Snow blanketed the thatched roofs of Windcloud Village, a humble place forgotten by sects and spared by wars. Chickens pecked at frozen earth, children chased each other through the cold mist, and smoke curled lazily from cracked chimneys. To the villagers, life here was simple—survival, one breath at a time.
At the edge of the village, a boy sat alone by a frozen stream. His dark brown hair brushed past his shoulders, his red eyes half-hidden beneath his bangs. His reflection on the ice was calm, but behind that calm shimmered something… restless.
Xiao Wang, fifteen years old. The boy everyone mocked.
"Hey, Waste Wang!" a voice jeered.
He turned his head slowly as three older teens approached, laughter trailing behind them like smoke.
The leader, Han Yu, smirked. "Still meditating, huh? Maybe if you sit there for a thousand years, you'll break through to the Qi Stage!"
The others roared with laughter.
Xiao Wang didn't reply. He just wiped the frost from his fingers and stood, dusting off his tattered robes. The chill wind bit through the holes in his sleeves, but his face remained unreadable.
Han Yu snorted. "Acting cool again, huh? You really think you're some kind of hidden expert?"
He stepped closer, shoving Xiao Wang's shoulder. "Your father's a beggar, your mother's sick, and your sister's half-starved! How's it feel, 'genius'?"
A fist clenched—Xiao Wang's, trembling slightly. For years, he'd endured. For years, he'd swallowed every insult.
But today… something inside him stirred. A faint whisper, deep in his chest, like an echo of another lifetime.
"Pride is not arrogance. It is the weight of what you were meant to be."
He exhaled slowly. "Move."
Han Yu blinked. "What did you say?"
"I said—move."
The boy's voice wasn't loud, but something about it carried… weight. For a second, Han Yu hesitated. Then he grinned. "You dare talk back?"
The next moment, Han Yu's fist swung—straight into Xiao Wang's face.
Thud.
The blow sent him sprawling into the snow. Blood trickled from his lip. He didn't fight back. Not yet.
Han Yu laughed. "See, everyone? Windcloud's greatest waste—flat on his back again!"
Laughter echoed through the village square. Even the elders watching nearby shook their heads.
"Poor boy. Can't even gather Qi at fifteen."
"His sister's the only reason he hasn't starved."
Xiao Wang slowly stood, wiping blood from his lip. His crimson eyes glinted faintly under the fading sun, like dying embers waiting for wind.
Han Yu snorted. "Don't glare at me, Waste. You think you're some legendary hero?"
He raised his hand again—but before the strike landed, a young girl darted forward and grabbed Han Yu's arm.
"Stop it!" she shouted. "Brother Wang didn't do anything!"
It was Su Lin, Xiao Wang's younger sister—or so he thought. Her clothes were patched, her cheeks red from cold, but her eyes burned with courage far larger than her small frame.
Han Yu frowned. "Tch. Always playing hero for your useless brother?"
He pushed her aside. Xiao Wang caught her before she fell, his expression still unreadable.
"Let's go," he murmured.
Su Lin's eyes welled with tears. "Brother, you can't just—"
"Not now."
They walked away under the villagers' mocking gazes, toward the small wooden hut they called home.
That night, Su Lin sat by their flickering fire, patching Xiao Wang's torn sleeve.
"You can't let them keep hurting you, Brother. You're not weak."
Xiao Wang smiled faintly. "Strength isn't just fists, Lin."
"But…" Her lips trembled. "Don't you want to prove them wrong?"
He looked into the fire. Its glow danced across his eyes—crimson, faintly luminous.
"Someday," he whispered. "But not by their measure."
Outside, the wind howled. Snow swirled like ghosts over the mountains.
The next morning, Windcloud Village was alive with excitement. The Ironblood Sect had arrived—a small cultivation sect that recruited disciples once every decade.
Hope filled the air.
"Maybe this time, my son will be chosen!"
"Ha! Not if your boy can't even lift a sword!"
The crowd gathered at the village square, where a middle-aged cultivator in black robes stood beside a glowing orb—the Testing Stone.
Han Yu stepped forward first. He pressed his palm against it, and the stone glowed with steady blue light.
"Mid-Stage Qi Refining. Potential: High."
Applause followed.
Next came others—some dim glows, some bright. And then, it was Xiao Wang's turn.
The cultivator frowned. "You may try."
Xiao Wang placed his palm against the orb.
Nothing happened.
A full ten seconds passed. The orb remained dim, lifeless.
The cultivator sighed. "No spirit roots detected. Unfit for cultivation."
Laughter erupted around him. "Hahaha! Even the Testing Stone thinks he's trash!"
"Didn't he say he'd surprise us this year?"
Xiao Wang withdrew his hand silently. His fingers were trembling—not from anger, but from the same cold emptiness that had haunted him for years.
"Wait!" Su Lin cried. "There must be a mistake!"
The cultivator shook his head. "No mistake, little girl. Heaven gives and takes as it pleases."
The humiliation stung deeper than the snow.
That evening, as the moon rose, Xiao Wang stood alone at the edge of the Forbidden Forest—a place whispered to be filled with ancient beasts and deadly miasma.
"Brother, don't!" Su Lin begged, tears streaking her cheeks. "They say no one who enters comes back!"
He smiled softly, placing a hand on her head. "Then I'll be the first."
"But why?"
He turned toward the forest. The moonlight caught his red eyes, making them gleam like molten glass.
"To prove—to myself—that I'm not nothing."
And without another word, he stepped into the darkness.
Deep within the forest, roars echoed. Trees twisted, shadows moved like living things. Xiao Wang's breath came heavy, his pulse pounding. He clutched the rusted dagger he'd brought from home.
A monstrous roar split the night—a Crimsonmane Tiger, its eyes glowing like molten coals. Its aura was suffocating, easily at Golden Core Stage.
"Just one strike," Xiao Wang muttered. "If I can land one strike—"
The tiger lunged.
He rolled aside, slashing at its flank—but his blade barely left a scratch. The monster's claw ripped through his arm, blood spraying across the roots.
Pain exploded. He fell to one knee, vision blurring.
So this is it… I really am worthless.
As the beast pounced, something deep within him pulsed—two lights awakening in unison.
A sword-shaped spark, buried in his heart since birth, flared with golden-red light.
And beside it, a devouring black orb spun into existence, humming with hunger.
The air trembled. The tiger froze mid-lunge, eyes wide with terror.
Then, with a sound like shattering glass, the sword-light shot forth—piercing the beast's skull in a single flash. The black orb followed, swallowing the monster's body, energy, and even memories.
The forest fell silent.
Xiao Wang collapsed, gasping, his wounds knitting together before his eyes. A flood of energy surged through his veins—familiar, powerful, intoxicating.
And then, a voice—his own voice, yet not—echoed in his mind:
"Heaven may betray me. Earth may forsake me. But my sword—my sword will never kneel."
Xiao Wang opened his eyes. The crimson glow within them deepened.
His lips curved into a faint smile.
"After all these years…" he whispered, gazing at his hands. "I've finally found you."
The Sword Emperor… had returned.