The Sword Saint moved first.
One second he was still, the next his blade was already touching the side of Long Chen's throat. No warning. No shift in aura. Just that clean, terrifying precision that made Long Chen's heart miss a beat.
He jerked back on instinct, Sword Aura flaring around his palm as he tried to catch the edge. Metal met energy with a sharp, painful ring that shot up his arm. The force rattled his bones. He stumbled, breath leaving him in a rough gasp.
The Sword Saint didn't chase him.
He simply lowered his arm and watched with that small, amused look of his.
"Again."
Long Chen steadied himself, tightened his grip, and rushed forward. He swung his sword hard at the figure. The Sword Saint slipped aside like water moving around stone. His sword tapped the inside of Long Chen's wrist. Not enough to injure. Just enough to sting.
Long Chen nearly dropped his weapon.
"Your Sword Aura is crude," the Sword Saint said, calm and a little bored. "Unfocused. You're relying on raw power. Sword cultivation is built on belief. If you believe you are invincible, your sword becomes invincible."
Long Chen gritted his teeth and went at him again. The Sword Saint barely moved. A light block, a soft redirect, and Long Chen's own momentum threw him off balance. A foot hooked his ankle and he hit the ground so hard he tasted dust.
He pushed himself up with a groan, breath heavy, ribs aching. His whole body felt weighed down, but he still lifted his sword.
The Sword Saint's blade shot toward him in a blur. Long Chen reacted too slow. Each following strike landed like tiny taps—shoulder, hip, thigh—measured and humiliating. He wasn't even trying to win. Just showing the gap between them.
Something snapped in Long Chen.
He shoved Sword Aura into his blade, the energy crackling wildly.
The Sword Saint didn't retreat. He met the attack head-on. Their swords collided once, and Long Chen's shattered in his hand.
He stared at the broken hilt, stunned.
"Sword cultivation has three stages," the Sword Saint said, lowering his weapon, "and each stage has three levels. Right now, you're barely touching the first stage: Aura."
He nodded toward the scattered fragments.
"The second level is Projection. Aura extended beyond the blade. The third is Condensation, when your aura forms armor."
Long Chen swallowed. "And you?"
"I'm far beyond that." His voice didn't change. "Above Sword Aura is Intent."
"Intent?"
"Sword Aura is power. Sword Intent is will."
He lifted his blade at Long Chen. "Watch."
And then he swung.
The blade didn't touch Long Chen. It didn't even come near him. But the air split, a force slammed into Long Chen's chest and flung him backward. He hit the floor hard, choking.
"That is Intent," the Sword Saint said. "The ability to impose your will onto your sword. Not slicing. Commanding."
A faint sigh escaped him, almost nostalgic. "And above that is the Domain. Those who reach it are called Sword Gods."
Long Chen pushed himself upright again, coughing, blood rolling down his lip. Every muscle begged him to stop.
He didn't.
"Again," he rasped.
The Sword Saint tilted his head. "You're stubborn."
"I didn't come this far to quit."
For a moment, something like approval flickered in the Sword Saint's eyes. "Then show me what you have left."
Long Chen steadied his breathing. His spirit energy was barely there, drained by every trial and every blow. Only one thing remained.
Death in a Thought.
The technique whispered in the back of his mind—dangerous and consuming. It was risky. It would consume everything he had in one strike. If it failed, he'd collapse. If it worked… he still wasn't sure.
'One shot.' The thought filled his head.
He gathered every drop of remaining energy into his palm. Aura flared bright and sharp, pressing down on the entire hall. Even without a sword, the aura condensed into a phantom blade in his grip.
The Sword Saint's eyes narrowed slightly. "Interesting."
Long Chen moved.
He crossed the distance in one step, faster than anything he'd achieved before, and swung. A streak of white light, sharp as fire, tore through the air.
The Sword Saint raised his weapon and their attacks collided.
The floor trembled. Light burst outward, dust exploded through the hall. Long Chen felt the technique tear through him, draining the last bits of strength he had. His vision dimmed. His knees hit the ground.
When the glow faded, he was kneeling, gasping.
The Sword Saint stood untouched.
"That," the old projection said, voice soft, "was closer."
Long Chen opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
The Sword Saint lowered his blade, his eyes on Long Chen. "You pass."
Long Chen blinked. "What?"
"The trial wasn't about winning," the Sword Saint said. "It was about resolve. Sword cultivators break before they bend. You could have quit a dozen times but you didn't."
He stepped back, his form flickering. "That's enough."
The hall shifted. The walls glowed with a series of runes lit up along the walls. A platform rose from the floor, holding four items:
A scroll.
Two jade slips.
A sword wrapped in black cloth.
"My inheritance," the Sword Saint said, voice fading. "A heaven-rank cultivation method. My core sword techniques. A movement art to fix your lack of speed. And the sword…"
He paused, staring at the wrapped blade.
"That sword has been sealed for centuries. It belonged to an old friend. For it to awaken now… it must have chosen you."
Long Chen stood there, breath unsteady.
"Take them," the Sword Saint said. "And remember this. Strength without purpose becomes destruction. Don't waste what I've given."
His projection flickered, then vanished.
Long Chen stood alone.
He forced his shaking legs forward and approached the platform. He picked up the scroll, the jade slips, and finally the wrapped sword.
The moment his fingers brushed the cloth, a faint warmth spread through his palm.
A notification rang through his mind.
[Mission Complete]
[Rewards Obtained:]
– Heavenly Demon Cultivation Technique
– Sword Technique: Heavenrend
– Sword Technique: Void-Splitting Strike
– Movement Technique: Phantom Step
– Sealed Sword: Dragonfang (Awakening Required)
Long Chen let out a slow, shaky breath. His body felt held together by will alone, but he'd done it.
He limped out of the ruins. By the time he stepped outside, the sun was sinking behind the trees. The forest felt strangely quiet.
He kept walking.
⸻
Two days passed before he reached the Dugu Clan. Two days of slow steps, sleeping in clearings, rationing the dried spirit beast meat the girl had given him. His wounds had mostly healed, but exhaustion clung to him stubbornly.
The guards didn't spare him a glance. Servants came and went constantly.
He returned to his small shack at the edge of the compound, pushed the door open, and collapsed on the straw mat that passed as a bed.
He lay there, staring up at the ceiling.
Then the notification appeared.
[Mission Complete: Change Long Chen's Fate]
[All objectives fulfilled]
[Initiating Return Protocol…]
[Returning in 10 seconds]
Long Chen bolted upright. "Wait—what?"
[10… 9… 8…]
His heart hammered in his chest. The inheritance, the sword, his cultivation—would all of it disappear?
[7… 6… 5…]
"Nabu!" he shouted. "What's happening?!"
Silence.
[4… 3… 2…]
Light swallowed the shack. His surroundings blurred into white.
[1…]
⸻
Long Chen's eyes snapped open.
He was lying on a cold tile floor. Not straw. Not stone.
He blinked slowly, his gaze sweeping across the space.
A cracked ceiling. A cheap desk with a dented laptop. A window facing a brick wall.
His flat.
It was his real flat. In London.
He was home.
He looked at his hands. There were no scars. No blood. But when he curled them into fists, the power hummed beneath his skin—quiet and steady.
Beside him lay the sealed sword, still wrapped in black cloth. The jade slips and scroll rested neatly beside it.
A notification pulsed softly in his mind.
[Return Complete]
[You may re-enter the story world at any time by purchasing a return ticket]
[Book currently influenced by God of Stories Nabu]
[Balance: £50.47]
Aiden—Long Chen—let out a shaky laugh and pushed a hand through his hair.
Somehow, impossibly…
He was home.