Chapter Two – Whispers in the Shadows
The faint dawn light painted the cracked tiles of the Abandoned Courtyard gold, but Jesse Jordan's blood turned cold.
A figure stood frozen at the courtyard's edge—one of the sect's outer disciples, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. He had seen everything: Jesse sitting in meditation, qi swirling faintly around his body, the cracked sword glowing for an instant.
The boy's face paled. He turned on his heel to run.
"No—!" Jesse's heart pounded. If word spread, if Ken Miles or the others learned he had obtained something unusual, they would never let him live.
Instinct drove him forward. He stumbled to his feet, clutching the cracked sword in both hands. For the first time in his life, he tried to channel the warmth in his chest—the faint flow of qi ignited by the Ninefold Void Sutra.
The sword trembled. A faint hum echoed, though the blade looked as broken as ever. Jesse gritted his teeth, raised it, and slashed clumsily at the ground.
A ripple burst forth—weak, fragile, barely the shadow of a true martial strike. But it was enough.
The stone tiles cracked, and dust erupted. The shockwave caught the fleeing disciple by surprise, sending him sprawling face-first into the dirt.
Jesse's chest heaved. His arms ached from channeling even that tiny wisp of energy, but his eyes sharpened. He rushed forward, pressing the broken sword against the boy's throat.
The disciple trembled, his voice cracking. "Y-you… you were cultivating! You actually—"
"Silence." Jesse's voice was hoarse but cold. His entire life he had been mocked, scorned, dismissed. For once, someone looked at him with fear instead of disdain. The feeling was terrifying—and intoxicating.
The boy's lips quivered. "If the elders find out, they'll—"
"They won't." Jesse pressed the blade closer, though he lacked the strength to truly harm him. He leaned in, whispering with a harsh edge. "If you value your life, you saw nothing. You speak of this to no one."
The boy swallowed hard, eyes darting to the faint green glow that still lingered on Jesse's skin. His voice lowered to a squeak. "I… I understand."
Jesse studied him, doubt gnawing at his chest. Could he really trust this frightened disciple to keep silent? Or would fear drive him straight into Ken Miles' arms?
Before he could decide, a bell tolled from the main sect grounds. Disciples began to stir for morning practice. The boy glanced toward the sound, then back at Jesse, desperation in his eyes.
Jesse stepped back, his grip on the sword trembling. "Go."
The boy scrambled up and fled, vanishing into the morning haze.
Jesse stood rooted in place, sweat trickling down his neck. His heart raced, his mind replaying the moment. He had revealed too much. If he speaks…
He sank back against the courtyard wall, exhaling raggedly. "I need strength. Fast."
By midday, whispers had already begun circulating through the sect.
"I heard someone saw light in the abandoned courtyard last night."
"Light? Don't be ridiculous. That place hasn't seen a cultivator in years."
"No, truly! They said a broken sword glowed there."
"Hah! Must be ghost stories. Still… strange things happen under the Scarlet Ember Moon."
The rumors slithered like snakes through the training fields and mess halls. No names were spoken, but Jesse could feel eyes lingering on him longer than usual. When he walked past, disciples smirked knowingly, whispering behind hands.
Ken Miles cornered him near the well, arms folded, his usual sneer firmly in place. "Jordan. Something amusing has been spreading. Some say the useless orphan has finally awakened. That true?"
The surrounding disciples chuckled. Jesse gripped the cracked sword at his side, forcing himself to keep his gaze steady. "Rumors are for the bored. I am no one worth speaking of."
Ken's smirk widened. "Correct. You're no one." He leaned closer, his breath hot against Jesse's ear. "But if by some miracle you've touched qi… I'll crush you myself. Trash doesn't deserve the heavens."
He shoved Jesse aside and strode off, laughter echoing.
Jesse steadied himself, fury simmering under his calm mask. If only I had more time… more power…
That night, Jesse returned to the Abandoned Courtyard. He sat cross-legged under the pale glow of the moon, the broken sword laid across his lap. The jade slip's imprints burned in his mind, guiding his breath, his focus, his very heartbeat.
Qi trickled into him again, flowing along fragile channels in his body. It hurt—like knives carving new paths through stone. But he endured. For hours, he fought against the resistance of his own flesh.
Finally, with a painful snap inside his chest, the energy stabilized. A faint pulse radiated outward. His body shook. His vision brightened.
"The First Thread…" he whispered, awe softening his voice. He had officially stepped onto the path of cultivation.
But before he could savor the moment, the courtyard shadows shifted.
A cloaked figure stood at the edge, watching silently.
Jesse's heart froze. He rose to his feet, clutching the cracked sword tightly. "Who's there?"
The figure stepped forward, the moonlight revealing sharp eyes beneath the hood. His presence was heavy, oppressive—far beyond that of any disciple.
"I knew it," the man said quietly. "Someone has disturbed the sect's balance. The aura of an ancient legacy lingers here."
Jesse's breath caught. An elder…?
The man's eyes narrowed, locking onto Jesse. "Boy. What have you obtained?"