Night cloaked the Weapon Graveyard, a forbidden corner of the sect where shattered swords and forgotten spears lay buried in silence.
Han Li walked alone, broom resting on his shoulder. The wind here did not howl—it whispered, as though afraid to disturb the slumbering steel beneath the soil.
He stopped at a weathered mound marked by a bronze plaque:
"Nameless Blade – Refused to Die."
Kneeling, Han Li dug through the soft ash with his hands. The dirt resisted at first, but then yielded. His fingers brushed cold metal.
From the ground, he lifted a curved sword—blacked by time, cracked along its spine, but unmistakably alive. It pulsed faintly in his grip, like an ancient heart still beating.
"You remember me," Han Li whispered.
The sword vibrated, shedding a drop of essence—its silent tear.
"I never buried you," he said softly. "Only let you sleep."
He drew a golden seal and pressed it gently to the blade's surface. It vanished with a hiss, absorbed like breath into lungs long unused.
Around him, the other weapons shuddered.
They sensed their king had returned.
Then—rustle.
A figure landed nearby, cloaked in silver: a Jade Mist Sect elite. "This place is forbidden!"
Han Li stood slowly.
"I'm just cleaning."
"You defile a sacred site!"
Han Li sighed. "Then let me purify it properly."
The broom vanished. The sword flashed.
The intruder collapsed, untouched by blade, but defeated in soul.
Han Li looked up at the moon. The wind bowed in silence.
And far beneath the sect, something ancient opened its eye—shivering at the sword's return.