The cavern was still. The beast's blood had barely dried when the Blade Saint lifted his staff and turned his back to Li Shen.
"You've proven you can kill monsters," he said, his voice echoing through the mist. "But beasts are easy. They know nothing of fear, nothing of pleading, nothing of betrayal. To walk the path of the blade, you must spill human blood. A blade that has not tasted man's life is nothing but dull iron."
Li Shen stood silent, shard clenched in his hand. His heart beat steadily. "Who?"
The Blade Saint turned slowly, his ancient eyes glimmering. "Above the ravine lies a border village. Once, they offered me shelter. Once, they respected the sword. But now? They sell secrets to the sects. They bow to Seven Peaks." His staff struck the ground, the sound sharp like thunder. "Their chief is a coward who betrayed his own clan to survive. His name is Wu Han. Bring me his head."
Li Shen's gaze darkened. "And if I refuse?"
The Blade Saint's smile was cold. "Then you remain a boy clutching a shard, waiting to be broken again. You seek revenge? You seek power? Then you cannot hesitate. The path forward demands blood."
Li Shen's grip tightened. The faces of his slain clan flashed in his mind. Their screams, their blood, the fire that swallowed them whole. His jaw set. "Where do I find him?"
The Blade Saint pointed to the mist above. "Climb. By dawn, return with his head… or don't return at all."
The climb was merciless. Jagged stone tore at Li Shen's hands, but he did not falter. He moved in silence, the shard strapped to his back, his body driven by grim purpose. When he finally emerged above the ravine, the night air struck him—cold, sharp, filled with the scent of pine.
In the distance, the village lights flickered.
Li Shen moved swiftly, his steps light, his breath controlled. The shard whispered against his back. "Blood… human blood… at last…"
He ignored it, eyes fixed on the target.
The village was small—wooden huts clustered together, smoke rising faintly from dying fires. Dogs barked, then whimpered and hid when they caught his scent. He moved like a shadow, slipping past guards half-asleep at the gates.
He found the chief's hut easily—it was larger than the rest, guarded by two men. Their swords glimmered faintly under the moonlight.
Li Shen crouched in the shadows, heart steady. He did not rush. He studied their stances, their breathing. Weak. Undisciplined.
He moved.
The shard flashed. A single stroke across the throat of the first guard. Silence. Before the second could shout, Li Shen's hand clamped over his mouth, the shard driving into his chest. Warm blood spilled across Li Shen's fingers. The man twitched, then stilled.
Li Shen lowered him gently to the ground. His eyes were cold, unshaken. This was not slaughter. This was execution.
He entered the hut.
Inside, Wu Han sat slouched on a chair, a jug of wine in hand, his belly fat, his eyes half-closed. His sword hung on the wall, untouched, gathering dust.
Li Shen stepped forward. The wooden floor creaked.
Wu Han blinked, sluggish, before his gaze sharpened. "Who—"
The shard pressed against his throat before he could rise. Li Shen's eyes burned into him.
"Wu Han."
The man froze, sweat dripping down his brow. "W-who are you? What do you want?"
Li Shen's voice was low, steady. "The truth. Did you sell the secrets of the clans to Seven Peaks?"
Wu Han's lips trembled. "I-I had no choice… they came with fire, with blades. My people would have died—"
"Your people still died," Li Shen cut him off. His hand pressed harder, a thin line of blood tracing Wu Han's throat. "And you lived. A coward feasting while others burned."
Wu Han's eyes widened. "Please… mercy. I did what I had to do. I can pay you, I can serve you, I—"
Li Shen's face was stone. He remembered the ashes of his clan, the cries of his kin. Mercy? There had been none.
The shard pulsed eagerly. "Kill him… take his head… feed me…"
Li Shen inhaled slowly, steadying himself. This was not the shard's kill. This was his.
He raised the blade high.
Wu Han's screams echoed once, cut short by the sound of steel.
Blood painted the hut's walls. Wu Han's head rolled across the floor, his lifeless eyes staring into the void.
Li Shen stood over the corpse, shard dripping crimson. His hands did not tremble. His eyes did not soften.
He picked up the head by its hair, lifted it into the moonlight, and whispered, "This is only the beginning."
When he returned to the ravine at dawn, the Blade Saint sat waiting on a boulder, staff across his knees. His eyes flickered to the dripping head in Li Shen's grip.
A faint smile curved his lips. "Good. You chose the blade."
Li Shen dropped the head at his feet. His voice was cold, final. "I chose revenge."
The Blade Saint chuckled, his voice like dry leaves rustling. "Revenge is a flame. It will consume you… unless you learn to wield it. Now, boy, you are no longer broken. Now, you are sharp."
Li Shen's eyes hardened, his shard gleaming in the mist. "Not sharp enough. Teach me more."
The old man's smile deepened, dangerous. "Very well. But remember… each lesson demands blood."