In the mystical realm of Ten Thousand Swords Sea, where clouds formed an endless ocean beneath a vast sky, the sacred domain of Sword Cloud stood in towering splendor. Sword-shaped peaks pierced through the mist, glistening like celestial palaces, with radiant beams reflecting off high pavilions and casting an ethereal glow over the landscape. To the common folk, this place was legendary—an immortal stronghold, where powerful cultivators upheld justice, cut down monsters, and defended the weak. But in truth, the residents here were far more concerned with mastering the profound arts than with mortal affairs.
Outside the grand entrance of Sword Cloud, a middle-aged man in a yellow robe knelt in the hot sunlight, beads of sweat rolling down his face. His body trembled from exhaustion, having knelt for three days, waiting in vain to meet Ning Yan, one of the sacred domain's most revered swordmasters. Onlookers, powerful sword cultivators chosen from distant lands, passed by with little more than disdain for the sight. To them, only the strongest were worthy of respect, and to be a disciple in Sword Cloud was to surpass the elite. This man—a mere elder from the Blue Soul Sword Pavillion—was unworthy.
Just then, a figure appeared in the distance, cutting through the crowd with commanding presence. It was Lin Chen, a young sword lord known for his towering reputation and unyielding spirit. He moved with the fluid strength of a warrior, clad in pure white robes, his gaze dark and piercing. On his back, he carried a heavy black iron sword box—a rare sight among sword cultivators, adding an aura of mystery and intimidation. Lin Chen's mere presence was enough to silence the onlookers, who parted to give him room, watching him with reverence as he approached the kneeling elder.
Without a word, Lin Chen planted his iron-booted foot on the elder's hand, pressing down hard. The elder gasped, pain flashing across his face as he looked up in shock.
"Who dares to kneel before Sword Cloud so disgracefully?" Lin Chen's voice was cold, his eyes sharp with disdain. A thin, icy Sword Soul—a spiritual projection of his lethal intent—hovered at the elder's throat, a silent threat that required no further explanation.
"Forgive me, young sword lord," the elder stammered, his voice trembling. He bowed his head lower, knowing that one wrong word could mean his life. "I am but a humble elder from the Blue Soul Sword Pavillion. I only wish to seek an audience with Swordmaster Ning Yan…"
"Leave," Lin Chen commanded, his voice unwavering. "And do not let me see you here again. The next time, your head stays here, and your body goes over the cliff."
"Yes, young sword lord," the elder whispered, retreating with his head bowed low, his injured hand swelling with bruises from Lin Chen's boot. The elder's hope, his desperate mission, had died the moment he crossed paths with the young lord of Ten Thousand Swords Sea.
As Lin Chen turned and walked away, those watching did not question him. Here in Sword Cloud, power ruled above all else. Compassion was a luxury, and only the strongest thrived in this world where the sword dictated justice.
"Oh…" With a sigh, the elder's face fell as he prepared to leave, clutching a letter tightly in his hand. Just then, a sharp, icy voice sliced through the air.
"Xiao Chen!" A woman's voice called.
The young swordsman turned. "Aunt Ning," he greeted, bowing slightly.
The elder turned to see a woman emerging from the Sword Cloud's grand doorway. She wore a striking black and red robe that flowed as she walked, her long hair pulled high, revealing sharp, elegant features that spoke of authority and grace. She was Ning Yan, one of the most respected masters in Ten Thousand Swords Sea.
The elder's heart raced as he thought, *Finally, I am seeing her in person!* Yet he dared not approach, barely able to even look in her direction.
Much to his surprise, Ning Yan looked directly at him. "Is this man here to see me?" she asked, her tone calm and unreadable.
"Yes, Aunt Ning," the young swordsman replied respectfully.
"And why did you step on his hand?" she asked, her gaze turning to the young swordsman.
Startled, he quickly replied, "Sword Cloud is not some mundane court; it's a place of sacred swordsmanship. Kneeling at its doors to beg for favors is unbecoming. I disciplined him to uphold our dignity. My apologies if this displeases you, Aunt Ning."
The elder's heart fluttered in disbelief. *I never imagined… she would speak up for me.* For the first time in years, he felt a glimmer of hope.
But that hope was crushed in an instant. Ning Yan strode over, her elegant presence looming as she looked down on him with cold eyes. Without warning, she slapped him hard across the face. He stumbled back, his cheek burning with a red handprint.
"Go back and tell him," she said icily, "if he dares to summon me again, I will go to Blue Soul myself and destroy him."
The elder swallowed, a surge of sadness and disappointment welling up. He could barely process her words. *After all these years… how has she become so heartless?* He wanted to say that the letter wasn't even his—he had been sent with a message from Zhao Xuanran, who was trying to save his disciple, but he bit his tongue. He sensed Ning Yan's anger, and feared for his life.
When she finished, Ning Yan took out a silk handkerchief, wiped her hand with distaste, and turned to the young swordsman. "Next time, hit harder," she ordered.
"Yes, Aunt Ning," he replied with a slight smile.
Not wanting to linger, the elder quickly bowed and left, his face lowered in shame. But just a few steps away, he was stopped by a familiar voice.
"King Elder!"
The elder looked up to see a bearded middle-aged man—a fellow elder from the Blue Soul Sword Pavilion.
"Shangguan Jia? From Second Sword Peak?" he asked in surprise.
"Yes, I came looking for you on my sister's orders. There's huge news back at Blue Soul!" Shangguan Jia's face was alight with excitement.
"What happened?" the elder asked, trying to contain the flicker of hope within him.
"That Yun Xiao, the disciple—just sixteen years old! In six days, he killed a clone of the Northern Wild Monster Sovereign Yuexian, then took down a millennium snake demon. Not only that, he even defeated Zhang Jian, Yao Manxue, and Ye Tiance, the three swordmasters!"
The elder's eyes widened in disbelief. "Sixteen years old? Divine Sea level, defeating Source Pill Realm fighters with a ten-scale power difference?"
As Shangguan Jia spoke, his excitement seemed infectious, and the elder's previously dim face broke into a hesitant smile. *So there was hope after all.*
Just then, Ning Yan reappeared, her piercing gaze locked on Shangguan Jia.
"Sixteen years old? Six days? Ten scales?" she repeated coldly. "You must die if this information is false," she warned, her voice icy.
Shangguan Jia did not falter. "I swear it's true!"
"Who is his mentor?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing.
"The Blue Soul Sword Pavilion's head instructor, Zhao Jian…" Shangguan Jia began.
"Fine," she cut him off and turned to the elder. "Give me the letter."
With trembling hands, the elder held it out to her. She opened it, then raised her brow in surprise. "This writing… this was penned by a woman."
The elder looked down, his face conflicted. "Yes, Grand Swordmaster… the letter was written by Xiao Ran. She is… Zhao Jianxing's daughter, twenty-two years old."