With this realization Taiyi's state of mind transformed. His dao heart, once unsteady, now radiated with newfound clarity. Where moments ago he had carried only thirty percent certainty of success, he now brimmed with seventy percent confidence. His chances of breaking through soared as if the heavens themselves had loosened their grip.
For now, he chose silence. He shut out every distraction, focused wholly on the tide of his breakthrough. Yet, somewhere in the depths of his heart, he had already resolved that once this ordeal was complete, he would step into the Fire Realm, if only to catch a fleeting glimpse of his daughter and exchange words with her. That thought alone gave him strength.
But cultivation breakthroughs were never merciful.
His consciousness sank once more, dragged into a dreamlike abyss. This time he found himself amid the chaos of a battlefield. Corpses littered the ground; the smell of blood soaked the air. He was not a bystander—he was the defeated commander. His banner had fallen, his army shattered, his sword heart and dao crushed. Chains of humiliation bound him.
Captured. Enslaved.
The years blurred into torment. As a fallen general he watched his soldiers butchered, his family paraded as trophies. His wife's cries still echoed in his mind—the day five men tried to dishonor her and she chose death over defilement. His daughter's tear-stained face haunted him endlessly as she was dragged into a brothel, sold like cattle to beasts. Taiyi wanted to rage, to end it all, but even the release of death was denied to him.
That was despair.
And in the depths of that despair, the whisper returned.
"I can give you power. Enough to destroy them all. Enough to rewrite your fate."
The voice was warm, almost tender, like the promise of dawn after a long night. Taiyi trembled. The offer tempted him—he could feel the phantom weight of a blade in his hand, could almost see his enemies kneeling before him.
But instinct screamed caution.
"What do you want in return?" Taiyi asked hoarsely.
"Your freedom. Your heart. Your loyalty."
Taiyi's fingers clenched into fists. He lowered his gaze, then slowly shook his head. "I would rather remain a slave than become a puppet. If my freedom is the price, then I have nothing to give you."
Silence followed. Then the chains tightened, and his torment deepened.
Years passed. Beatings, hunger, humiliation. Even the lowest servants mocked him. "Why not bow once? Why not swallow your pride? Life would be easier."
Taiyi only smiled, his lips cracked and bleeding. "If I bow my head today, then tomorrow I will bow again. I was not taught to kneel to enemies unless it is my head leaving my shoulders."
Two years blurred by in agony. His body starved, his heart hollowed, but never once did he surrender. Then came the cruelest blow—his daughter's death reached his ears. The last light of his world was extinguished. Taiyi knelt in the dirt, tears burning his eyes, yet even then, when the voice whispered temptations sweeter than honey, he only spat blood and answered coldly:
"You are not worthy."
That defiance became his seed of rebirth.
One night, beneath the shroud of despair, Taiyi forged a desperate escape. Shackles broken, blood staining his path, he fled far from kingdoms and crowns. He hid in seclusion, burying his grief in meditation. Slowly, painstakingly, he repaired the fragments of his shattered sword heart. Each scar, each humiliation, tempered it until it was stronger than ever before.
Years later, he walked out from the shadows. Not to exact vengeance, but to gather the remains of his wife and daughter. He buried them with reverence, and only then did he raise his sword once more. The blade no longer trembled with despair—it hummed with unyielding will.
Step by step he climbed. He surpassed his peers, then his enemies, then even the heavens. When he finally reached the supreme realm, he had become the strongest cultivator in existence, a man whose sword suppressed all under the sky.
But even as he towered above all, joy eluded him. His loved ones were gone. Power was meaningless without them.
So he did the unthinkable. He sacrificed everything—his cultivation, his strength, his supremacy—offering himself as the medium to open the wheel of samsara. With his life essence, he pushed his wife and daughter back into reincarnation. In the next breath, all that he was unraveled. His cultivation vanished. He became nothing once more.
And yet he started again. From scratch. From dust.
This cycle repeated—rise, protect, lose, rise again—until one fateful day, standing at the apex once more, his memories returned in a flood.
This was not life. It was a trial.
The illusion shattered. The battlefield, the chains, the rise, the fall—all of it had been a crucible. Taiyi opened his eyes, and thunder roared across the void.
A storm brewed. Heavenly Dao itself stirred. A figure descended, clad in golden armor, radiating divine majesty.
"You should know," Taiyi said calmly, shifting back into human form, "that here, my power suppresses yours. Why throw yourself into a meaningless battle?"
The golden figure's eyes gleamed coldly. "You are not worthy."
A laugh rolled from Taiyi's chest, fierce and defiant. "Even a strong dragon does not bow to a local snake within its hole."
The only answer was a slash of a golden sword, fierce enough to sever worlds.
Taiyi's blade leapt to his hand. His eyes ignited with a blinding white brilliance, clashing with the golden radiance of his foe. When their swords collided, the heavens shuddered.
One strike became a hundred. A hundred became a thousand. For three years, they battled ceaselessly, neither yielding ground. Their every clash rent the void, tore rivers of time, and shattered ancient stars.
But Taiyi refused to falter.
This was more than battle—it was proof. Proof that he could fight the Heavenly Dao itself. Proof that he was worthy to carve his own fate.
And at the end of three years, with his body torn and bloodied, his sword cleaved through the golden figure. The armored form dissolved into essence, consumed by his sword, fortifying both his body and his dao.
Then came the thunder.
The true heavenly tribulation arrived, each bolt vast enough to reduce realms to dust. Taiyi stood beneath it unflinching, his dao blazing. It was no ordinary dao—it was vast, encompassing space, time, and fate itself. It was the outline of a universe, uncharted and boundless.
The thunder sought to break it. Instead, each strike refined it. Each bolt tempered Taiyi's essence, scouring impurities until only brilliance remained.
When at last the storm cleared, Taiyi stood unbowed, his sword gleaming, his heart free. For the first time in countless eons, he was no longer bound by loneliness. His dao allowed him to love, to feel, to live.
Above the realms, golden text burned into the sky, witnessed by all.
"The Six Realms, Three Seas, and Eight Deserts bear witness! The birth of a new Emperor—The Chaotic Sword Lord, Song Taiyi! Let all rejoice!"
Ancient cultivators in hiding stirred. Old monsters shed tears. For the first time in countless ages, the upper limit of existence had risen.
And at the center of it all, Taiyi smiled faintly. His path was his own, and at last, he had carved a name the heavens themselves could not erase.