The stars looked different that night.
Yan Xuanlanbin sat beside the river at the mountain's base, his sword resting across his lap. He had been silent for hours. Not meditating. Not cultivating. Just… listening.
The blade had changed.
It no longer felt broken, but it didn't feel whole either. Something deep inside it pulsed—quietly. Like a sleeping beast breathing just below the surface.
He dipped his fingers in the river. The water was cold and clear, running past stones smooth from centuries of flow.
Far in the distance, wolves howled.
He was being watched.
Not by animals.
Not even by mortals.
The Nine had heard.
They always did.
Elsewhere, in the Heaven Realm, a cloaked figure knelt beneath a tree of silver leaves.
"The sword has chosen," the elder said. His voice was thin but sharp—like a thread pulled tight.
The kneeling figure did not speak.
The elder turned, robes trailing in the grass. "We were promised a thousand years of peace after the sword vanished. Now… it returns, bound to a boy with no sect, no bloodline, no fate."
He paused, then raised a thin hand.
"Kill him before the others find him."
The figure stood. A soft hum rose from their back as a spear unfolded from a long pouch. Midnight-black. Silent.
No words were exchanged.
The assassin vanished.
Back in the mortal plains, Xuanlanbin felt a chill run down his spine.
He stood, eyes narrowing. His hand touched the hilt of his sword.
The trees across the river bent slightly—not from wind, but weight.
Someone was here.
He turned slowly.
A woman stood on the far bank. She wore no armor. No sect robes. Just plain traveling clothes, gray and unmarked. Her face was calm. Too calm.
Xuanlanbin knew right away.
She was a killer.
Her eyes scanned him like measuring an object. "You don't look like much," she said. Her voice was light, polite. "Not what I expected from the one who touched the Supreme Sword."
Xuanlanbin didn't reply.
She smiled. "No sect emblem. No Qi pulse I can sense. Yet here you are… sword reborn, and the Nine watching."
She stepped onto the river. Literally. Each footfall landed on a ripple that held her weight like glass.
Xuanlanbin's fingers tightened around the hilt.
"You're not from around here," he said quietly.
She gave a short nod. "I'm from the Heaven Realm."
That was enough.
He moved.
In one breath, he crossed the river, blade flashing toward her shoulder. No warning. No talking. Just instinct.
Her hand snapped up.
Steel met steel—her black spear blocked the blow with ease.
But her smile faltered.
The broken sword, reforged by the Supreme's will, sent a shock down her arm. She stepped back once, twice—eyes narrowed now.
"Interesting," she murmured.
Xuanlanbin didn't press. He waited.
She spun the spear once and lunged.
Fast.
Too fast.
The tip grazed his shoulder before he even saw it move. Pain flared. Blood spattered across the riverbank.
He stepped back. Lowered his stance. This wasn't a battle he could win by brute force.
She came again.
Three strikes.
He blocked the first two, but the third curved low and caught his side. Not deep. But enough.
He staggered.
"Do you even know what you're carrying?" she asked, circling him.
He didn't answer.
She raised her spear. "Then allow me to relieve you of it."
She moved in for the final blow.
But something changed.
The river behind Xuanlanbin rose—just slightly. Like it had been holding its breath.
His sword flared with a dull glow.
No burst of light. No thunderclap.
Just silence.
And in that silence, Xuanlanbin stepped forward—not fast, not explosive. Just… perfect.
One movement.
One clean, horizontal slash.
Her spear snapped in two.
The air bent around them, as if it couldn't keep up with what just happened.
The assassin froze. She stared at her broken weapon.
Then she smiled.
"…So it's true."
Xuanlanbin stood perfectly still, sword humming in his grip.
"You can kill me," she said, voice calm. "But others will come. You've been marked."
He didn't answer.
"Which means," she said, stepping back into the water, "your journey's begun, Swordbearer."
She vanished into the night mist like she was never there.
Later that night, Xuanlanbin sat again by the river, binding his wounds.
The sword lay beside him now. Still. Silent.
He looked up at the stars.
The sky was clear, but he knew storm clouds were already forming far beyond.
The Nine Realms had been quiet for a thousand years. But now they were stirring again.
All for one blade.
All for one bearer.
He didn't ask for this.
But the sword had chosen.
And whether he liked it or not, the realms were coming for him.
Far away, inside the Beast Realm, a massive tiger the size of a house lifted its head.
Its eyes glowed with ancient intelligence.
It turned to a smaller, cloaked figure.
"The bearer is young," it growled. "Still uncertain."
The figure bowed. "He carries the sword. That is enough."
The tiger snorted. "Then let the trials begin. Let the realms rise—or fall."