The Hall of Reflections was not a place of light.
When Lin Feng stepped through its gate, the world fell silent.
No sky. No wind. Only a vast mirror-like floor stretching endlessly into blackness.
The instant his boots touched the glassy surface, ripples spread outward — like a stone thrown into still water.
His reflection looked back at him, but it was wrong.
The eyes were dull. The blade in its hand was cracked. The man in the mirror was… hollow.
"The second trial," a distant voice echoed, the same elder who had overseen the Sword Tempest.
"Here, your heart will be weighed. Your sword will be measured against itself.
Break your reflection — and you ascend.
Fall to it — and you remain here forever."
Then, silence again.
Lin Feng looked around, gripping his sword.
He had faced monsters, saints, and gods. But this stillness — this quiet pressure — was different.
It wasn't threatening his body. It was whispering directly to his soul.
The reflection smiled — a slow, unsettling curve.
"You've forgotten, haven't you?"
Its voice was his own.
"Forgotten the screams. The blood. The faces of those who followed you and died."
The mirror rippled. Images formed in the air — the warzone of the lower realm, mountains of corpses, rivers of blood.
He saw his master, standing atop the battlefield, deflecting ten saint realm experts at once.
He saw Duan and Jiang patriarchs, the Sword Sovereign Sect Master — all of them fighting, bleeding, falling.
And then he saw himself — broken, dragging his body through fire, clutching a sword that no longer glowed.
"You called it victory," the reflection said.
"But you were the only one who lived."
Lin Feng's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.
He didn't speak.
The reflection stepped closer, its movements a perfect mirror of his own.
But its aura was corrupted — leaking black sword energy that carried resentment, pain, and doubt.
"Tell me, Lin Feng," it hissed.
"When you ascended to this realm, did you really want to grow stronger…
or were you running away?"
A surge of killing intent filled the hall. The reflection's blade rose, shimmering with cold, hateful light.
Lin Feng closed his eyes for a moment — then exhaled.
"I didn't forget them," he said quietly.
"And I'm not running."
His sword ignited with azure light — faint but steady.
The reflection roared, lunging forward.
Their blades met, and the hall exploded into motion.
Each clash echoed like thunder in the void.
Their speed blurred into afterimages — two Lin Fengs, one bright, one dark, locked in a storm of blades.
Every strike the reflection made carried emotion: guilt, regret, self-loathing.
And each one Lin Feng parried not with rage — but clarity.
"Azure Sword Art — Form Two: Dragon's Descent!"
The reflection mirrored it perfectly.
Two dragons collided, their roars tearing cracks through the illusionary space.
The shockwave threw Lin Feng back. He crashed to one knee, coughing blood.
The reflection walked toward him, its tone venomous.
"You think calm makes you strong? You think detachment means enlightenment?"
"No — it just means you've stopped feeling."
Lin Feng's breathing slowed.
He stared at his reflection, eyes burning.
"I feel everything," he said quietly. "I just learned not to let it drown me."
He rose again — steady, unflinching.
The Azure Sword hummed as blue runes lit up along the blade.
"Azure Sword Art — Third Form: Nine Heavens Reversal!"
Nine arcs of azure light spiraled around him, forming a barrier of pure will.
The reflection charged again, its black energy crashing against the blue glow — dark and light devouring one another.
The hall trembled, pieces of the mirrored floor fracturing like breaking glass.
As their blades locked, the reflection screamed in fury.
"You should have died with them!"
"Maybe," Lin Feng answered, voice low. "But they fought so I could live. So I will live — for all of them."
A deafening crack split the air.
His sword glowed — purer, sharper than ever before.
And in one motion, he brought it down.
"Azure Sword Art — Fourth Form: Destiny Break!"
The blade cut through the reflection's neck in a burst of azure fire.
The figure froze — then shattered into countless shards of glass, dissolving into light.
Silence followed.
Lin Feng stood amidst the fading motes of energy, chest heaving.
Then, the black void began to fade.
The mirrors around him turned clear — reflecting not darkness, but sky. Clouds. Light.
And there, standing before him now, was not his corrupted self — but his master's image.
"You've come far," the old man said, his voice faint, almost like an echo from memory.
"But remember this, Lin Feng — strength built from guilt will crumble.
Strength built from purpose will last beyond death."
Lin Feng bowed deeply.
"I understand, Master."
The illusion smiled, then dissolved into dust, carried away by a warm breeze that didn't exist.
---
Moments Later…
Outside the Hall of Reflections, the surviving disciples stood trembling — each carrying their own unseen wounds. Some were pale, others shaking, their swords broken.
Only a handful emerged unscathed — and among them, Lin Feng.
Elder Mo Xu watched silently as Lin Feng stepped out of the hall, eyes clear, aura calm.
But behind that calmness, the elder could feel something new.
His sword will had changed.
It was no longer sharp and defiant — it was quiet, like a blade that understood when to kill and when to sheathe.
"He's already begun to touch the edge of Sword Heart Illumination," Mo Xu murmured to the elder beside him.
"To think an ascendant from the lower realm would reach this level so quickly…"
Lin Feng sheathed his sword and looked toward the Inner Palace gates.
He didn't need words. His intent spoke for him.
"I've passed the second trial," he said softly. "What comes next?"
Mo Xu gave a faint smile.
"The third trial — the Sword Constellation Array.
There, you'll face not illusions… but the combined will of the palace's founding swords."
The elder's gaze darkened.
"Even Celestials have failed that one. Prepare yourself."
Lin Feng nodded, expression calm but eyes fierce.
"Then I'll show them," he said. "That even a mortal-born sword can cut through the heavens."
---
That night, Lin Feng sat beneath the stars of the higher realm, meditating beside the floating cliffs.
The Azure Sword lay across his knees, wrapped once more in its black cloth.
He looked up at the constellations — faint, shimmering patterns forming the shapes of swords across the heavens.
"Master," he murmured. "The path is getting steeper. But I'll walk it to the end."
The wind answered him — soft, carrying the scent of divine steel and storm.
And somewhere deep within the sword, the Azure fragment pulsed once — a heartbeat of silent approval.