A young man of impeccable appearance stood in a realm where the sky had no defined color and the ground seemed formed from layers of solidified clouds. His features were too perfect even by the standards of the cultivation world. Eyes black as the void, deep and steady. Hair just as dark, falling straight over his shoulders. Sharp, straight brows, as if they had been drawn with the tip of a sword. There was no exaggeration in his beauty; he was simply someone whose presence clashed with reality itself.
He held an unsheathed sword.
There was no fury on his face. There was no arrogance. Only a solemn indifference and an intent to fight so clear that the space around him seemed to tense on its own. Before him stood a much older existence, a figure whose energy easily surpassed that of any ordinary immortal. His body was not completely human; his silhouette was wrapped in layers of immortal energy, and behind him floated a core of light that pulsed with the force of a small sun.
Even so, that existence slightly frowned.
"A mere youth from the lower world dares to unsheathe a sword before me," he said in a deep voice that made reality tremble. "Even if your concept is sharp, your cultivation is insufficient."
The young man did not respond.
The sword descended.
There was no exaggerated movement nor a grand technique. Only a clean slash that split space in a straight line. The immortal existence blocked the attack with a gesture, and the impact opened cracks in the void that took time to close. Although his power was clearly superior, a persistent pressure surrounded him, not because of the young man's brute force, but because of the purity of his intent. It was like facing a blade that did not hesitate, a will that did not waver.
They exchanged attacks.
Space tore and rejoined. Waves of energy swept across the immortal realm like silent tides. The young swordsman advanced without taking a single step back, cutting apart every attack thrown at him, even when the difference in level was evident.
It was then that the immortal existence felt something.
His expression changed for a brief instant. He turned his head backward, toward the place where he had protected for eras an artifact of heaven and earth that was about to be born.
It was already too late.
There, where the artifact should have been, stood a young man with slightly golden hair that shone under the light of the realm. His golden eyes reflected the surrounding energy with a mocking tone. He was as handsome as the swordsman, but his presence was different: lighter, more flexible, as if the world itself were a convenient stage to him.
He held the treasure in his hand.
"Thank you for taking care of it for so long," he said with a wide smile. "Without your effort, it would have been a waste. After all, in every story someone always has to do the hard work before the protagonist arrives."
The immortal existence roared in fury.
He attempted to release a much greater amount of power to finish the young swordsman once and for all, but at that very moment he discovered that his opponent was no longer in front of him. Hundreds of thousands of Li away, a dark line had cut through space as if it were cloth, leaving behind a clean slash that had not yet finished closing.
The swordsman was already far away, moving through the void like a blade that chooses its own path.
Enraged, the existence directed his gaze toward the golden-eyed youth.
The latter raised his hand and waved calmly.
Behind his back, dragon wings made of spiritual energy began to form, dense and structured, each scale composed of complex patterns that vibrated with power. When the existence tried to follow him, the young man simply flapped once.
He disappeared.
He reappeared hundreds of thousands of Li farther away.
Another flap.
Another rupture in space.
It was not ordinary flight; each movement was a leap through the void, as if space were merely an optional distance.
As he fled, his voice rang out clearly, without a trace of fear.
"Old man, don't be so angry," he said in a mocking tone. "The most important skill of any cultivator is not fighting… it is knowing how to run."
His laughter faded into the distance as he and the young swordsman disappeared beyond the reach of the immortal existence, leaving behind a disturbed realm and a furious guardian who, for the first time in eras, had been deceived.