The sun of the higher realm never set quietly.
Above the vast expanse of the Outer Court Mountains, it bled golden light across floating sword peaks and radiant mist, where the air shimmered with divine energy. For ordinary disciples, that light was sacred. For Lin Feng, it was a weight pressing on his body — reminding him that he was still far from mastering this world's laws.
He stood alone at the edge of a sword cliff, wind carving around him like invisible blades. His azure robes fluttered faintly.
It had been three months since he joined the Heavenly Sword Palace. Three months since the duel with Jian Wuhen that had made his name echo through the Outer Court.
And yet, every whisper that carried his name came laced with mockery.
"That's the ascended from the lower realm."
"His sword doesn't even glow."
"He beat Jian Wuhen with tricks. No true sword intent."
He ignored them. In this world, words were wind; only strength was real.
The Outer Court of the Heavenly Sword Palace was a world in itself — a continent of peaks, each ruled by a faction. Thousands of disciples trained here, dreaming of entering the Inner Court, where divine energy flowed like rivers of gold. Every decade, only ten out of thousands were chosen through the Ascension Trial. And the next trial was just a month away.
---
That day, Lin Feng walked down from his cliff and entered the Azure Mist Forest, where ancient sword marks scarred the stones, left by generations of failed prodigies. Here, divine energy fluctuated wildly, and the suppression on lower realm cultivators was immense. But for Lin Feng, it was the perfect crucible.
He stepped into the mist, closed his eyes, and let his breathing slow.
Inside his dantian, the faint azure light of his sword intent pulsed, resonating with the forest.
Each time the divine suppression tried to crush his meridians, his will pushed back harder — shaping his intent into a sharper edge.
"Again," he murmured.
The wind around him split apart as his sword cut through the mist, precise and silent. Dozens of sword shadows flowed like rivers from his blade, merging into a single arc — the Azure Sword Art: Second Form – Dragon's Descent.
But it wasn't enough.
The heavens here were stronger; his strikes lacked the depth of divine comprehension.
He wiped the blood from his lip and laughed quietly. "So this is the higher realm's standard…"
---
As he practiced, another presence appeared light steps upon the stone.
Yue Lian stood there, a slim figure dressed in silver robes, her sword sheathed across her back. Her eyes were cold, her aura steady. She was a disciple of the Frost Valley Lineage, ranked among the top ten of the Outer Court.
"You're still here?" she said flatly. "Most who train here collapse after an hour. You've been here three days."
Lin Feng didn't stop his movements. "Three days isn't much."
Her gaze narrowed. "You're reckless. Divine suppression isn't something your body can endure endlessly. You may have won against Jian Wuhen, but the Ascension Trial isn't a duel. It's a slaughter."
"I know," Lin Feng replied. His sword paused midair, its edge trembling faintly. "That's why I'm not preparing to survive it. I'm preparing to win it."
A long silence stretched between them.
The mist swirled. Finally, Yue Lian turned away, her tone softer. "You're arrogant, but not foolish. I'll see if you still speak like that on the Sword Tempest Platform."
When she vanished into the mist, Lin Feng exhaled. His sword sank slightly as divine fatigue washed over him, but his eyes glowed faintly azure.
"The Sword Tempest Platform…" he whispered. "Then I'll forge my will there."
---
A week later, the sky split with the ringing of Sword Bells.
From every peak of the Outer Court, disciples gathered beneath a floating platform made of translucent divine metal. The presiding elder, robed in gold, spoke with a voice that thundered through the realm.
"Ten days hence, the Ascension Trial shall begin!
The Sword Tempest will judge your will, your endurance, your comprehension of the sword!
Only ten shall rise — the rest shall remain in shadow!"
The disciples roared in excitement and fear alike.
Factions began gathering immediately, alliances forming under the strongest: Mo Tian, Ling Yue, Bai Hanjun. Their auras shone like miniature suns — true Saint-level disciples, already wielding divine bloodlines.
Lin Feng stood alone near the edge, unbothered. He could feel their killing intent brushing against him — the silent promise to eliminate him before he rose any higher.
Mo Tian approached him openly, his fiery red hair flickering with heat. "Lin Feng," he said with a grin too sharp to be friendly. "I'll be waiting on the Sword Tempest Platform. Don't die before I humiliate you."
Lin Feng met his gaze calmly. "Then you should prepare to be disappointed."
Mo Tian's eyes narrowed, but Lin Feng turned and left before he could reply his calm more insulting than defiance.
---
That night, a celestial phenomenon descended.
The skies darkened, and countless streams of silver light — sword qi condensed by divine will — began to fall like rain. Each droplet cut through clouds, piercing stone, whispering the faint resonance of heavenly blades.
The disciples retreated indoors. Only one figure remained outside, standing in the rain with his sword drawn.
Lin Feng lifted his blade, eyes reflecting the falling swordlight. Each drop struck his skin, slicing faint wounds, but he stood unmoving.
He began to swing his sword, slowly, rhythmically, following the rhythm of the falling lights.
Each motion carried weight — not of power, but of understanding. His breathing deepened, his mind sinking into the vast flow of the heavens.
Azure Sword Art… Third Form.
The rain thickened.
The ground cracked around him as azure qi spiraled upward, merging with the swordlight. For a brief instant, the entire forest glowed faintly blue.
Nine Heavens Reversal.
A single stroke cut the falling rain in half — and for a heartbeat, silence reigned.
Then, the rain fell again, but not upon Lin Feng. Each droplet curved away, flowing past him like water avoiding a stone.
His sword arm trembled, his energy nearly spent, but his eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction.
"The path to heaven begins with defiance," he whispered.
"If the divine suppresses me, I will force the heavens to remember my name."
Above him, a single thread of lightning-like sword light pierced the clouds — faint, almost invisible — yet carrying a resonance only a few could sense.
---
Far away, in the inner sanctum of the Heavenly Sword Palace, two elders watched through a divine mirror.
Elder Yun Xi "That boy again… Lin Feng of the lower realm."
Elder Mo Xu "His sword doesn't glow, yet it defied the sword rain. He's suppressing something."
Elder Yun Xi "Or hiding it. The heavens rarely favor those born below, yet the heavens themselves seem to hesitate before his will."
The mirror dimmed.
Outside, Lin Feng sheathed his sword and turned toward the horizon, where the Sword Tempest Platform awaited.
The wind howled softly — the calm before the storm.