The ancient staircase exhaled cold air, as if the mountain itself were breathing.
When Zhou Yu stepped into the darkness, a soft hum rippled through the stone walls. Ling padded beside him with careful steps, fur raised, every instinct sharpened. The wolf could sense what mortal senses could not—the dormant sword intent woven into every block of stone around them.
Behind them, Feng Lian descended with a steady composure that barely concealed her racing heartbeat. Liang Chen followed, limping but resolute, while Han Xiang and Su Mei stayed close together at the rear, gripping each other's sleeves.
The moment the stone door sealed shut behind them—
The world went silent.
No wind.
No echo.
No light.
Only darkness so complete that even Su Mei's healing glow failed to penetrate it.
Han Xiang swallowed hard. "I can't… see anything."
"Don't panic," Feng Lian said, though her own voice shook. "Stay close to each other."
A faint clink of metal echoed—Zhou Yu drawing a finger across the air.
Silver light burst to life, gathering at his fingertip like a miniature star. The glow expanded until it illuminated the staircase in a cold, ethereal white.
Han Xiang exhaled in relief. "Master… thank the heavens…"
Zhou Yu didn't reply.
His expression was unreadable, eyes focused on something far beyond mortal perception.
"This place…" Feng Lian whispered. "It feels alive."
Zhou Yu nodded slightly.
"It is."
The staircase descended for hundreds of meters, straight into the earth's depths. Sword marks covered the walls—thin, sharp, precise. Each mark radiated faint sword intent so ancient that even Zhou Yu felt his heartbeat steadying in response.
Liang Chen reached out, hesitant, brushing his fingers against one of the sword marks.
A jolt of power raced through him.
He staggered back, clutching his chest. "Wh—what was that?!"
Feng Lian grabbed his arm. "Liang Chen!"
Zhou Yu answered without looking back.
"These are the Sword Saint's practice marks. Even a single touch would overwhelm a Bronze Core cultivator. Next time, don't touch anything unless I tell you."
"Y-yes, Master…" Liang Chen whispered, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
They continued descending until the staircase opened into a vast cavern illuminated by floating white flames.
Each flame hovered above a stone pedestal carved with ancient characters.
Su Mei gasped. "These… are soul lanterns."
Zhou Yu nodded.
"The lanterns that guard the sleeping heritage of the sect."
Han Xiang swallowed nervously. "Then… this is really… the Sword Saint's tomb?"
Zhou Yu's gaze swept across the cavern.
"No. This is only the outer sanctum."
The disciples stiffened.
Only the outer sanctum?
If this was merely the entrance…what lay ahead?
Zhou Yu continued walking until the cavern opened into a massive hall.
At its center stood a giant bronze door—over ten meters tall—etched with a single sword.
A sword that radiated pressure so immense that even Ling lowered himself to the ground, whimpering.
Zhou Yu approached the door slowly.
"This is the entrance to the Sword Saint's Inheritance Vault."
He placed a single hand upon the bronze surface.
The sword etched into it flared with blinding light.
For a breath, the entire cavern vibrated—resonating with a hum deep enough to shake the bones.
Then—
BOOM.
The door split open.
Dust billowed into the air in slow, solemn waves.
And beyond the doorway lay darkness even deeper than before.
But not empty darkness.
Living darkness.
Awake darkness.
"Stay close," Zhou Yu said calmly. "We begin the first trial."
As they stepped in, the torches lining the walls ignited one by one, lighting the vast chamber in a pale, cold glow.
Feng Lian's breath hitched.
Even Zhou Yu felt a faint thrum of nostalgia he didn't recognize.
Because the chamber was immense—larger than the entire sect courtyard above. And embedded in the walls, floor, and ceiling…
…were swords.
Not dozens.
Not hundreds.
Millions.
Black swords.
Silver swords.
Broken swords.
Rusted swords.
Pristine swords glowing faintly.
Every inch of the chamber was covered by blades.
Han Xiang stumbled backward. "This… this is impossible. How can there be so many?!"
"They aren't real," Zhou Yu replied. "These are sword shadows—imprints left by the Sword Saint's techniques."
He raised his hand.
A ripple passed through the chamber.
Thousands of swords trembled in their stone slots, humming like bees.
"The first trial," Zhou Yu said, "is the Trial of Fifty Million Blades."
Feng Lian inhaled sharply. "Master… fifty million?!"
"Yes."
Liang Chen's legs trembled.
Han Xiang's face turned paper white.
But Zhou Yu remained calm.
"You don't need to defeat them. The trial is not about strength. It is about resonance."
He pointed at his chest.
"At your heart. Your intent. Your resolve."
Suddenly—
BOOM.
The first sword shot free from the wall, streaking across the chamber faster than sound.
Liang Chen yelped and ducked.
