Far above Willow Creek Village, two figures crossed the heavens like streaks of lightning. They moved so quickly that even a cultivator watching from the ground would have mistaken them for natural phenomena—if not for the distortions their battle left behind. Each clash sent invisible ripples across the sky, spreading for hundreds of miles before fading into nothingness.
The battle had already raged for three days.
Neither man intended to retreat.
The older of the two wore flowing robes the colour of moonlight.
Though torn in dozens of places, the robes remained impossibly clean, untouched by the blood flowing freely from the wounds beneath them. His long white hair streamed behind him as he retreated through the clouds with measured steps, every movement carrying the elegance of someone who had spent centuries mastering the sword.
In his hand rested a blade unlike any forged by mortal craftsmen.
Its edge was silver.
Its spine was black.
Between those two colours flowed countless streams of pale light that intertwined endlessly like the eternal dance of yin and yang.
Around the sword, the surrounding space rippled continuously, unable to withstand the pressure radiating from the weapon.
It was not merely a sword.
It possessed a spirit.
Even after countless exchanges, it continued to hum softly, as though urging its master to continue fighting.
The old man gently ran a thumb across its hilt.
"You've stayed with me for nearly two thousand years," he murmured. "Forgive this old friend for dragging you into one final battle."
The sword answered with a quiet chime.
A faint smile appeared on the old man's weathered face.
Several hundred metres away, another figure emerged from the swirling clouds.
Unlike the composed swordsman, this cultivator radiated overwhelming violence.
His crimson robes billowed behind him despite the absence of wind, while black spiritual flames danced across his body like living serpents.
His eyes glowed a deep scarlet.
Each step he took left cracks suspended in the air itself before they slowly healed.
His aura rolled outward in suffocating waves. Clouds collapsed beneath it, and the surrounding spiritual energy withdrew as though afraid to draw near.
He laughed.
The sound rolled across the heavens like distant thunder.
"Old Man Xi."
His voice carried neither anger nor hatred.
Only certainty.
"You've grown weaker."
The swordsman sighed faintly.
The man in crimson raised the enormous black spear resting upon his shoulder.
The weapon was crude in appearance.
No elaborate carvings adorned its shaft.
No jewels decorated its blade.
Yet the instant it pointed toward Old Man Xi, the surrounding spiritual energy retreated as though instinctively avoiding it.
Xi studied him in silence.
Neither cultivator moved.
Clouds drifted silently between them.
The world below remained blissfully unaware that two beings capable of destroying kingdoms stood poised to clash once more.
Then—
The heavens exploded.
Old Man Xi vanished.
No.
He had moved so quickly that even the clouds remained frozen where he had stood.
The silver blade swept through the sky in a perfect arc.
A river of sword light followed.
Mountains far below trembled.
Thousands of birds scattered in panic.
The man in crimson met the attack head-on.
His spear thrust forward.
Black and silver collided.
The resulting shockwave erased every cloud within a thousand miles.
Sunlight flooded the heavens.
Space cracked like shattered glass before slowly repairing itself.
The two cultivators separated once more.
Old Man Xi slid backwards several hundred metres before finally stopping.
Blood dripped slowly from the corner of his mouth.
The man in crimson fared little better.
A deep sword wound stretched across his chest, refusing to heal despite the vast amount of spiritual energy continuously flowing toward it.
He glanced down. "Why refuse to hand it over?"
His gaze fell upon the jade pill bottle secured within Xi's sleeve.
Although barely the size of a thumb...
Its surface shimmered with ancient runes that seemed older than time itself.
His eyes filled with naked greed.
Xi sighed.
"It seems you've forgotten."
"Forgotten what?"
"Our agreement."
The man's expression stiffened.
Xi continued calmly.
"When we discovered the ancient ruin, neither of us knew what awaited inside."
"We both agreed..."
"...that I would choose first this time."
Silence.
The wind swept gently between them.
Xi looked directly into the other cultivator's eyes. "I want nothing else. I choose the pill."
The other man's face darkened.
"But the moment you saw what was inside that bottle..."
"...your heart changed."
The man's fingers slowly tightened around the hilt of his spear.
His gaze lingered upon the jade bottle.
Greed flickered once more.
"If that treasure were ordinary," the crimson-robed cultivator said, raising his spear, "you would not be willing to die for it. Hand it over peacefully, and I may leave your corpse intact. Refuse, and I will hang your body from the highest peak for eighty-one days."
His expression hardened.
