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"Disciple Shen Lian pays respect. Master, may your journey be peaceful." His voice low and composed, Shen Lian bowed deeply before the body of the departed Xuanming, whose serene smile still lingered on his face even in death.
The silence was shattered moments later by the sound of pounding footsteps as Zhao Linger, Zhuang Changdao, and the Hall Masters of the Tai Xuan Sword Sect burst into the room. They froze as they saw Xuanming's body, the calmness on his face echoing with memories too deep to speak. "Father…" Zhao Linger choked, tears flowing freely, while Zhuang Changdao looked on with sorrow, murmuring, "Xuanming, may you rest well."
Half an hour later, the entire Sect was in motion. The funeral rites for Xuanming were monumental, reflecting his place at the heart of Tai Xuan. Zhuang Changdao oversaw every detail, while Shen Lian, as Xuanming's final disciple, stood vigil in mourning robes until the burial atop Ninth Hall mountain was complete. There, overlooking the lands he once protected, Xuanming's heroic soul would forever guard the Sect he built.
After the rites concluded, Zhao Linger announced her intention to journey outside for tempering. Shen Lian handed her a wooden communication token before watching her silhouette vanish into the distance, leaving him alone with an unfamiliar hollowness in the once vibrant Tai Xuan. That very day, he took up his sword and stepped beyond the Sect's gates. Xuanming was gone, and though some debts could no longer be repaid, Shen Lian refused to let them be forgotten.
Soon, crimson fire bathed the skies above the Fire Worship Demon Sect, vengeance descending in the form of one man. Screams tore through the heavens as Shen Lian alone razed the Sect to the ground, his blade severing the lives of its elders, guardians, and disciples alike. The new Sect Leader, a demonic powerhouse at the Profound Realm, was crushed beneath his feet, driven to his knees beneath the heavens in wordless repentance. This creature had slaughtered over a million innocents in a single year. Now, he offered his life in payment, and the world bore witness to justice delivered through blood and flame.
As ash drifted into the wind, Shen Lian turned from the smoldering ruins, eyes calm, and whispered, "Master, rest easy in the heavens."
In the year 799 of the Dayan calendar, the Sword God in White annihilated the Fire Worship Demon Sect and slew its monstrous leader. The event shocked the world. Even the mighty Dayan Dynasty shuddered. Across cities, temples, and courts, the name Sword God in White ignited whispers that surged like wildfire. Countless cultivators, nobles, and spies scoured the land in a frenzy, desperate to uncover the identity of the lone white-robed avenger.
A year passed.
During that time, Shen Lian's cultivation intensified to terrifying levels. He drew his sword ten thousand times in secluded mountains and storm-ridden valleys—a feat considered equal to fifty years of dedicated cultivation. His strength soared, reaching the very pinnacle of the Tongxuan Ninth Stage. Even Zhuang Changdao, Tai Xuan's current head, found his aura comparable. Beyond raw strength, Shen Lian faced renowned swordmasters in lethal duels, delved into forbidden territories, and walked paths none dared tread. His body gradually underwent the transformation toward the mythical Innate Sword Physique, an evolution that could rewrite the laws of swordsmanship.
On the windswept Yuhai Plains, he saved Zhao Linger from the combined assault of heirs from five noble sword clans. None escaped. Shen Lian killed all five descendants in a single, fluid motion—one sword stroke to end five bloodlines.
The Cangxuan Realm trembled.
Those clans—Wei, Ling, Lei, Murong, and Han—were not mere names. Each held enough power to shake the balance of nations. Enraged and humiliated, they traced clues back to Zhao Linger, and from her trail, suspicion turned toward the Tai Xuan Sword Sect.
In blind fury, the five patriarchs—each a peerless Tongxuan expert—led their armies toward Tai Xuan.
The world held its breath.
Within Tai Xuan's sacred grounds, tension crackled. Disciples gathered in the courtyards and atop the high peaks, their voices rising not in fear, but defiance. "I live and die with the Sect!" one cried. "The Sword God in White saved Junior Sister Linger. She's one of us! Even Xuanming watches from the Ninth Hall!" another added.