But the sword flew past him and hovered before Zhou Yu.
A single ancient blade, invisible to all except by its intent.
Zhou Yu tapped it.
The sword shattered into motes of light.
The next blade flew.
Then another.
Then a dozen.
Then hundreds.
Each blade tested his disciples—not their bodies, but their spirits. The blades approached, not to kill, but to judge. Those with hesitation would be repelled violently.
Han Xiang screamed as a sword shot toward him—only to stop a hair from his forehead.
The blade trembled.
Then gently touched him.
Hum…
It accepted him.
Su Mei gasped as another sword approached her. This one radiated warmth.
It hovered…studied…and bowed before her chest.
Then dissolved.
Liang Chen stood frozen as hundreds of blades flew through the air.
None touched him.
None approached.
He lowered his head, shame crushing his chest.
Am I not worthy?
But then—
A single rusted sword stirred.
It scraped free from the stone with painful slowness, dragging itself through the air like a wounded beast.
It reached Liang Chen.
Paused.
Trembled.
Liang Chen's eyes widened as tears formed.
"…You accept me…?"
The sword dissolved into his palm.
Liang Chen choked on a single breath.
Feng Lian had her own trial—a glowing white sword approached her quietly, humming as if greeting an old friend.
Her breath caught.
But the sword bypassed her.
And instead flew to Zhou Yu.
She froze.
The rejection struck deep.
But Zhou Yu placed a hand on her shoulder.
"That sword belonged to the Sect's first Frost Sword Fairy," he said gently. "It is not your sword. Your sword has not awakened yet."
Feng Lian's eyes trembled—but she nodded.
The Trial continued.
More blades flew from the walls—hundreds, then thousands, then tens of thousands—swirling through the chamber like a metal storm.
Yet none struck the disciples.
Instead, the blades began circling Zhou Yu.
The air vibrated.
Even Ling crawled backward and lowered himself completely.
Han Xiang held his breath.
Su Mei covered her mouth.
Because—
Every sword in the chamber…trembled.
Not in fear.
In reverence.
"What… what is happening…?" Liang Chen whispered.
Feng Lian's eyes widened.
"He is resonating… with all of them."
Zhou Yu stood at the chamber's center, silent and still, as millions of sword shadows responded to his presence.
The walls hummed.
The stone cracked.
The chamber itself awakened.
Han Xiang whispered, voice cracking, "This… this isn't normal. Not even a Sword Emperor could—"
"That's because he is not a Sword Emperor," Feng Lian murmured.
She stared at Zhou Yu, trembling.
"He is the successor of the Sword Saint."
Zhou Yu raised a single finger.
Sword intent surged through the chamber—calm yet overwhelming, ancient yet reborn.
Every sword bent toward him.
Every blade recognized him.
Zhou Yu whispered:
"Return."
Millions of swords dissolved into light.
And streaked toward him—
Not to harm him.
But to be absorbed.
To acknowledge.
To awaken something within him that had slept for ten thousand years.
Zhou Yu's body trembled for the first time.
His pupils shifted—silver rings forming around them.
Sword intent swelled until even the mountain itself groaned.
Liang Chen felt tears prick his eyes.
"Master… is awakening."
Feng Lian whispered:
"Not awakening."
She knelt.
"We are witnessing the birth of a Sword King."
When the last sword faded, one blade remained.
A single silver sword embedded in the air, floating before Zhou Yu.
Unlike the others, this sword did not hum or tremble.
This sword… watched.
Zhou Yu inhaled softly.
"That is the Sword Saint's trial blade."
He reached out—
The sword moved.
Not toward him.
Toward Feng Lian.
She froze.
The blade hung before her, point inches from her throat.
Liang Chen gasped. "Feng Lian!"
But the blade did not threaten.
It judged.
It probed her heart.
Her resolve.
Her future.
Her destiny.
Feng Lian closed her eyes.
Her voice was quiet.
"I am not worthy," she whispered. "Not yet. But I will be."
The sword trembled.
And withdrew.
Then turned—
—back to Zhou Yu.
He touched the hilt.
The blade dissolved into his body like a falling star.
And all light vanished.
When sight returned, they were no longer in the Trial Chamber.
They stood in a grand hall lined with ancient murals depicting the rise of the Heavenly Sword Sect—its glories, its wars, its fall during the Great Cataclysm.
A stone pedestal stood in the center.
On it rested a jade tablet radiating soft warmth.
Zhou Yu approached.
"This," he said quietly, "is the heart of the Sword Saint's inheritance."
Feng Lian, Liang Chen, Su Mei, and Han Xiang held their breath.
Zhou Yu lifted the tablet.
The jade glowed.
And a voice—ancient, powerful, exhausted—filled the hall.
"Descendant of my sword.
The time has come.
The Blood Moon rises again."