Li Yan stepped through the illusory door.
The world shifted.
The crimson sky vanished, along with the endless field of swords. When his vision cleared, he found himself standing inside a vast circular chamber.
The room was empty.
Bare stone walls curved around him in a perfect ring, their dark surfaces ancient and worn. Countless faint sword marks covered the stone, as though generations of unseen warriors had practiced here long ago.
There were no windows and no decorations—only silence and a faint, lingering pressure in the air. At the center of the chamber stood a small, round platform barely a foot high.
Embedded halfway into the stone was a sword.
Li Yan's gaze sharpened immediately.
The blade appeared simple, yet flawless. Its metal gleamed softly like polished silver under dim light that seemed to come from nowhere. Delicate patterns ran along the spine of the blade like flowing water, while the hilt was wrapped in dark leather untouched by time.
It did not radiate overwhelming power.
Yet the moment Li Yan saw it, a thought surfaced instinctively in his mind. "This is no ordinary sword."
A faint aura surrounded it—calm, deep, and immeasurably ancient.
Li Yan stepped forward slowly.
Each step echoed softly across the chamber floor, the sound lingering in the heavy silence. As he approached the platform, the quiet seemed to deepen, as though the tower itself were watching him.
When he reached the edge of the platform, he paused briefly. The sword remained motionless, half-buried in stone.
"A test?" Li Yan murmured.
Without hesitation, he raised his hand and reached for the hilt.
The instant his fingers touched it—
A violent tremor shook his consciousness.
An immense pressure erupted from the sword, surging through his mind like a tidal wave. It was neither hostile nor welcoming. It was simply vast—ancient beyond measure, as though something had awakened and fixed its gaze upon him.
Li Yan's eyes widened.
Before he could react, the pressure expanded outward, swallowing his awareness completely.
Darkness fell.
____
As Li Yan's eyes opened again, cold stone pressed against his back. He was lying on the floor. The quiet glow of lamps illuminated the space around him.
The Ancient Techniques Hall.
Li Yan blinked once before slowly sitting up.
For a moment, his mind remained blank. Then the memory returned—walking toward the tower, entering the chamber, the sword embedded within the platform.
His brows furrowed slightly. "I touched the sword… and then…"
Nothing followed.
The rest of the memory dissolved into emptiness.
Li Yan exhaled slowly, steadying himself. When he lifted his gaze, it fell upon the aged parchment hanging before the pillar.
The ancient inscription still glowed faintly.
Sword.
So he had returned. A trace of confusion lingered in his eyes, though it quickly faded beneath his usual calm.
"If that was a trial," he murmured, "then I failed."
After a moment of silence, his eyes shifted toward the bracelet on his wrist.
11:14:41 remaining.
He froze.
From Li Yan's perspective, he had spent slightly more than an hour inside the Sword realm. Compared to the time distortion he experienced while comprehending Spirit, the difference was remarkable.
When he had entered the Spirit realm, it had felt like only minutes had passed—yet more than four hours had disappeared in reality.
Now the opposite seemed true.
He had spent a little over an hour within the Sword realm, yet the same amount of time had passed outside.
The inconsistency puzzled him. But after a few moments of reflection, Li Yan understood the difference.
During the Spirit comprehension, his mind had been fully immersed in understanding the principle itself—time had slipped away unnoticed.
Within the Sword realm, however, he had not reached comprehension. He had merely faced the tower's pressure—nothing more than the beginning of a trial.
After taking a steady breath, Li Yan adjusted his posture and sat cross-legged once again before the inscription.
This time, he extended his Spiritual Sense toward the ancient character more carefully.
The moment his consciousness touched the word—
The world shattered again.
____
Crimson sky. Endless field of swords. Li Yan stood once more within the Realm of Swords.
But something had changed. His gaze slowly swept across the battlefield. The countless blades remained embedded in the earth exactly as before.
Yet the towering structure that had once risen from the ground—
The tower—
was nowhere to be seen.
"So the tower disappeared…"
He stepped forward and approached the nearest sword embedded in the ground—the same weathered blade he had noticed earlier, which triggered the tower to emerge.
The weapon looked ordinary, its edge chipped from countless battles. Yet a faint will still lingered within it, stubborn and unyielding.
Li Yan wrapped his fingers around the hilt and pulled.
The sword did not move.
Nor did the tower return.
He released the hilt and moved to another blade.
Then another.
Each sword responded the same way—silent, unmoving, indifferent to his attempts.
After several tries, Li Yan stopped.
His gaze drifted across the endless sea of steel stretching beneath the crimson sky. The oppressive pressure that had once accompanied the tower had vanished entirely, leaving only a vast and quiet stillness.
Li Yan exhaled slowly.
"So that really was a one-time trial…"
For a moment, he remained standing in silence, considering his options. Then he lowered himself to the ground and sat cross-legged among the countless swords.
If the tower would not appear again, forcing the matter would accomplish nothing.
"Then I'll do what worked before," he murmured.
Just as he had done in the Spirit realm, Li Yan relaxed his mind and allowed his awareness to expand. The air seemed still, yet within that stillness, countless subtle presences existed.
Each sword carried its own faint ripple of intent—anger, sorrow, determination, pride. Thousands of wills overlapped like waves upon a silent ocean.
Li Yan closed his eyes and listened.
Not with his ears. With his spirit.
At first, the countless voices were distant and fragmented, like memories carried on a fading wind.
Then one grew stronger.
The world shifted.
____
When Li Yan opened his eyes again, the crimson sky had vanished.
