The wind at the top of the ridge had softened, but the tension in Chen Xin's body had not.
After the destruction of the golem, he found a flat stone slab near the edge, high above the broken clouds. There, with the twin blades laid gently before him, he sat cross-legged in silence.
His body ached, wounds wrapped in dried blood. Yet his spirit stirred—not in restlessness, but in stillness.
The Trial Realm was quiet here, unnaturally so. No whispers, no illusions. Just the wind and the memory of steel.
He closed his eyes.
Inwardly, he turned toward his blades — not the metal, but their essence.
Merciless came first.
Its presence was sharp, cold, burning with the pain of duty fulfilled at the cost of self. A thousand battles echoed through its form, each strike filled with grief made pure.
He remembered the day he first forged it in the Trial Realm — the moment of his first victory, and the loneliness that followed.
Then came Gu Jian — the Solitary Blade.
Its presence was quiet, almost invisible. Not weaker, but deeper. It resonated with his silent choices — the countless times he bore burdens no one saw, made sacrifices no one acknowledged.
Between the two, he saw himself reflected — not a man split in two, but one who had never allowed himself to be whole.
A breeze stirred. His aura began to rise.
Sword Intent shimmered around him — not as a sharp edge, but a field of quiet, immense pressure. Like a blade unsheathed but unmoving.
He was learning to dwell within the sword—not just to wield it.
A faint humming filled the air. The twin blades responded, glowing with resonant light.
His aura expanded. The clouds above the ridge parted slightly, as if the Trial Realm itself paused to watch.
From the far side of the sky, a pulse of divine energy rippled in acknowledgment.
Elsewhere—high above, in a quiet hall of the God Realm—Tang San sat alone, gazing through the soul mirror.
A slight smile touched his lips.
"He's no longer chasing. He's becoming."