Beneath the fiery twin suns of Equinox, a realm governed by sheer strength and unyielding power, the air was thick with tension. Warriors from every corner of the vast world gathered, their numbers stretching into the billions.
Each was a master in their own right, a titan of skill and resolve. The ground beneath their feet trembled under the collective weight of their presence, a reminder of the sheer scale of the coming conflict.
This was Equinox—a world shaped by perpetual struggle, where martial prowess elevated its champions to godlike heights, and the merciless cycle of survival claimed all who faltered.
Amidst this ceaseless storm of ambition and violence stood a single figure, a stark contrast to the dazzling spectacle around him. The Wraithblade Sentinel—Dan Kyroin.
Clad not in radiant armour or wielding ostentatious weapons, he bore only a weathered Taoist robe. His very existence seemed at odds with the grandiosity of the warriors arrayed against him, yet the quiet air around him demanded reverence. And amongst them, stood the Sword Saint—Yoon Jun.
Yoon Jun's gaze was unwavering as he stood among the legions. The blazing suns above reflected off his polished armour, accentuating the sharpness of his features—his chiselled jawline, the piercing gaze, and the calm confidence that radiated from his every move.
He was the quintessential hero, the kind of man stories were written about: strong, resolute, and destined for greatness.
Yet, as his eyes locked onto the figure of Dan Kyroin, doubt crept into the edges of his thoughts. Something was unsettling about the Sentinel.
Despite his unassuming appearance, the air around him seemed to ripple with an invisible force, a presence so oppressive it silenced even the bravest of hearts.
Yoon Jun tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white. He had joined this campaign with certainty in his purpose—to rid the world of this ancient evil.
But now, standing in the Sentinel's shadow, he couldn't shake the gnawing question in the back of his mind: "What kind of monster stood before him to resolve billions of masters to orchestrate this murderous Theatre of Death?"
To Yoon Jun, the sheer imbalance of it all felt like a cruel cosmic joke. Yet, amidst the turmoil of his thoughts, a peculiar sensation made itself known—a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. He blinked, bewildered. 'Why am I perspiring now?'
He wasn't the sort to be easily shaken.
His gaze swept over the assembly of warriors, each one a towering presence in the realm of power. Hundreds of Transcendental-level masters, including himself, stood firm in their ranks.
These people had transcended mortality, breaking the shackles of human frailty and standing on the precipice of becoming Celestials. They were unbound by the constraints of the world, paragons of mastery and enlightenment.
Yet there, in stark contrast, stood the Wraithblade Sentinel. A Nirvana-level master—a full step beneath Transcendental—who lacked allies, divine relics, or even the simplest protection of armour.
Clad in a threadbare robe, with nothing but his aura to defend him, he seemed utterly out of place amidst this unparalleled might. And yet...
'Why does he look so serene?' Yoon Jun couldn't tear his eyes away from the calm that radiated from the Sentinel. It was almost disconcerting, like staring into the eye of a storm.
This wasn't Yoon Jun's first encounter with the Wraith-blade. For centuries, the name had struck fear into orthodox and unorthodox factions alike. A demon, they called him—a scourge upon the land who had wrought chaos and destruction for over 1,500 years.
Despite being bound to the Nirvana realm, the Sentinel had somehow achieved immortality. Many once believed he was destined to break through to the Celestial level, paving a path that others might follow. But fate, it seemed, had been cruel.
"He couldn't achieve Transcendence."
Theories abounded. Some whispered of a curse, others of divine punishment. Whatever the truth, his failure had reportedly driven him to madness. Wrath consumed him, and his rage left a trail of devastation in its wake.
Villages and Cities were reduced to ash, alliances were shattered, and even the strongest among both orthodox and unorthodox factions had been helpless to stop him.
Today, however, was meant to be different. Today was the day of reckoning.
United in purpose, the mightiest forces of Equinox had gathered, determined to put an end to the Wraithblade Sentinel. Yet as Yoon Jun looked upon the solitary figure, a quiet thought crept into his mind—a doubt he dared not voice: "Can even all of us truly bring him down?"
No, hesitation had no place here, nor did regret. Yoon Jun clenched his jaw and shook his head, banishing the creeping uncertainty from his mind. The tension that gripped him seemed to ripple through the assembled warriors, a sentiment shared by all.
"DAN KYORIN! TODAY IS THE DAY YOU DIE!"
