The night was silent. Too silent.
Li Shen sat cross-legged in the dark, his back pressed against the cold stone wall. His body was weak, fever still clung to his skin, and his broken right arm dangled lifelessly at his side. Yet his left hand gripped the shard of his sword tightly, the edges still stained with his blood.
This shard was the only reason he was alive. The only reason he hadn't given up.
He closed his eyes.
"Focus… breathe…" His father's voice echoed in his head. Countless nights of training in the courtyard, standing beneath the moon as his father corrected his stance, his grip, his breathing. "A blade is sharp, but without the heart of the wielder, it is nothing. Cultivation begins with will."
His will was all he had left. His dantian had been shattered in the battle. His meridians were broken. By all logic, his path should have ended.
But when the shard pierced his palm, he had felt it—a faint current of energy that had no business existing in a crippled body.
He had to try again.
Li Shen forced his breathing into rhythm. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. The way his father taught him. The shard rested across his lap, cold and heavy, its jagged edge glowing faintly in the dark as if answering his call.
Minutes passed. Nothing.
An hour passed. Still nothing.
His breath turned ragged. His chest ached. His broken arm throbbed with agony. Sweat soaked his brow.
He slammed his left fist into the ground. "Why?! Why can't I—"
The shard pulsed.
A vibration ran up his arm. A faint spark lit in his chest. His dantian, hollow and broken, shuddered. For the briefest instant, he felt it—energy, sharp and violent, like the bite of steel against flesh.
Then it vanished.
His eyes snapped open. His entire body trembled. "It's there… it's still there…"
The shard's edge was glowing faintly red now, as if feeding on his blood. His palm bled freely, yet instead of draining him, the blood seemed to fuel it.
Li Shen clenched his teeth. He closed his eyes again and pressed the shard tighter against his skin, letting its cold bite sink deeper.
"Come. If you need my blood, take it. If you need my pain, I'll give it. But answer me!"
The world blurred. His senses twisted. Suddenly, he wasn't in the dark chamber anymore.
He stood in a vast void of endless blades. Thousands, millions, broken and whole, hung in the air around him, suspended in darkness. Each blade hummed with killing intent. The air reeked of blood.
In the center of it all floated the broken sword—the same one from his dream. Its jagged edge dripped blood endlessly into the void.
A voice whispered. Ancient. Cold. Sharp.
"Your body is broken. Your arm is useless. Your spirit is cracked. Do you still dare to walk the path of the blade?"
Li Shen's heart pounded. His body screamed at him to bow, to beg, to surrender. But he clenched his fists and raised his chin.
"I dare."
The air trembled. The broken sword vibrated, and every blade in the void turned toward him, their sharp points aimed at his chest.
"Then bleed."
A thousand swords pierced him at once. His body exploded in pain. He gasped, his vision turning red. He should have died. But instead of tearing him apart, the pain sank deeper, into his bones, his veins, his soul.
He screamed—but the scream turned into a roar.
Energy surged. Violent, sharp, bloody. It carved through his shattered meridians like fire through dry wood. His chest burned, his head pounded, but he felt it—true power, for the first time since his clan's destruction.
The void shattered.
Li Shen opened his eyes. He was back in the chamber, drenched in sweat and blood. The shard pulsed faintly in his hand, glowing red. His body trembled uncontrollably, but he felt it in his core: a spark. Small. Fragile. But real.
He had taken the first step.
His lips curved into a bitter smile. "So this is it… The path you're giving me isn't one of peace, is it?"
The shard pulsed once, as if mocking him.
Li Shen laughed weakly, his voice hoarse. "Fine. Then I'll walk it. If it's blood you want, I'll give you oceans. If it's vengeance you want, I'll carve it into the world."
He pushed himself up against the wall. His legs shook, his body nearly gave out, but he forced himself to stand.
The boy who had been crippled, broken, and left to rot… now had a spark of power. A blade sharper than steel, forged from his hatred and pain.
His eyes darkened, filled with killing intent.
"The Seven Peaks Sect… the masked devil… I'll slaughter you all. No matter how high I have to climb. No matter how many times I have to bleed. I'll make the heavens themselves watch as I rise from the ashes you left me in."
The shard's glow flared once more.
The rise of the Broken Blade had begun.