The air in the training hall of the Baek Clan always carried the faint scent of steel and sweat, a testament to generations of rigorous practice. But for Min-jun, it was simply the smell of his own inadequacy. At eighteen, he was old enough to bear the full weight of his clan's disgrace, yet too young to do anything about it.
His family, once lauded as the 'Jade Sword Clan', renowned for their unparalleled mastery over spiritual energy channeled through their blades, was now a hollow echo of its former glory. A century ago, during the 'Great Cataclysm of the Azure Peaks', their founder's legendary blade, the Heaven's Roar, had shattered, and with it, the clan's spiritual connection. Now, their swords were mere metal, and their once vibrant spiritual techniques, nothing more than forgotten scrolls.
Min-jun stood amidst a scattering of rough wooden dummies, his hands calloused not from skillful strikes, but from the endless, fruitless repetition of basic forms. He held a simple practice sword, its dull edge reflecting the dim light of the afternoon. He pushed, he swung, he parried—each movement precise, yet utterly devoid of the shimmering, ethereal glow that defined true spiritual swordsmanship.
"Pathetic," a voice sneered from the doorway. It was Hyun-woo, his cousin, two years his junior but already brimming with the raw, untamed spiritual energy that Min-jun so desperately craved. Hyun-woo's training sword hummed faintly, a testament to the nascent spiritual power he possessed. "Still trying to draw out what isn't there, Min-jun? Even the lowest-ranked cultivator in the Baek clan has more spiritual resonance than you."
Min-jun ignored him, focusing on his breathing, a technique passed down for generations that was supposed to unlock one's inner spiritual core. He felt nothing but the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.
"Don't bother," Hyun-woo continued, stepping closer. "It's a waste of time. Everyone knows the spiritual flow in our direct lineage dried up generations ago. You're just proving it. Stick to farming, Min-jun. At least you won't disgrace the clan further there."
A flicker of anger, hot and sharp, ignited within Min-jun. He turned, his eyes narrowing. "Our lineage may be broken, but our honor is not. I will not give up."
Hyun-woo scoffed, his gaze drifting to the corner of the hall where a dusty, ornate stand held the most prized possession of Min-jun's immediate family: the Shattered Jade Hilt. It was all that remained of the Heaven's Roar, a relic believed to be cursed, its jade surface crisscrossed with jagged cracks where the blade once seamlessly met the guard.
"Honor?" Hyun-woo laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "What honor is there in clinging to a broken dream? Even that cursed hilt holds more prestige than your futile efforts."
Min-jun clenched his jaw, his gaze involuntarily drawn to the hilt. It was his only inheritance, a constant reminder of both past glory and present failure. He knew Hyun-woo's words were laced with cruelty, but a part of him echoed the sentiment. Sometimes, he felt like the hilt – beautiful in its history, yet utterly useless in its shattered state.
As Hyun-woo finally left, leaving a chilling silence in his wake, Min-jun slowly walked towards the relic. His fingers traced the intricate carvings on the jade, feeling the rough edges of the fractures. There was a faint, almost imperceptible tremor when his hand connected with it. It wasn't spiritual energy, he told himself, just the cold of the stone.
Suddenly, a blinding flash of jade-green light erupted from the hilt, throwing Min-jun backward. The air crackled with an energy he had never felt before – ancient, vast, and terrifyingly powerful. The fractures on the hilt glowed with an eerie light, and a deep, resonant voice, like mountains shifting and rivers roaring, echoed not in his ears, but directly in his mind.
"Foolish boy... you finally awakened me."
The voice carried an immense weariness, but also an undeniable authority that made Min-jun's blood run cold. He scrambled back, staring at the glowing hilt with wide, disbelieving eyes.
"Do not fear. I am the remnant of what was. The spirit of the Heaven's Roar. And you, descendant, are the key to my vengeance... and your salvation."
The light pulsed, intensifying, and Min-jun felt an overwhelming pressure, as if the very air was trying to crush him. He gritted his teeth, his vision blurring.
"Tell me, boy," the ancient voice boomed, quieter now, but no less potent, "do you wish for power? Do you wish for revenge against those who cast your lineage into ruin? Or will you let your clan's legacy die with your futile efforts?"
Min-jun, panting, felt a rush of emotions: fear, shock, but beneath it all, a surge of desperate hope. The humiliation, the yearning for strength, the burning desire to prove them all wrong... it all coalesced into a single, trembling word.
"Yes...