Jianyu Forest was shrouded in eternal mist, where giant trees towered like swords that pierced the sky. Behind the howling wind, there was a rhythmic clanking of metal—the sound of a young man practicing his moves with a worn wooden sword. **Xiao Lin**, his skin burned by the sun, his eyes sharp like an eagle, continued to swing his sword even though he was already short of breath.

"A thousand more times!" he shouted to himself, ignoring the wound on his palm. The dream of becoming the greatest warrior in the *Jianghu World* burned in his soul. But how could an orphan, without a teacher or sect, master swordsmanship?

That night, as the full moon illuminated his rickety hut, a sudden roar shook the forest. Xiao Lin infiltrated the source of the sound and found an *ancient altar stone*carved with a dragon. Above him, there was a rusty sword with a hilt shaped like a dragon's claw. Without thinking, he touched it—*lightning struck*, and a magical voice resounded: *You who inherit the blood of *The Sword God*, prepare to face your destiny..."

The sword lingered in his hand, and mysterious energy flowed into his body. Suddenly, **black shadows** appeared—a group of assassins wearing red robes, hunting for the legendary sword.Xiao Lin, without any knowledge, was forced to run into the dark forest, blood dripping from the wound on his shoulder. ---