The wind howled like wolves across the mountain. Mist spilled down from the frozen cliffs, curling around statues carved in ancient times—some cracked, others shattered.
At the summit of the tallest peak, a boy stood alone.
His name was Yan Xuanlanbin.
Fifteen winters old. Body wrapped in black training robes, soaked with blood and torn from battles not yet finished. His hands were cracked and raw from hours of climbing stone with nothing but will and grit. His body had gone through the early stages of Body Tempering—bones hardened like iron, flesh thicker than leather—but now even that wasn't enough.
He stood inside a circle of nine ancient sword pillars, each one humming faintly. This was the Sword Grave, where countless chosen before him had come to claim the blade.
None returned.
The stone beneath his feet was etched with a single line:
"Only those with Sword Qi may awaken it."
He didn't hesitate.
Yan stepped forward. The ground trembled beneath his bare feet. A pulse surged out from the mountain's heart. Spiritual energy exploded like thunder—hot, violent, ancient.
It wasn't welcoming him.
It was testing him.
A blast of Sword Will—pure, suffocating killing intent—slammed into his chest like a giant's fist. His legs buckled. Blood sprayed from his mouth. He dropped to one knee, his vision spinning.
But he didn't fall.
He roared and rose, muscles burning, veins bulging with strain. Every step forward was like dragging a mountain on his back.
He passed the first pillar.
A gust of wind howled, slicing at his skin like blades.
He passed the second.
The mist thickened, turning into ghostly shapes. Screams echoed from the past—souls of those who failed.
The third.
Lightning cracked above. A bolt struck the pillar beside him. He kept walking.
With each step, something stirred in his body.
Inside his dantian—where all cultivation paths begin—a pulse of golden light flickered. Tiny. Weak. But it was real.
His body had reached the peak of Body Tempering, but now—
He felt it.
His Sword Veins were opening.
Lines of heat crawled through his arms and spine, as if fire was carving new pathways inside him. The ancient energy of the mountain wasn't just resisting him—it was forcing him to break his limits.
"Come on… just once…" he muttered under his breath, his voice ragged.
He reached the final step.
There it was.
The Supreme Sword, buried deep inside a slab of obsidian. Taller than him. Its blade was jagged and black with veins of golden light crawling across it like living lightning. Seals wrapped around it in chains made of pure energy. The pressure was unbelievable.
It wasn't a sword.
It was a beast in sword form, asleep.
And now it was waking up.
The ground beneath his feet cracked as the sword released another wave of Sword Will. The air became too thick to breathe. His bones creaked under the weight. The nine pillars around him began to shake.
And still, Yan walked forward.
His hand stretched out.
The moment his fingers touched the hilt, the sword screamed.
A golden shockwave exploded from the blade, throwing back the mist. The sky above shattered like glass. Chains snapped. The sword pulsed once—
And the energy poured into Yan's body.
His eyes went wide.
His dantian blazed with light. Every meridian in his body flared open. His heart slammed like a war drum. The golden energy flowed through him like molten steel.
His spirit veins didn't just open—
They burst into flame.
"This… this is Sword Qi…"
The wind around him exploded into a cyclone. He roared as light erupted from every pore in his body. The Supreme Sword fused with him, not just in hand, but in spirit.
A mark seared itself into his chest—just above the heart.
A single Sword Bloodstage Seal, in the shape of a phoenix made of blades.
The First Bloodstage had awakened.
Suddenly—he was no longer in the chamber.
The world blinked.
He stood now in an endless void of light and shadow. The sky above was split between white clouds and endless black. Floating islands of stone drifted through the air, glowing with unfamiliar runes.
Before him stood a cloaked figure.
Tall. Hooded. Radiating power.
The figure spoke, voice echoing from all directions:
"You have awakened Sword Qi. But you are not worthy to wield the Supreme Sword."
Yan didn't answer.
The figure raised its hand.
A storm of swords formed above—thousands of blades made of fire, ice, lightning, wind. Each one aimed at him.
They fell.
Yan's instinct took over.
He raised the sword.
SHHHHRING.
A massive crescent slash of golden energy tore the sky in half. The incoming blades shattered like glass. Sparks rained down like a meteor shower.
The figure appeared behind him in an instant, thrusting a blade of lightning.
Yan twisted. Steel met steel. The impact cracked the floating island beneath them.
Their blades blurred, clashing in a dance of fury and light. Each swing of Yan's sword released blasts of Sword Qi, slicing through the void, warping space itself.
The figure pushed forward.
Yan slid back—then leapt, flipping through the air, spinning his body into a Spiral Sky Slash. A wave of Sword Qi exploded outward like a divine roar. The figure was forced back, cloak torn.
But it wasn't over.
The figure summoned a spear of divine metal, hurling it like thunder.
Yan met it midair, slashing with everything he had.
BOOOOM!
The void cracked. Light blinded everything.
When the light faded, Yan was back inside the chamber.
His clothes were in tatters. His chest heaved. But the Supreme Sword now floated beside him, humming gently.
The trial was passed.
The nine sword pillars bowed in light.
And on his chest, the First Bloodstage Mark pulsed softly.
In the skies above the mountain, a golden ripple spread across the continent.
In ancient sects buried beneath the earth…
In forbidden temples lost in time…
In the halls of fallen empires…
They felt it.
"The Supreme Sword has chosen its bearer."