"Opportunities like this appear only once in countless lifetimes. I'm sorry, Xi. I cannot let you leave."
Xi glanced at the jade bottle hidden within his sleeve.
Then he smiled.
"I know."
The crimson cultivator's eyes narrowed.
Xi tightened his grip around the Yin-Yang Sword. Its spirit answered with a low, mournful hum.
"Better jade shattered than humiliated," Xi murmured.
He lunged.
The crimson cultivator thrust his spear, expecting Xi to meet him head-on. Instead, Xi allowed the weapon to pierce his chest and continued forward until the two cultivators stood less than a handspan apart.
A cruel smile touched his lips.
"Then let us end this together."
His spiritual core exploded.
BOOM!
A storm of energy ripped through the crimson cultivator, who had not expected Xi to sacrifice himself. The explosion engulfed them both.
When the storm finally subsided, both cultivators had vanished. Their bodies had been reduced to ash, their souls scattered, and their names erased from the world.
Yet something remained.
The Yin-Yang Sword shattered beneath the force of the explosion. Its physical form was destroyed, but a fragment of its spirit remained.
At the same moment, the jade pill bottle cracked. Ancient energy erupted from within, wrapping around the surviving fragment and dragging it into the centre of the blast.
Sword spirit and pill essence fused within the heart of the explosion.
Something neither Heaven nor Earth had ever witnessed was born.
When the explosion faded, only a single droplet remained—no larger than a grain of rice.
It broke through the clouds and began to fall—silently at first, then faster and faster.
Through layers of mist.
Past startled birds.
Past the mountaintops.
Toward a village too insignificant to appear on most maps.
Toward a boy standing before an Awakening Crystal.
It passed effortlessly through the roof of the ceremonial pavilion.
Through layers of protective formations.
And pierced the unsuspecting Mo Xuan directly between the brows.
Mo Xuan's body jolted violently, as though struck by heavenly lightning.
Runist Zhao's eyes widened.
The crystal beneath Mo Xuan's palm began trembling.
Its once-calm light erupted violently.
"What—"
He never finished speaking.
Pain detonated in his skull as he screamed.
This pain defied comparison.
It exploded through every part of his body simultaneously, as though countless white-hot blades had pierced his flesh, shattered his bones, and burrowed deep into his soul.
His scream echoed across the ceremonial courtyard.
The Awakening Crystal erupted.
A blinding pillar of silver light shot into the heavens, forcing everyone nearby to shield their eyes. Ancient runes carved into the jade platform flared brilliantly before cracking one after another with sharp, deafening reports.
Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
Spiderweb fractures spread rapidly across the surface of the crystal.
BOOM! The Awakening Crystal exploded.
Runist Zhao's expression changed instantly.
"Impossible!"
He lunged forward without hesitation, spiritual energy surging from his body as he attempted to stabilise the awakening formation.
The moment his hand touched the crystal—
A violent force exploded outward.
Boom!
Runist Zhao was thrown backwards several metres, crashing heavily into the edge of the platform before finally stopping. Blood surged into his throat, and he forcibly swallowed it, his face pale with disbelief.
"What... what power is this?"
The courtyard descended into chaos.
"Mo Xuan!"
Mo Kang reacted even faster.
He reached the platform in only a few strides.
Yet before he could touch his son—
Runist Zhao raised a trembling hand.
"Don't!"
Mo Kang froze.
The old cultivator slowly climbed to his feet, his breathing uneven.
Blood slowly trickled from the centre of Mo Xuan's forehead.
One drop.
Then another.
The crimson liquid fell onto the cracked jade platform.
The instant it landed—
Thin lines appeared across the stone.
Not cracks.
Cuts.
Perfectly straight.
As though an invisible sword had sliced through solid jade without resistance.
Runist Zhao's pupils contracted violently.
"Sword intent..."
His voice barely escaped his lips.
"No..."
"...that cannot be."
Only the lingering presence of an intent so pure that it had carved through the jade remained.
Impossible.
Absolutely impossible.
Mo Kang no longer cared about explanations.
His entire world had narrowed to the small figure standing motionless before the crystal.
Mo Kang seized Runist Zhao by the shoulders.
"Tell me what is happening to my son!"
Runist Zhao looked toward Mo Xuan.
For the first time in decades, fear appeared in his eyes.
"I don't know."
The words fell into the silence.
Runist Zhao had presided over more than three hundred Awakening Ceremonies. He had witnessed rare souls, failed awakenings, and violent spiritual backlash.
He had never seen anything like this.