The thunderous declaration rang out from Jian Hu, master of the Myriad Palace. His voice carried across the battlefield like the toll of a war drum, stirring even the faintest flickers of resolve among the ranks.
Yet Dan Kyorin, standing at the epicentre of this immense gathering, remained unfazed. His eyes, still closed, showed no sign of opening to acknowledge the threat. Instead of cowering or responding with venom, he posed a single, biting question, his voice calm yet cutting: "You alone?"
The words, laden with mockery, hung in the air. Jian Hu's face twisted in irritation as he clicked his tongue. "Open your eyes! Your death has come!" he bellowed.
At that, Dan Kyorin finally opened his eyes.
A piercing gaze swept over the battlefield, meeting the eyes of those who had come to end him. It was no ordinary look—it cut through the bravado and pride of even the most hardened warriors. One by one, those who met his gaze felt a chill crawl down their spines, a gnawing dread that they dared not admit.
"Heh." A low, sneering laugh escaped Kyorin's lips. His voice carried a faint trace of amusement, but beneath it lay a profound weight. "A tranquil life, free from conflict and desire, is often sought by those who claim to pursue the greater truths."
His gaze shifted towards the Transcendentals, his tone growing sharper. "But you... You're still far from realizing those truths. Had you sought harder, you might have grasped it. Instead, you indulge in this meaningless conflict."
To his provocation, a chilly scoff echoed through the expanse: "Meaningless?!"
The scoff came from Hu Li, the Esteemed Lady of the Frozen Naraka. She was a vision of unorthodox elegance, her beauty as chilling as the frost she wielded. Known for her mastery over ice so absolute it could halt the sun itself, she was as deadly as she was alluring.
"We have arrived here for a noble cause," she said coldly, her voice unwavering. "We're here to bring justice."
"Hahaha!" An amused Dan Kyorin's laughter echoed across the field, this time louder, more derisive. "Justice? Since when did the unorthodox crown themselves as arbiters of justice?"
His sneer deepened as he turned his eyes on the crowd once more. "And you—any of you—who are you to pass judgment on me? Only I and my karma have the right to judge my actions."
"Then we are your karma!"
The shout came from Yoon Jun, his voice ringing with conviction as he unsheathed his blade. Its edge gleamed, pointing straight at Kyorin.
"ATTACK!" Yoon Jun roared, his command igniting the battlefield into chaos...
.
.
.
Amidst the blood-soaked battlefield, accompanied by the sound of the wind's waves, a pregnant silence was present, broken only by the laboured breathing of the sword saint.
"Haah... haah..."
The once vibrant sky had given way to the deepening twilight, the horizon painted in hues of crimson and indigo. Darkness descended upon the land like a shroud, veiling the carnage in shadow. The blood-soaked ground gleamed faintly under the last light of the fading sun.
The sword saint, his robes tattered and his body trembling, stood as one of the last figures amidst the destruction. His chest heaved, his breaths ragged and strained, yet his hand still gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.
"M-Monster..." The word escaped his lips, trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and despair.
His gaze was locked onto the lone figure before him—a man draped in a tattered robe, his body marked by burns, frostbite, and countless scars.
Though his appearance seemed pitiful at a glance, there was an unshakable presence about him, a raw and unyielding strength that defied reason.
The scar running down the right side of his face, jagged and deep, lent him a feral, savage edge. Yet his bearing was not that of a beast.
He stood tall, his broad shoulders unbowed, and his form exuded an aura of power that seemed to crush the very air around him.
His navy hair, unruly and windswept, framed his sharp, angular features. Strands fell across his face, partially obscuring the scar, but doing little to soften his intimidating visage.
Then there were his eyes—deep yellow, glowing faintly like twin moons in the dim light. They held an uncanny depth, a mystery that made those who met his gaze feel as though they were peering into an endless void. Despite their brilliance, his eyes remained distant and detached, betraying no hint of emotion.
The sword saint tightened his grip on his blade, his knuckles turning white. Yet, in the pit of his stomach, he knew—it wasn't fatigue that made his knees tremble. It was fear. Fear of the man who stood before him, untouched by the weight of the battle, a spectre of devastation amidst a graveyard of the fallen.
Yet, he had overlooked Dan Kyorin's condition as the monster staggered, his knees buckling slightly, but his gaze remained unnerve. A crimson trickle of blood escaped the corner of his mouth as he coughed violently. His breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps.
