In the sprawling mountain ranges of the Lingyun Sect, dozens of disciples in pristine white robes wielded their swords under the bright sun. Streams of spiritual energy wrapped around their blades, creating an ethereal dance of light and shadow. The sharp sound of swords cutting through the air echoed across the grounds, each strike resonating with precision and power.
At a distance, a group of young men in rough, linen clothing stood, their expressions ranging from envy to disdain. They were sword slaves—those without spiritual veins, relegated to menial tasks while dreaming of a life beyond servitude.
"If only I could be one of them," muttered Jiang Lei, his voice trembling with longing. "To wield a blade like that, to feel the wind bend to my will… just imagine!"
"Dream on, Jiang Lei!" sneered Chao Lin, leaning lazily against a tree. "We're sword slaves. Do you think they'd let us practice like that? You'd be lucky if they even let you sweep the training grounds properly!"
"Still," interjected Han Shu, his eyes narrowing, "there is one among us who thinks he can change his fate. Look over there."
All heads turned to a lean, wiry figure practicing in the shade of a massive ancient tree. His unkempt black hair fell over sharp, determined eyes, and his thin body moved with surprising precision as he thrust his worn iron sword forward. The tree trunk bore countless marks of his strikes, evidence of years of relentless practice.
"Ah, Rong Tian," Chao Lin said with a smirk. "Three years of swinging that rusted stick, and he still hasn't learned his place."
"Didn't he try to break through the third stage of Body Refinement last month? I heard he failed miserably," Jiang Lei whispered.
"And dropped straight back to the second stage," added Han Shu with a laugh. "Poor fool. No spiritual veins, no chance."
Rong Tian ignored the jeers behind him, his focus unshaken. Sweat dripped from his face as he raised his sword once more, each thrust carrying the weight of his determination.
"Futile," a mocking voice rang out.
The crowd parted as Chen Yu, a ninth-stage Body Refinement disciple, strode forward, his steel sword gleaming in the sunlight. His followers trailed behind, their faces alight with malicious glee.
"Practicing the same move for three years, huh?" Chen Yu said, his voice dripping with scorn. "Do you really think that will make up for your lack of talent?"
Rong Tian lowered his sword but did not respond, his silence only fueling Chen Yu's irritation.
"Let's see how good this so-called 'training' has made you," Chen Yu declared, raising his sword. "One move. If you impress me, I'll leave you alone. If not, you'll wish you never picked up that blade."
The sword slaves held their breath as Chen Yu lunged forward, his spiritual energy radiating in waves. Rong Tian's eyes narrowed, and in a single, fluid motion, he stepped aside, his iron sword cutting through the air like lightning.
A sharp clang echoed as the blades met. Before anyone could react, Chen Yu stumbled back, a shallow cut forming on his cheek. His expression twisted in shock.
"What… what just happened?" gasped Han Shu.
"He… he landed a strike on Chen Yu!" Jiang Lei stammered.
Chen Yu touched his cheek, his disbelief quickly morphing into rage. "You dare—"
"Enough."
A crisp, commanding voice silenced the crowd. Lan Yue, one of Lingyun Sect's senior disciples, stepped forward. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, and her icy blue eyes swept over the scene.
"What is going on here?" she asked coldly.
The sword slaves quickly bowed, while the white-robed disciples stood at attention.
"Senior Sister Lan," Chen Yu began, his voice faltering, "this… this sword slave attacked me!"
Lan Yue's gaze shifted to Rong Tian, who stood quietly, his iron sword at his side. She studied him for a moment, then turned back to Chen Yu.
"A ninth-stage cultivator, bested by a second-stage sword slave?" she said, her tone sharp. "Perhaps you should spend less time bullying and more time training, Chen Yu."
The crowd stifled their laughter as Chen Yu's face turned crimson.
"Rong Tian," Lan Yue said, her voice softening. "Follow me. I want to see this 'three years of practice' for myself."
Rong Tian hesitated but eventually nodded, sheathing his sword. As he followed Lan Yue away from the crowd, whispers erupted among the sword slaves.
"Did she just… defend him?" Jiang Lei asked, wide-eyed.
"Looks like this story isn't over," Han Shu muttered.
Rong Tian glanced back briefly, his grip tightening on his sword. For the first time in years, a faint spark of hope flickered in his heart.