Gray clouds stretched overhead. Cold wind swept through a narrow street lined with crumbling buildings. The faint scent of rain and dust lingered in the air.
Li Yan froze.
The place was unmistakable.
The cracked pavement. Rusted iron fences—the old alleyways.
Earth.
His childhood.
Children's voices echoed nearby. "Look, it's the bastard again."
A group of boys stood at the end of the alley, their expressions twisted with mockery. Their clothes were cleaner, their faces carrying the careless cruelty of youth.
"You don't even know who your father is!"
"Your mother must be a whore!"
Laughter followed.
Li Yan stood silently.
He remembered this moment—every detail.
One of the boys stepped forward and shoved him hard in the chest. "You think getting good grades makes you better than us?" he sneered. "Without a father, you're nothing."
The others surrounded him.
The insults returned like echoes from a forgotten past.
"A bastard without a father."
"Your mother is a bitch."
"Son of a whore."
Li Yan's fists slowly clenched.
For a brief moment, the illusion attempted to drag him back into the helpless anger of that time—the fear, the frustration of being powerless against stronger children.
But that time had passed. The Li Yan standing here was no longer that boy. He looked at them calmly.
Then he spoke. His voice was quiet but steady. "Of course I'm better than you trash."
"You can say whatever you want about me." His gaze hardened slightly. "But mention my mother again… and I won't forgive you."
The boys burst into laughter.
"Oh? Then what?" one of them mocked. "You'll fight us?"
One stepped forward and raised his fist. Li Yan caught the punch easily. His counterstrike landed instantly, driving into the boy's face and sending him staggering back with blood spilling from his mouth.
The others froze. Fear flickered across their expressions.
Li Yan did not move.
He simply stood there.
Not bowing.
Not retreating.
Not yielding.
The wind grew colder.
For a brief moment, the entire world trembled. The boys' laughter stretched and warped as though the illusion itself had begun to fracture.
Li Yan's eyes remained calm. "That's the past," he murmured. "I'm not weak anymore."
The moment the words left his mouth—
The entire scene shattered. The alley collapsed into fragments of light. The gray sky dissolved like broken glass.
____
As Li Yan opened his eyes again, he found himself seated once more among the countless swords beneath the crimson sky.
A faint ripple spread across the battlefield. Several nearby swords began to hum softly, as though acknowledging his resolve.
The ripple returned to him like a flowing tide. Different sword auras drifted from the surrounding blades, wrapping gently around his body before dissolving into him.
Li Yan felt a new presence rise within himself.
A subtle aura lingered around his body now—quiet, steady, and firm. It carried a quality that had not existed before.
Unyielding.
An aura of defiance.
Li Yan lowered his gaze slightly, considering the sensation. "So that was a test…" he murmured.
The illusion of his childhood had not appeared randomly. It had forced him to face a memory he once despised—the humiliation, the insults, the helpless anger he had endured as a boy.
But he had not bent.
His expression grew thoughtful. "Then why show me that memory?"
Was it merely testing his resolve, or was there something deeper hidden behind it? As the thought surfaced, Li Yan suddenly noticed something else.
The realm around him felt different.
Before, the field of swords had been silent, their presence distant and indistinct. Now faint whispers drifted through the air.
At first, they were barely audible. Then gradually they grew clearer. Fragments of emotion brushed against his awareness—sorrow, anger, regret, resentment.
Li Yan's eyes narrowed slightly.
These whispers did not come from the wind.
They came from the swords.
Each blade carried a lingering will—the echo of a warrior who had once walked the path of the sword. Now that his spirit had sharpened through the previous trial, he could finally hear them.
Li Yan slowly closed his eyes again and expanded his awareness.
The whispers multiplied.
Thousands of voices overlapped across the realm, each carrying fragments of memories and emotions buried within steel.
Most spoke of battles—of loyalty, sacrifice, and the quiet pride of warriors who had walked their path without regret.
But many carried something darker.
Injustice.
Some blades whispered of swordsmen executed for defying tyrants. Others echoed with the grief of warriors abandoned by the lords they had served for years. A few carried the silent resentment of cultivators hunted down simply because their strength threatened those in power.
The echoes of those stories filled the realm like a storm of broken wills. Li Yan listened quietly. His expression gradually darkened.
"So many…" he murmured inwardly.
So many blades carried the weight of injustice.
As his awareness sank deeper into the whispers, the world around him began to dissolve once again. The crimson sky faded. The endless field of swords vanished.
____
When Li Yan opened his eyes again, he stood beneath the pale glow of street lamps.
Night had fallen.
A narrow road stretched ahead, lined with quiet buildings and shuttered storefronts. The distant hum of traffic echoed faintly in the background.
Li Yan stood motionless. He recognized the place instantly.
Earth. His past life.
His clothes had changed. The familiar uniform from his college days rested on his shoulders, and a worn backpack hung loosely from one arm. The faint ache in his legs told him he had just finished a long shift at his part-time job.
Li Yan's gaze hardened slightly.
He remembered these days—Second year of college.
The memory returned slowly at first, but the unease forming in his chest told him something important had happened here.
The street was unusually quiet. The air carried the scent of rain-soaked pavement, and most of the nearby shops had already closed.
Then—
A scream shattered the silence. "Help!" The voice was sharp with fear.
Li Yan's body froze.
He slowly turned his head toward a narrow side street between two buildings.
A girl stood there, struggling desperately.
She appeared to be around his age, perhaps another college student. Her clothes were disheveled, and panic filled her eyes as three men surrounded her.
One held her wrist tightly. Another blocked the alley exit. The third leaned casually against the wall, smiling with predatory confidence.