In the chronicles of martial history, two brothers were born under the same sky, yet their blades carved destinies as different as fire and silence.
The younger brother was a prodigy the world could not ignore. His swordsmanship was the Solar Flare Sutra, known in reverence as the "Blades of the Golden Crow." Each stroke blazed like dawn breaking across the earth, radiant and unyielding. To face him was to be scorched by brilliance itself, as though the heavens had decreed judgment through his hands. His sword was light, his spirit a rising sun—warm to his kin, merciless to his foes. He was the symbol of his generation, unrivaled in youthful glory.
The elder brother, however, was spoken of only in whispers by the highest peaks of the martial world. His sword did not burn, nor did it shine—it was silence, vast and fathomless. This was the Void of Compassion, remembered in secret texts as the "Merciful Sutra of Emptiness." His blade never severed flesh. Instead, it cleaved away the roots of corruption—the false strength, the hollow pride, the power gained through cruelty. Against his strike, talent could vanish, cultivation could dissolve, and ambition could collapse, leaving only the bare soul untouched. To the wicked, his sword was the quiet end of all struggle; to the righteous, it was unseen, unheard, and untold.
The world celebrated the younger brother, whose light dazzled all who gazed upon him. Yet in the deepest shadows, the wise trembled—for they knew of the elder, the one whose blade of mercy could end even the brightest sun.