"I, Li Changfeng, grew up here. If I run now, I'm no better than a beast!"
"Anyone who flees is no brother of mine!"
"Live together, die together!"
The Hall Heads exchanged glances, moved beyond words. These were young disciples, barely past the foundation stages, yet their loyalty and unity stirred the hearts of men who had seen centuries. No one spoke. Eyes reddened, they simply nodded.
After a long, heavy silence, Zhuang Changdao's lips curved into a faint, grim smile. "Tomorrow, we fight together."
He stepped forward, the echo of his stride sounding like thunder against the silence of the mountain.
Tai Xuan waited.
At dawn, the skies turned gold, then gray.
First came the curious—wandering cultivators, rogue elders, opportunistic bounty hunters. Then the heavens split open. Massive airships descended through torn clouds like divine beasts, casting vast shadows over the Tai Xuan Sword Sect. Golden banners whipped in the wind, and with them came the suffocating pressure of a gathered army. From above, Tai Xuan looked like a cradle awaiting fire.
"They're here," Zhuang Changdao said grimly.
Onboard the lead ship stood the Wei Patriarch, now a Void Realm giant whose mere breath could bend steel. Behind him gathered the patriarchs of the Ling, Lei, Murong, and Han families—each a titan of the Tongxuan Peak. Fifty Golden Bridge Realm elites and four hundred Yangshen Realm disciples surrounded Tai Xuan from above and below, cutting off all routes of retreat. This was not a declaration of war. It was a judgment.
The Han Patriarch sneered, his gaze dripping with contempt. "This is Tai Xuan? A few Golden Bridge disciples and one Ninth Stage? Barely enough to face one clan, let alone five."
The Wei Patriarch's eyes swept across the Sect with icy disdain. "Bring out the Sword God in White. Do that, and some of you may yet live."
Zhuang Changdao stepped forward, voice rising despite the immense pressure. "Never—"
Before the word fully left his mouth, the Wei Patriarch narrowed his eyes. In an instant, the Sect's protective formation shattered like fragile glass, and Zhuang Changdao was hurled to his knees, bones cracking under the weight of the Void Realm's oppressive force.
"I have no patience for negotiations," the Wei Patriarch said coldly. "If he won't come out, I'll drag him out."
Lying broken on the ground, Zhuang Changdao let out a bitter laugh. So this was the Void Realm. A single glance rendered all his years of cultivation meaningless. Their defenses had been reduced to dust before the battle even began.
The Wei Patriarch raised his voice, amplified by divine force. "Sword God in White, if you continue hiding, I'll kill them all—disciples, elders, servants, friends. I've erased a hundred sects in my time. One more is nothing."
Within the Sect, deep near the secluded Siguo Cliff, Shen Lian sat unmoving in silent meditation.
Three days had passed in stillness.
Then his eyes opened.
A thin pulse of light rippled through the air. He had broken through. The barrier of the human realm shattered beneath his will, and he stepped into the Huaxu Realm, inheriting the complete legacy of Chen Xuanfeng, Tai Xuan's founder.
In that moment, Shen Lian's strength transcended mortal measure.
"They've come," he said softly, but his voice carried the weight of thunder.
His Divine Sense erupted, sweeping across the skies like a divine wind. In a heartbeat, he read the Wei Patriarch's Cultivation Base, sensed the position of every elite cultivator, saw every trap and hidden seal. Then, just as smoothly, he retracted his senses.
Beyond the cliff, the airships waited.
"Very well," Shen Lian said as he stood, white robes fluttering gently.
He stepped forward, each pace filled with unshakable composure. The veil lifted.
Outside, his voice echoed like a falling star.
Every gaze turned toward Siguo Cliff.
The five patriarchs narrowed their eyes, sensing something shift in the wind. Divine light sparked in their irises as they focused.
Among the crowd of wandering cultivators, elders, and terrified disciples, silence fell.
From the mountain depths, a figure emerged.
Shen Lian stepped forward slowly, dressed in robes as white as frost, his face serene. Every footstep rang like a sword drawn from its scabbard.
The Sword God in White had arrived.
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