The Realm of Frozen Time stretched around Yan like a vast, silent ocean of ice and stars. Crystals floated lazily in the cold air, their edges glinting like fragments of frozen light. The chill brushed his skin, but deep inside him, a fire burned brighter than ever.
Yan knelt on the crystalline platform, the Supreme Sword planted firmly before him. Its golden flames flickered softly, like a heartbeat in the quiet. The power inside him—the Temporal Core—pulsed steadily, a small golden orb nestled deep within his dantian, spinning with endless rings like a cosmic clock.
This wasn't just cultivation anymore. It was an entirely new language—a conversation with time itself.
He closed his eyes and let the world fade away.
No mountain, no rival, no battlefield existed here. Only the flow of time, rushing and still, stretching and snapping like a living river.
Yan focused on the rhythm of the Temporal Core, feeling the spin of the golden rings. At first, it was wild, uncontrollable. Time was like a torrent rushing through him, impossible to hold.
But he breathed in deeply. Slowly, he reached with his spirit, like dipping fingers into a rushing stream, seeking to steady the current.
The first step was to sharpen his perception.
Most cultivators trained their bodies, their energy, or their spirits in brute strength or raw force. Yan's new path was subtler—a precision skill demanding patience and control.
He concentrated on slowing his internal clock.
Seconds stretched longer. The world outside became sluggish, but inside his mind, everything was crystal clear.
He could see the flicker of energy traces left by his own movements—like footprints frozen in a stream.
Opening his eyes slowly, Yan watched a floating shard of ice drift in the air.
With a flick of his hand, he wove his temporal energy around it.
The shard slowed, almost stopping, suspended in a bubble where time barely moved.
It gleamed, caught between moments like a trapped star.
A thrill ran through Yan's body. This was control—not raw power, but precision mastery.
His breathing steadied as he expanded the exercise.
He slowed his heartbeat, deepening the calm until his entire body felt like it was moving in slow motion.
But inside, his mind raced, processing every detail with lightning speed.
The realization hit him—time wasn't a straight line. It was a flowing river with eddies and currents, twists and turns.
Mastering time meant learning to ride those currents—to flow with them, not fight them.
The next challenge was endurance.
Manipulating time was draining. Every stretch, every bend, pulled at his spirit and body like a storm tearing at a fragile sail.
Yan rose, gripping the Supreme Sword. Its golden flames flared stronger, as if responding to his rising spirit.
He channeled temporal energy into his limbs, feeling the surge of power weave through his muscles and bones.
Then, he sprinted.
His form blurred—a flash of gold light speeding through the icy realm.
Around him, the world slowed, each snowflake hanging frozen in the air.
Step after step, Yan pushed his speed further.
Ten times faster. Twenty times.
But this time, he didn't falter.
His breathing stayed steady; his heart beat with unshakable rhythm.
His body adapted, growing stronger as time itself bent around him.
Each sprint was a test, a strain, but also a lesson in balance.
But mastering speed wasn't enough.
Yan needed more.
He needed to project his consciousness beyond the present—to slip free of time's chains, even if just for a moment.
He settled cross-legged, eyes closed, sword resting beside him.
He imagined stepping out of the stream of time, rising above past, present, and future.
For a heartbeat, his spirit soared, untethered.
Visions flashed—glimpses of battles not yet fought, allies and enemies unseen, paths not yet walked.
But the state was fragile.
Too long, and he could become lost—adrift in endless possibility with no anchor back.
His heart raced.
With a sharp breath, he pulled himself back.
The danger was real, but so was the power.
Days passed in a blur of training cycles—sharpening perception, building endurance, pushing projection.
With every moment, Yan grew stronger, faster, wiser.
He began to weave the Supreme Sword's fire into his temporal mastery.
Flames and time twisted together in his palms, each flicker pulsing with power.
He forged new techniques:
Temporal Flames: fire that burned longer, hotter, with flickers that slowed the flow of an enemy's attack, dulling their reaction times.
Time Step: a burst of speed that let Yan skip milliseconds ahead—dodging blows before they could land, vanishing and reappearing in the blink of an eye.
Chrono Shield: a shimmering barrier where time itself slowed incoming attacks, weakening their force and giving Yan precious seconds to strike back.
Yet the training wasn't without cost.
Each use drained his spirit reserves, muscles ached as if stretched between seconds, and his vision sometimes flickered as temporal currents surged violently within.
But every ache was proof.
Proof that he was breaking limits, carving a new path.
Yan smiled through the pain.
He wasn't just a boy with a sword anymore.
He was a master of time.
One cold morning, Yan sat on the edge of the crystalline platform.
Golden light from the Temporal Core radiated through his body, weaving time and fire into a single force.
He closed his eyes, letting the sword's spirit whisper softly in his mind.
"Balance is the key," the voice said. "Control the flow, but do not become a slave to it."
Yan nodded.
He knew the temptation—to speed time endlessly, to become a blur that no one could touch.
But losing control meant disaster.
The sword and time must be one.
He rose, grip tightening on the Supreme Sword.
Flames burst forth, swirling with streaks of shimmering gold that twisted like flowing clock hands.
The blade hummed with power—fire and time, fused into a weapon that could bend reality.
Yan's spirit soared.
He took a single step forward.
The path ahead was darker, more dangerous.
But now, with time as his ally, Yan was ready.
The Bearer of the Supreme Sword had only just begun his true journey.