Chapter 7: The Hidden Blade and the Soulbrand Pact
The skies above Linh Huyền Sect had turned a deeper hue of blue—dawn had arrived, but in the lower valleys, a heavy mist still lingered, refusing to disperse.
Tham Duong stood silently in a bamboo grove far from the outer sect's busy paths. His black robe fluttered gently in the early morning breeze, his back turned to the sun.
His breathing was steady.
His Qi was not.
It surged wildly within him—chaotic, boiling. The Bloodroot Fragment he had absorbed was still rooting itself into his meridians. Every time he tried to channel spiritual energy, a pulse of dark red light echoed from within his core.
"Not yet harmonized," he muttered.
This wasn't just raw power—it was tainted, ancient, and it came with echoes of another will. Not a voice… not a consciousness… but a hunger.
He had seen this before—in his first life.
That's how they fell.
Bloodroot cultivators weren't corrupted by demonic cultivation… they were consumed by it.
And yet he chose to take that power.
Because the path of righteousness had already failed him once.
Two days later.
He returned to the courtyard behind the Pill Refining Hall.
Elder Ngo Thanh handed him a small jade box.
Within it lay a pill of swirling violet and silver: the Soulbrand Binding Pill.
"Refined at dawn," Ngo Thanh said. "If you delay past tonight, its potency will fade."
Duong bowed deeply. "You have my thanks."
"You owe me more than thanks, child," the old alchemist said without looking at him. "The path you're walking… I walked once. I lost everyone."
Duong paused. "Then you understand why I cannot stop."
Ngo Thanh said nothing.
That night, Tham Duong locked himself in a stone cave near the southern ridge, far from prying eyes. He sat cross-legged, a single spirit candle illuminating the walls.
He placed his sword—Huyết Ảnh—across his lap.
Then, he swallowed the pill.
The pain was immediate.
His spirit was ripped from his body—violently.
He found himself floating in a space of white fog, where nothing existed… except the faint shimmer of the sword floating before him.
And a voice.
Cold, feminine.
Ancient.
"You dare bind me again?"
Duong's eyes widened.
Again…?
"Who are you?" he asked aloud.
The fog twisted—and took shape.
A woman in blood-red robes, her face half-hidden behind a jade veil. Her presence pulsed with cold authority.
"I am Ly Huyên, once a general of the Crimson Abyss. My soul was sealed within this blade by the founder of the Bloodroot Sect… five thousand years ago."
Duong steadied his mind.
"You're not just a sword spirit," he said.
"No," she replied. "I am a soul fragment. I was not meant to be awakened by a mortal."
"You were meant for someone stronger," he said.
She nodded. "A destined one. One who walked both light and darkness."
He smiled faintly. "Then perhaps I am that one."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Prove it. With blood."
The fog swirled—and suddenly he stood in a battlefield, surrounded by crimson shadows. This time, they were not illusions. Each one bore a face from his past life.
Sư huynh betrayed him.
Người yêu đầu tiên từ bỏ anh.
Vị tông chủ ngày xưa phán tử hình anh chỉ vì một cáo buộc chưa rõ thực hư.
They came for him.
He fought—blade dancing like wind, Qi exploding in streaks of red and silver.
But the trial was not in the killing—it was in seeing their faces and still striking true.
He hesitated only once—before the shadow of Lan Ca, the girl who had died trying to save him in his first life.
The moment he faltered, her illusion pierced his shoulder with a spear of regret.
Pain shot through his real body, and he dropped to one knee.
"You carry guilt," the sword spirit whispered. "You always will."
Duong gritted his teeth.
"I do," he said. "But I will carry it forward—not as a burden, but as a weapon."
He rose—and cut through the illusion.
Silence returned.
Ly Huyên stood before him again.
"Then take me," she said. "But remember this—if you ever fall, I will devour you from within."
He extended his hand.
She placed hers atop his.
A burst of red light exploded—and the sword sealed itself to his soul.
Back in the real world, Duong gasped, sweat soaking his robe.
On his forearm, a new mark had appeared: a sword wrapped in crimson threads, pulsing faintly with spirit energy.
He could feel her presence in his mind—quiet, but watching.
Elsewhere, in the Inner Sect.
Tuyết Thương stood on the rooftop of the Sky Scrying Pavilion, peering into a basin of silver water.
She saw Duong.
She saw the sword.
She saw the binding.
And she smiled.
"He awakens the ancient forces too quickly. If left unchecked, he'll become the calamity."
Beside her, a masked man in black robes knelt.
"Shall we remove him?"
She shook her head.
"Not yet. The heavens watch him. But soon… we'll test his resolve."
At the same time, deep beneath the Thất Dạ Sơn, an ancient tomb stirred.
Chains cracked.
A figure wrapped in black mist opened its eyes.
"A Bloodroot inheritor… has awakened."
"Then the pact must be completed… before he escapes destiny."