They spoke of him in whispers.
In the Divine Lands, where the skies split at a cultivator's roar and mountains bowed before sword qi, there was one name that turned pride into silence, and awe into stillness.
The Forgemaster of the Void.
A man who carried no weapon.
A man who needed none.
When enemies charged, he stood still. When armies surged, he breathed—and from the air, the earth, the fire, and the void itself, his weapons came forth. Blades born of will. Spears forged from thunder. Arrows loosed from nothingness. Each strike, a masterpiece.
But none knew where he came from.
Not the great sects who now feared him.
Not the ancient clans who once mocked the name "Muyeon."
And not even the Celestial Thrones who now sought to bind him by pact or war.
Yet, if you journeyed far enough into the Forgotten Wastes, among the shattered remnants of the first forge, you might find an old village burned to ash. And there, if you listened long enough to the wind, it might whisper of a boy with calloused hands… and a girl who stood beside him, even when the world gave them nothing.
Before he was a legend, he was just a boy.
Before she was his Dao companion, she was just his friend.
And before he forged weapons from the void…
He forged them with fire and blood.