The mountains loomed high and silent, shrouded in thick mist as the last traces of daylight faded. In the dim twilight, a lone figure moved steadily up the rugged trail, carrying only a thin, weather-beaten cloak against the biting cold. **Wei Feng** tugged the cloak tighter around himself, but the chill that ran down his spine wasn't from the weather alone — it was from the emptiness within him, a void that had haunted him for years.
At his side, a worn, brittle hilt dangled from a leather strap. It was nothing but a relic, a reminder of his failures. While others in his clan wielded Soulbound Weapons — living blades and mystical spears bound to their spirits — Wei Feng held only a broken hilt, unable to summon even a flicker of spirit energy.
"In a world where your strength is everything, I have… nothing," he muttered, clenching his fist around the hilt. "Not even a weapon to call my own."
As he approached a clearing in the mountainside, his gaze hardened. He'd heard rumors of strange energy around this place, an energy that supposedly awakened lost potential. Wei had tried every temple, every ancient site in hopes of forming a Soulbound Weapon, but he was willing to try anything, even if it meant risking his life here in the remote wilderness.
A sudden gust of wind rushed past him, bringing with it an eerie whisper, like a thousand voices from a forgotten past. He stopped, heart pounding. The air grew thick with a strange, purple mist that swirled around his feet, snaking upward as if it had a mind of its own. Wei could almost feel it probing, searching.
"What… is this?" He took a cautious step back, but the mist clung to him, tightening as it climbed his body. In that moment, he felt something crack inside him — a fracture, splitting wider, as though his very soul was tearing open.
A voice resonated in his mind, deep and weary. "Young one… why do you seek power so desperately?"
Wei froze. The voice wasn't his own; it was ancient, carrying the weight of centuries. "Who… who are you?"
"I am Zhao Long, a soul left to wander the realms for eternity," the voice responded. "But it seems fate has brought us together. Tell me, why do you wish for strength?"
Wei's mind flashed to memories of his clan, to the scornful looks, the whispered insults. A fractured soul, they called him. A man unworthy of a weapon, unworthy of his heritage. He clenched his fists, feeling anger rise like a tide within him.
"I seek power… because I refuse to be weak any longer," he said, his voice trembling. "Because I refuse to be looked down upon."
The spirit was silent for a moment before answering, "Strength comes at a price, young one. Would you be willing to bear the weight of countless souls, each one adding to your power but also to your burden?"
Wei didn't hesitate. "Yes."
A surge of energy burst through him, making his veins burn like fire. The mist began to twist and swirl, coalescing in front of him, forming the shape of a massive, spectral sword. The blade hovered before him, pulsing with a dark, ethereal light.
"Then take this power, Wei Feng," Zhao Long's voice echoed, faint but resolute. "But remember: as you absorb the souls of your enemies, you take on their memories, their regrets, their rage. Use it well… or be consumed by it."
With trembling hands, Wei reached out, grasping the hilt of the spectral sword. The moment his fingers wrapped around it, a wave of energy crashed through him, flooding every corner of his fractured soul. The sword felt as though it was alive, pulsing with a heartbeat that matched his own.
The void within him — that hollow ache he had lived with for years — was filled with a new sensation. Power, raw and untamed, roared through him. He had a weapon. He had strength.
As the last traces of mist faded, Wei took a shaky breath, lifting the blade to inspect it. Its form was translucent, yet it held weight. Energy crackled along its edge, casting an eerie glow onto his face.
A rustle from behind broke his trance. He turned, and there stood **Jin Cao**, a member of the notorious **Silver Fang Clan** — one of the very people who had left him broken and humiliated on the forest floor.
"Well, well," Jin sneered, clearly amused. "If it isn't the soul-deficient waste. Come to crawl back for more?"
Wei tightened his grip on the spectral blade, feeling it pulse in response, as if it shared his rage. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. He had been weak before, a victim of the world's judgment. But now he was something else — a fractured soul bound to an ancient power.
"No," Wei replied, his voice steady. "I've come to finish what you started."
Jin laughed, drawing his own gleaming blade. "Is that so? Do you really think you can face me now, even with that pathetic ghost weapon?"
But Wei was already moving. The energy within him surged, each step blurring into the next as he closed the distance between them. Jin swung his sword, but Wei's spectral blade met it with a flash of violet light, slicing through his opponent's steel as though it were paper.
Jin staggered back, eyes wide with terror. "What… what is that power?"
Wei said nothing. He could feel the energy of Zhao Long's soul urging him onward, filling him with confidence. He raised his blade, letting his power swell, ready to strike.
The spectral blade sliced cleanly through Jin. For a moment, Wei felt a strange sensation — a second heartbeat within him, memories that were not his own, fragments of fear, arrogance, and desperation. Jin's soul, absorbed by the blade, now joined the voices within him.
Wei stood alone, the forest silent once more. The power coursing through him was intoxicating, but he could sense the weight of his decision, the burden Zhao Long had warned him about. He had taken his first life with the Soulbound Weapon, and his path forward would only grow darker from here.
Still, he was no longer the weak, weaponless outcast. He was something… more. And he would use this power to carve his place in a world that had tried to bury him.
Turning away, Wei sheathed his spectral blade, knowing that his journey had only just begun.