"Pft—" He spat blood onto the scorched earth, his lips curling into a faint, tired smirk. Then, his voice, hoarse but steady, broke the tense silence.
"I lost."
The sword saint froze, his trembling subsiding as his brow furrowed in disbelief. His exhaustion-stricken body straightened ever so slightly. "What?"
Dan Kyorin exhaled deeply, the sound carrying the weight of countless battles. "I have nothing left," he admitted, his voice tinged with resignation. "No strength to continue, no power for another blow."
He then raised a hand, weakly gesturing toward Yoon Jun. "And yet, here you stand... still capable of delivering one final strike." The admission hung in the air, as heavy as the devastation surrounding them.
Yoon Jun swallowed hard, his thoughts spiralling. 'If I use that move...' His eyes flickered to his weapon, the once-pristine blade now chipped and worn, barely holding together after the relentless battle. Doubt crept into his heart. 'Will my sword even withstand it?'
Kyorin, as if sensing the turmoil in Yoon Jun's mind, tilted his head slightly, the faint smirk deepening.
With a subtle flick of his wrist, Kyorin conjured a blade, its form emerging from thin air in a glimmer of crimson. The sword was a thing of sinister beauty—its deep red hue shimmered like congealed blood beneath the moonlight, its edge sharp enough to sever the air itself.
The life-seeking sword: Sanguine.
Its reputation preceded it. Legends spoke of the blade as a cursed weapon, one that thrived on the blood of its victims and consumed its wielder's soul with each life it claimed. It had been wielded by warlords, tyrants, and demons throughout history, leaving behind only slaughter in its wake.
Dan Kyorin held it briefly, almost reverently, before his grip slackened, and he flung the weapon through the air.
The sword spun, cutting a perfect arc before embedding itself in the ground at Yoon Jun's feet. Its malevolent aura pulsed faintly, as though alive, and the crimson blade seemed to whisper promises of power.
Yoon Jun stared, wide-eyed and frozen, at the infamous weapon before him. His heart raced as the realization sank in. The Wraithblade Sentinel, the man who had crushed entire armies and stood as an indomitable force for centuries, was surrendering.
Kyorin's gaze burned into Yoon Jun, his ashen eyes unwavering. "Take it," he commanded, his voice quiet but laden with authority. "End the so-called demon who took all you had."
Yoon Jun planted his sword on the ground with deliberate care, as if paying tribute to the countless lives lost on this battlefield. With a steady breath, he reached for Sanguine, its ominous aura pulsing against his palm as he gripped the hilt.
Dan Kyorin smirked faintly, his expression one of grim satisfaction. His voice was calm but edged with finality as he tapped the centre of his chest.
"To make things easier for you, I'll lower my guard completely." Kyorin offered. "Remember, normal strikes won't do. Even with Sanguine, you must strike with the intent to kill. No hesitation."
Yoon Jun tightened his grip, his hands trembling slightly as he took his stance. The weight of the blade felt heavier than its physical mass as if the expectations of generations bore down on him. Kyorin's steady gaze only amplified the pressure.
Phew
Yoon Jun exhaled deeply, calming his mind, focusing every ounce of his strength and resolve into a single, decisive blow. The world around him seemed to blur as he muttered under his breath, "Heavenly Annihilation Strike."
He surged forward with blinding speed, the blade glowing with a radiant intensity as it descended in a perfect arc toward Kyorin's heart.
Clang—Slash.
The strike landed true.
Kyorin staggered, a sickening drip-drip echoing in the silence as blood poured freely from the gaping wound in his chest. The scent of iron filled the air, the viscous crimson staining the earth beneath him.
Yoon Jun fell to his knees, panting as the tension left his body. He turned to see the towering figure before him. Kyorin remained standing, his frame swaying but unbroken. A faint smile graced Jun's lips as he muttered, "My sword reached him."
Kyorin's breaths were ragged, each one dragging him closer to the inevitable. His fingers grazed the wound as blood trickled down his chin. Yet, despite the agony etched on his face, his yellow eyes held a strange peace.
'I kept my promise, Sanguine,' Kyorin communicated, when a voice, ancient and cold, resonated in his mind. 'So you have. Thank you, Master.'
"Sanguine's curse"
It was no mere weapon of destruction—it demanded the life of its wielder to ascend. Having slain one of its most powerful masters, the blade now transcended, its crimson hue deepening into something darker, more potent.
