The roar of the crowd swelled like thunder as Jesse Jordan and Den Miles clashed in the arena. Dust spiraled around them, illuminated by the glow of the Verdant Bloom Moon.
Den's fists were wrapped in a dense shell of qi, each strike hammering the ground like a war drum. His grin was vicious, his eyes burning with the joy of imminent victory.
"Fall, orphan!" Den bellowed, his iron fist smashing down.
Jesse twisted aside, his cracked sword intercepting the blow. Sparks erupted—yet instead of snapping in two as the crowd expected, the battered blade thrummed with a faint glow, a resonance that rippled outward like the whisper of thunder.
Den stumbled a half-step, his eyes wide.
"What is this?!"
The crowd erupted in gasps.
"That sword is glowing!"
"Impossible—it's a piece of trash!"
"No… it's responding to his qi!"
Elder Morris's gaze sharpened, his fingers curling around the armrest of his seat. The faintest smile tugged at his lips. So… the legacy awakens.
Jesse's breath came steady, guided by the Ninefold Void Sutra. The jade slip's imprints echoed in his mind. Each inhale drew qi into his meridians, each exhale refined it, shaping it into a current that fed into the sword.
The cracked blade pulsed again, faint lines of light crawling along its surface like veins.
Den roared in fury, charging again. His fists blurred into a storm of iron qi, each strike meant to crush Jesse into paste.
But Jesse's body moved with unnatural calm. His footwork flowed like water slipping between stones, his sword arcs weaving a shield of light. Each time Den's fists struck, the broken sword shivered, its resonance dispersing the force into harmless ripples.
Shock spread across the stands.
"That… that sword is shielding him!"
"No! It's not the sword—it's his control over qi!"
"But he was nothing days ago!"
Ken Miles, watching from above, clenched his teeth. His fists trembled at the sight of Daisy Mellon's calm eyes fixed on the fight—not on him, but on Jesse.
"Stop dodging, you coward!" Den howled. He slammed his foot into the ground, qi exploding outward in a shockwave that cracked the stone beneath them. Dust and debris rained upward, cloaking the arena.
Through the haze, Den's fists came like hammers, one-two-three, aiming straight for Jesse's head.
Jesse's eyes narrowed. His cracked sword hummed, pulling at his qi like a hungry beast. He let it guide him.
With a sharp exhale, he swept the blade upward.
CLANG!
The sword met Den's iron fist head-on. Instead of shattering, the blade released a low, resonant boom, a shockwave bursting outward that sent Den skidding backward across the arena floor.
Silence fell.
Den coughed blood, his face twisted in rage. "No… no, this is impossible! You're just trash!"
Jesse's voice was cold, cutting through the silence.
"Trash… doesn't stand here."
He stepped forward, sword in hand, each step steady, unhurried. The cracked blade's glow intensified, faint but undeniable.
From the elder's seats, murmurs rose.
"That sword… is it a sealed spirit weapon?"
"No, I sense no spirit within… it's incomplete, yet…"
"…Yet it resonates with him. As if it chose him."
Elder Morris's eyes glinted dangerously. "The Void's shadow begins to stir."
Den roared again, desperation consuming him. He poured every drop of qi into his fists, his body swelling with the strain. "I'll tear you apart!"
He lunged, fist like a mountain.
Jesse exhaled once. His body sank low, the Ninefold Void Sutra guiding his flow. The cracked sword drew a single arc across the air.
Boom!
The clash lit the arena with a flash of light. When the dust cleared, Den was on his knees, his arm trembling, blood dripping from split knuckles. Jesse's blade rested lightly against his throat.
The elder raised his hand.
"Winner—Jesse Jordan."
The arena exploded in uproar."He defeated Den Miles?!"
"How?!"
"That sword… that technique…!"
Ken Miles's fists shook, nails biting into his palms until blood welled. His pride burned hotter than fire. "This… won't stand. I'll kill him myself."
But Daisy Mellon's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, her eyes never leaving Jesse. For a moment, she whispered under her breath, unheard by anyone else.
"…You're not what they think you are."
Jesse sheathed the cracked sword slowly, his body trembling with exhaustion beneath his cold exterior. His victory was real, but he knew the truth: the strength wasn't yet his. The sword had shielded him, the jade slip had guided him. Without them, he would already be dead.
Still, as he walked back to the waiting grounds, the mockery that had haunted him for years had gone silent. In its place grew something new—fear, suspicion, awe.
And that silence was sweeter than any applause.
High above, the elders spoke quietly among themselves.
"That weapon… what origin does it have?"
"It was scrap. Now it hums with power."
"No… not power. Potential. Dangerous potential."
Elder Morris's voice cut through their whispers, soft yet chilling.
"We will summon him after the trials."
The crowd continued to roar, but Jesse felt the weight of their gazes. The broken sword pulsed faintly at his side, whispering secrets he could not yet hear.
And in that moment, Jesse Jordan realized his fight had only just begun.