The world returned slowly, like a blade sliding from its sheath.
At first, there was only darkness.
Then came the sounds—dripping water, the distant hum of energy deep within stone, and the rhythmic pulse of his own heartbeat. He couldn't tell how long he'd been unconscious. Minutes? Hours? Days?
His body ached like it had been ground into sand and poured back together.
Feng Yao groaned and shifted. His fingers twitched. His breath caught.
He was alive.
Barely.
Pain still throbbed through his arms and spine, but it was… muted. No longer the burning, tearing agony from earlier. More like the deep ache of old bruises and broken bones—an oddly familiar feeling.
"Still breathing," he rasped, and his voice cracked like dry parchment.
The throne chamber was unchanged. The corpse still sat silently, but the black tendrils that had once pulsed inside it were now gone—dissolved or absorbed. The blade in its lap was dim now, inert.
His hand—he flexed it, studying his palm—there was no visible wound, but the skin felt strange. As though it no longer fully belonged to him.
Then the voice came again.
"Functionality: nominal. Neural strain within expected parameters. Host durability: inadequate, but… adaptive."
Yao froze.
The voice wasn't from outside. It wasn't echoing through the room. It was inside his mind.
Sharp. Cold. Almost metallic in tone. But not emotionless.
There was judgment in it.
"…Who are you?" he whispered, chest rising and falling.
"Designation: Sword System. Level 1. Fragmented archive of combat integration protocols, host enhancement frameworks, and world traversal subroutines."
"Purpose: cultivation optimization. Growth acceleration. Elimination of host threats. All for the acquisition of—"
"…System points."
Feng Yao's mind swam. His breath caught in his throat.
System.
He'd heard the word before—in stories told in hushed voices by traveling merchants. Tales of cultivators blessed by voices in their heads—granted strength beyond comprehension, rising to immortality in decades instead of centuries. But those were fairy tales.
Weren't they?
Yao sat up slowly, pressing his back against one of the fallen columns.
"Why me?" he asked. "Why now?"
A pause. A low hum vibrated through his skull.
"Current host met minimum compatibility requirements. Prolonged stasis required post-terminal corruption. Previous host… deceased."
There was a strange stillness in the system's voice on that last word, like a blade dulled by regret—or perhaps calculation.
Yao narrowed his eyes.
"You were… hiding."
"Dormancy was necessary. Full functionality required system points. Prior host death resulted in emergency deranking. Level 6 core… compromised. Reconstructed at Level 1 to preserve consciousness shard."
"Reactivation triggered by host proximity and spiritual resonance. You touched the blade. You awoke me."
He swallowed, throat tight.
"You said I'm not your first choice."
"Correct."
"...Will you kill me if I'm not good enough?"
"Correction: I will let you die if your growth is inadequate."
The words sent a chill through him.
The system continued, as calm as ever:
"Resource allocation must be efficient. Cultivation potential is a gamble. As a Sword System, my function is to elevate sword-related potential through task-based cultivation acceleration. You will receive quests. Rewards are earned. System points must be used wisely."
Feng Yao's head spun.
"Quests…? So you're going to guide me?"
"Guide? No. Instruct. Reward. Punish. Adapt. But not guide. You are still the wielder of your fate, host. You will fail or succeed on your own merit."
"I offer the blade. You swing it."
He looked down at his shaking hand.
A sword cultivator.
He'd never even held a real sword before.
"…I don't have a weapon," he murmured.
"You don't need one."
"System Reward Unlocked: Sword Sense (Dormant)"
"Sword Sense – Level 1"Your body gains a passive awareness of blade paths. When an enemy uses a sword-based technique, you will instinctively feel its trajectory one breath before impact.
Feng Yao blinked. His heart raced.
Sword Sense?
He hadn't done anything yet.
"Initial binding always grants a seed. You have received your first gift. Do not squander it."
"New Quest Generated"
Quest: Cut Open the PathObjective: Deliver a killing blow using any bladed weapon to a wild beast (minimum threat level: F-Class).Reward: +1 System Point, Sword Qi Fragment ×1Time Limit: None
He felt something stir in his chest. Not energy—not yet—but purpose.
Even after the pain, the blood, the confusion, one thing was now certain.
He could grow.
And for the first time since his father's death, Feng Yao's grief stopped drowning him.
Because something colder, sharper, and more dangerous had begun to fill the cracks in his heart.
Outside the ruin, the wind had changed.
Storm clouds were gathering on the distant horizon, but Feng Yao didn't look up as he emerged from the forest.
His eyes weren't filled with wonder anymore.
They were filled with intent.
Feng Yao's return to the village was quiet. As always.
The villagers avoided eye contact when he passed, just like they had at the funeral. No one spoke to him. No one asked where he had been, nor why his clothes were caked in dust and moss and blood that wasn't entirely his.
Good.
He wasn't ready to answer those questions anyway.
