Back at the grand Han Family Hall, the air was heavy with tension and whispers. Golden lanterns lined the marble pillars, casting trembling reflections over the crowd gathered below. The elders of the Sword Shandian Sect stood in a perfect circle at the center, their long silver robes rippling slightly with the faint breeze that moved through the open ceiling.
At the heart of that circle stood Han Zhanjian, his figure calm but his pulse pounding under his ribs. The hall, usually a place of feasts and family gatherings, had turned into a sanctum of judgment. Hundreds of servants lined the outer walls, their hands clasped tightly before them, their voices trembling with soft murmurs.
"Will Young Master Zhanjian awaken it?" one whispered.
"I heard that if one possesses the Sword Eyes, even the heavens would tremble," another murmured.
"Han Zukong failed earlier. If the youngest doesn't have it either, the Han Family might lose the sect's favor," a servant said in a worried tone.