Kyorin's eyes flickered to the gaping wound in his chest, the crimson torrent flowing freely as his body weakened. A smirk tugged at the corners of his bloodied lips, his thoughts muddled yet strangely lucid.
'The curse... those damned Celestials... it's lifted... at last.'
For centuries, his heart had been a prison, shackled by the sins of his past life and the merciless judgment of the heavens. The curse, etched into his very soul, had twisted and tormented him, binding him to an existence of wrath and isolation.
Now, as he felt his strength wane and his life slips away, an unexpected sensation washed over him—a profound, all-encompassing lightness.
Kyorin lowered himself to the blood-soaked ground, his breath slow, his gaze drifting upward to the crimson-streaked sky. For the first time in centuries, his spirit felt unburdened.
Yoon Jun, still kneeling, stared at the Wraithblade Sentinel with a mix of awe and disbelief. The man who had brought destruction and fear to the world now sat before him, vulnerable and human.
Breaking the silence, Kyorin spoke, his voice quiet but firm. "May I know the name of the one who killed me?"
"Yoon Jun," he replied, his voice steady despite the chaos within him.
Kyorin's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Yoon Ryuin… are you his descendant?"
Jun hesitated before nodding. "He's my great-great-great-great-great grandfather."
"Two thousand years…" Kyorin murmured, his voice trailing off into the void of memory. His final words were too soft to be heard, a whisper carried away by the wind.
As his vision dimmed, Kyorin gazed at the vast expanse of crimson sky, a peculiar tranquillity washing over him. He waited for his demise, his legacy etched into the annals of Equinox.
Yoon Jun, the hero to witness his fall, rose slowly, the cursed blade Sanguine still humming in his grasp, now a weapon of legends which slayed the demon.
And so, the Wraithblade Sentinel, a demon feared and revered for centuries, met his end as he slowly closed his eyes, the crimson sky bearing witness to the conclusion of his saga...
.
.
.
"Kyorin... Kyorin..."
A trembling yet sweet voice echoed in the recesses of his consciousness, pulling him back from the void where silence reigned. The voice, warm and unfamiliar, carried a soothing melody, cradling him in a strange serenity.
As the echo faded, Kyorin felt the weight of existence return, albeit with a peculiar lightness. Slowly, his heavy lids parted, and his vision swam with blurs of soft light and warmth.
He became aware of an odd sensation—a gentle embrace that cocooned him in comfort, an unfamiliar softness cradling him as though he were something fragile. He tried to move, but his limbs, once brimming with godlike power, now felt impossibly weak, as if bound by the laws of something... lesser.
His head turned slightly, a tremendous effort, and he caught sight of the source of the voice: a woman. Her features were indistinct, but her aura radiated a kindness he couldn't place, her touch firm yet tender.
Instinctively, he tried to speak, to demand answers, but what escaped his lips wasn't a command, nor the powerful baritone he once carried—it was a feeble cry, high-pitched and infantile.
"Auugh!"
The sound jarred him. What in the heavens is this? His eyes widened, darting down to his hands—or rather, the small, pudgy fingers he now possessed. His mind raced as a cold realization crept over him.
He felt a tug at his diminutive form, the soft cushions he lay against shifting slightly. The woman, finding his bewildered expression adorable, offered a gentle laugh, her smile radiant and soothing.
The pieces began to fall into place, albeit reluctantly. Kyorin's thoughts churned as he inwardly muttered, "I've been... reborn?"
To be continued...
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A/N: To those who are reading it for the first time, this is a rewrite. Okay, I'm going high on caffeine today! Here are some expected changes:
1) No further cultivation elements will be introduced, and there won't be any restrictions on the world as I had tried in the previous iteration, as it would make the world too easy and boring. But I will be reusing them another way.
2) A new system will be introduced, similar to a game.
3) There will also be new techniques—not cultivation-type ones, but newly developed techniques inspired by them since it's no longer 'Cultivator' but 'Resonator'.
4) I'm locking the love interest to only two characters: Rover, and Chang Li. Expect a new storyline different from the previous write.
5) No more filler-like chapters, and no more passive observation from the sidelines.
6) From now on, there will be no rewrites, and I promise not to let my mind wander to other things. I won't randomly add an element just because it's cool if it doesn't fit the narrative. Rest assured, it will adhere to the main storyline.