The Skyfall Palace stood at the highest point of the Azurefall Kingdom, a monument of white stone and suspended bridges carved directly into the mountainside. Clouds drifted below its foundations like a frozen sea, and above it, the heavens stretched wide and merciless.
The air here was always thin.
But today, it carried weight.
Not the weight of altitude, nor the pressure of an approaching storm—but the invisible heaviness that came from a blade being sharpened too close to breaking.
Li Chen stood alone at the edge of the Observation Terrace.
The wind tugged at the long sleeves of his white robes, embroidered with faint silver thread that shimmered whenever light touched it. His posture was relaxed, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, yet there was nothing casual about him. At nineteen, his frame was lean and refined, neither bulky nor frail—like a sword tempered to perfection, elegant until the moment it was drawn.
Beneath his robes, his Sword Physique was awake.
It never slept.
A low, almost inaudible hum vibrated through his bones and meridians, resonating outward into the surrounding air. The space around him felt subtly distorted, as though the world itself was being reminded—quietly, insistently—that steel existed here.
To a commoner looking up from the city below, Li Chen would appear divine.To a cultivator, he was something far more unsettling.
A storm, bound inside human flesh.
"Your Highness…"
The voice broke the silence carefully, like a hand testing the edge of a blade.
Prime Minister Xu stopped several paces behind Li Chen, unwilling to step closer. Age had bent the old man's spine and dulled his Qi, but not his instincts. Even standing still, the Crown Prince radiated an aura that made the skin prickle. It felt like standing too close to an unsheathed sword—no visible threat, yet danger all the same.
"The Nine Heavens Sword Sect has sent their third envoy this month."
Li Chen did not turn.
"Tell them the same thing as before, Minister."
His voice was calm. Flat. Not arrogant, not dismissive—merely absolute.
"I will not join a sect until I reach the Peak of Foundation Establishment. My father does not need his heir kneeling before elders in mountain halls. He needs a Sword Sovereign who can stand alone."
Prime Minister Xu swallowed.
Before he could respond, another presence entered the terrace—heavier, steadier, burdened by years of rule.
"The Great Sun Empire has begun moving its borders again."
Li Chen turned.
His father, King Li Tianwu, approached slowly. The King was a man forged by decades of war and governance, a Late-stage Golden Core cultivator whose name still carried weight beyond Azurefall's borders. His shoulders were broad, his gaze sharp—but next to his son, something felt… diminished.
Not weak.
Outpaced.
"They are testing rivers. Roads. Supply lines," the King continued, stopping beside Li Chen. The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the clouds in deep crimson. "They possess three Sword Physiques in their royal bloodline. We have only you."
Li Chen followed his father's gaze toward the blood-colored sky.
"The Nine Heavens Sword Sect offers protection," the King said. "If you join them, the Empire will not dare cross our borders."
Li Chen lowered his eyes to his right hand.
He did not draw a blade.
He did not circulate Qi.
He simply flicked his fingers.
A sliver of translucent energy manifested—sharp, refined, terrifyingly pure.
Level 2 Sword Intent.
The air screamed.
A hair-thin fissure carved itself into the obsidian tiles beneath his feet, slicing stone not through force, but through will alone. The fracture extended outward, clean and flawless, like a line drawn by the heavens themselves.
"Protection is a debt," Li Chen said softly. "And debt chains the sword."
He closed his hand, the intent vanishing as if it had never been.
"I would rather be the blade that defends Azurefall," he continued, "than a shield held in another's grasp."
The King exhaled slowly.
Pride warred with fear in his eyes.
His son was a miracle—Late Foundation Establishment at nineteen, Sword Intent refined beyond his peers, a physique spoken of in hushed tones by sect scouts and imperial spies alike.
But miracles attracted hunters.
"You are too sharp, Chen-er," the King whispered. "A sword that cuts too deeply is easily chipped."
Li Chen did not answer.
The jade pendant resting against his chest—the Samsara Sword Seal—pulsed once.
Cold.
Measured.
Almost… impatient.
Li Chen looked north.
Beyond the mountains. Beyond the frost-scarred plains. Toward the Ancient Sword Ruins, rumored to be awakening after centuries of silence.
Something there was calling him.
Not a voice.
Not a vision.
A pull—etched into his blood and marrow, deeper than Qi.
He did not yet know that the protection his father sought was an illusion, nor that the Nine Heavens Sword Sect did not see him as a disciple, but as a vessel.
He only knew this:
He was the Sword Prince of Azurefall.
The world lay before him.
And he had never felt more alone.
"Minister," Li Chen said at last, turning back toward the palace. "Prepare my carriage."
Prime Minister Xu stiffened.
"If the Nine Heavens Sect wishes to judge my worth," Li Chen continued, his gaze steady, "then I will meet them at the Ruins. But I will go as a Prince of this Kingdom—not as a beggar seeking a master."
The wind surged, snapping his robes outward.
For a fleeting moment, the shadow he cast across the palace floor no longer resembled a man.
It looked like a colossal sword—
Driven point-first into the heart of the earth.