The training ground was silent except for the sound of steel striking wood.
Han Wei-Lin staggered, sweat streaming down his face as he swung the practice sword with trembling arms. Each swing felt heavier than the last. His breath came in ragged bursts, chest burning, vision swimming. Around him, the academy's morning sun illuminated dozens of other students training in neat rows—polished, perfect, their movements sharp and fluid.
And then there was him. Clumsy. Shaking. Weak.
Clang!
The wooden blade slipped from his grip and hit the ground. A snicker rippled from a group nearby.
"Still dropping your sword, Wei-Lin? You're hopeless."
"Why is he even here? Waste of space."
The words cut deeper than any blade. Wei-Lin clenched his fists, staring at the dirt. He wanted to shout back, but what good would it do? They weren't wrong.
But deep inside, beneath the ache and humiliation, something stirred.
A whisper.
Pick it up.
His chest tightened. The memory of the cavern rushed back: the beast's claw tearing into him, the shadows swirling, the black blade pulsing like a heartbeat in his hand. It had whispered then too. That same eerie, magnetic voice.
Pick it up, and they will kneel.
Wei-Lin shuddered, blinking hard. When he looked down, it wasn't the wooden training sword he saw lying there. For just a flicker, it was the black blade—gleaming, hungry, coiling with dark energy.
He stumbled back. His breathing quickened.
"You okay, Wei-Lin?"
He turned. Liang Zhi-Hao, calm as ever, stood behind him. The mentor's sharp eyes studied him, not unkindly.
Wei-Lin forced a nod. "Y-yeah. Just… tired."
Zhi-Hao crouched, picking up the wooden blade and handing it back. "You've been different lately. Since the cavern trial." His gaze narrowed slightly. "Something happened down there, didn't it?"
Wei-Lin froze. His throat tightened. He wanted to confess, to spill everything—the whispers, the shadow's power, the black blade that seemed alive. But fear clamped his tongue shut. What if they cast him out? What if they branded him cursed?
"…Nothing happened," he lied.
Zhi-Hao studied him for a long, heavy moment. Then he smiled faintly, as if he could see through the lie but chose not to press. "Keep training. Even the weakest stone can sharpen into a blade, given time."
He turned and walked away.
Wei-Lin exhaled shakily. His grip on the wooden sword tightened.
The whispers chuckled in his mind.
That night, Wei-Lin crept out of the dormitories, unable to sleep. The training fields were empty, moonlight spilling across the stone tiles. He carried the wooden blade in one hand, but his other hand twitched as if it already grasped the black sword.
He raised the wooden blade. Swung. Again. Again. Faster. Harder.
His arms screamed in protest, lungs burning, body begging him to stop. But the whisper goaded him on.
More. Faster. Break yourself, and be reborn.
Wei-Lin grit his teeth, tears pricking his eyes. "Shut up…" he hissed, swinging until the wood cracked in his hands. He collapsed to his knees, gasping.
And then, in the corner of his vision—shadows moved.
They stretched unnaturally long, twisting along the stone tiles until they formed the shape of a blade lying before him. Black. Waiting.
His heart pounded. His hands trembled. Slowly, almost against his will, he reached out. His fingers closed around empty air… yet he felt the weight. The impossible cold.
The black blade.
It pulsed once, sending a shiver racing up his arm.
A sudden rush of qi flared nearby.
"Who's there?!"
Wei-Lin spun, clutching the shadow-blade instinctively. From the academy's gate, three older students strode forward. Their uniforms bore golden trims—upper disciples. Strong. Experienced. Smirking.
"Well, look what we found," one sneered. "The weakest rat sneaking out at night. What are you doing, Wei-Lin? Practicing to fail harder?"
Another laughed. "Maybe we should teach him what real strength feels like."
Wei-Lin's mouth went dry. His hands shook. He wanted to run—but the whispers surged like fire in his skull.
Fight. Cut them down. Show them your worth.
The three advanced, drawing gleaming steel.
Wei-Lin swallowed. His body moved on instinct.
The first strike came—swift, aimed at his shoulder. Wei-Lin raised the black blade. Metal met shadow with a hiss, sparks flying. The disciple staggered back, eyes wide.
"What—what weapon is that?!"
Wei-Lin barely heard. His body was alive, movements faster, sharper. The second disciple lunged; Wei-Lin sidestepped, blade flashing. A streak of darkness carved across the stone where the strike should have landed.
The whispers roared. More! Cut deeper!
The third came from behind. Wei-Lin twisted, parried, and with a burst of unnatural speed, disarmed him. The boy's sword clattered across the tiles.
All three stepped back, breathing hard, fear in their eyes.
Wei-Lin stared at his own hands, the shadowy blade vibrating in his grip. He hadn't thought—he had moved. As if the sword knew what to do. As if it had chosen for him.
The disciples exchanged uneasy glances. "Tch. Forget this." They retreated, vanishing into the night.
Wei-Lin fell to his knees, chest heaving. The blade pulsed once more, proud, hungry.
He dropped it. The shadow melted into nothing, leaving only his trembling hands.
"What… what am I becoming?" he whispered.
Far away, in a fortress that hovered above storm clouds, Qin Xi opened his crimson eyes.
A circle of kneeling subordinates awaited his command. Heroes, sages, generals—all broken, bent, loyal only through fear.
"My lord," one said, forehead pressed to the floor. "A fluctuation was detected. A power unlike the others. It stirred within the academy."
Qin Xi leaned back on his throne, shadows writhing around him like serpents. His lips curved into the faintest smile.
"A seed dares sprout in my world?" His voice was silk and thunder. "Then let it grow. I wish to see how tall it stands before I cut it down."
His will swept outward, a wave of crushing authority. Dozens of heroes across the continent felt it—knees buckling, hearts seizing, some collapsing lifeless on the spot.
Qin Xi rose, his presence blotting out the very stars above the fortress.
"This world belongs to me. And any who resist…" His eyes glowed brighter, crimson flames licking at their edges.
"…will be erased."
Wei-Lin woke the next morning drenched in sweat, the echo of whispers still clawing at his mind. He stared at his trembling hands, knowing one truth more certain than ever:
He could no longer hide.
Something had awakened in him. Something dangerous.
And sooner or later, it would draw Qin Xi's gaze.