Instead, he slipped back into the small house at the edge of the woods—his home now, for as long as he could keep it.
The Sword System had been silent since they left the ruins, but its presence lingered in the back of his mind, like a silent observer watching through a veil.
Yao set down the cracked lantern and the wrapped scroll of the Iron Skin Manual, now forgotten in the corner. The training it offered felt like a rusty nail compared to the blade he'd touched.
Yet…
He was still weak.
Body Refining Stage 3.
That was all.
He had no spiritual sea. No qi pool. Not even a proper weapon.
"I need a sword," he muttered aloud.
"No."
"You need a cutting edge."
The system's voice slid back into his mind like cold steel.
"A weapon is not a form. It is a purpose. Pick up something that cuts, and I will begin your training."
Feng Yao looked around the house. He had no swords, no forged metal.
But he did have his father's old machete—used for cutting firewood. The blade was chipped, the handle splintered, and it had long since dulled.
It would have to do.
He wrapped the handle in cloth to stop it from biting his skin and stepped outside.
The clearing behind the house had once been a training ground.
When Yao was a boy, he'd watched his father strike a wooden dummy a thousand times until sweat poured from his back like rain. Now the training post stood crooked and half-rotted, half-consumed by weeds.
He stood before it and drew a slow breath.
Then another.
"Focus," the Sword System whispered.
"Do not swing blindly. Do not move like a brute. The sword does not shout. It speaks."
He raised the machete.
And swung.
Wood splintered under the force—but not cleanly. The cut was shallow, jagged.
Again.
And again.
He didn't stop, even as sweat ran into his eyes and his arms trembled.
"Your wrist is stiff. Loosen it. Let the blade carry your will—not your muscle."
He adjusted.
Swung again.
This time, the sound was different—clearer. The blade bit deeper.
He adjusted his stance. Re-centered his weight.
The Sword System said nothing.
But Yao felt it.
A presence, watching each move, each breath. Not like a teacher, or even a master. Something colder. Older. Measuring him. Judging whether he was worth the effort to sharpen.
By sundown, his hands were blistered and his chest heaved with exhaustion. But the post was nearly cleaved in two.
He stared at it in silence, then fell back into the dirt with a pained sigh.
Above, the sky had turned to a tapestry of stars, and the cicadas screamed into the night.
"Acceptable," the system finally said.
"You will not die instantly."
"Passive Skill Unlocked: Basic Sword Handling – Level 1"Your grip is steadier. Your recovery between swings has improved. You are less likely to injure yourself.
Yao groaned and let his head fall back.
"I need a real sword," he said.
"Earn one."
He waited two more days before attempting the quest.
Not out of fear, exactly.
But caution.
Sword Sense was still a mystery. The passive awareness it promised hadn't activated yet. And though the machete was passable for training, it was no true weapon. He needed to understand its weight—its limits.
So he trained.
He hunted small creatures—not to kill, but to test his swing. Rabbits, birds, even frogs. He let them go afterward. But each near-strike, each sudden adjustment, let him feel a growing awareness in his bones.
Then came the moment.
It was late morning.
He was resting near a stream on the mountain slope when a branch cracked to his right.
He froze.
The air changed.
A low growl rolled through the underbrush—feral, breathy, and close.
Yao turned his head slowly.
A mountain panther stood ten paces away, half-crouched, one eye milky-white with age. Its fur was patchy, ribs slightly visible, but its legs were thick with muscle. Its claws flexed into the dirt.
He didn't breathe.
"Target Identified: Wild Beast – F-Class"
"Quest Activation Confirmed"
"Sword Sense: Engaged"
Suddenly, he felt it.
The moment the beast twitched, even before its muscles coiled to lunge—Yao sensed the arc of its pounce. The claws, the weight, the bite—it was like a cold wind brushed his neck, whispering, move now.
He rolled sideways.
The panther slammed into the ground where he'd been sitting, snarling.
Yao rose to one knee, machete in hand.
He didn't speak.
He just moved.
One swing—clumsy, too wide—but the beast flinched back.
Second swing—sharper, from the shoulder. The machete clipped its foreleg.
It hissed, pain blooming in its eyes.
The panther lunged again, but this time, Sword Sense screamed at him.
He stepped back a fraction of a second early—and countered.
The machete slashed along its flank, spraying blood into the leaves.
The beast staggered, snarled, limped.
Finish it.
Yao grit his teeth.
He didn't enjoy this.
But he needed this.
With a final breath, he stepped forward and drove the machete into its neck.
The panther spasmed—then fell still.
The forest was quiet again.
Yao stared at the corpse, panting.
His arms were shaking, blood running down his wrists. But he was alive.
"Quest Complete"
Reward: +1 System PointSword Qi Fragment ×1
"System Point Bank: 1""Fragments Collected: 1/5 (Formless Sword Seed)"
"You've taken your first life," the Sword System said.
Yao stared at the beast's body, and after a long pause, replied quietly:
"I won't waste it."