The northern winds carried a metallic scent — the taste of ancient qi and forgotten blood.
Lin Yuan walked along a broken stone path that wound through the mist-shrouded forest. The trees here were lifeless, their bark etched with faint talisman marks. Once, this land had belonged to the Heavenly Sky Sect's outer sanctum, but centuries of war had reduced it to ruins.
Ahead, rising from the fog, stood the Whispering Pagoda — nine stories tall, each level adorned with broken bells that chimed whenever the wind passed through.
Even from a distance, Lin Yuan felt the pressure of lingering souls. The air hummed with faint murmurs — countless voices overlapping, weeping, pleading, whispering.
He stopped at the entrance, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"So this is where they fell…"
The pagoda's door creaked open as if in answer.
Inside, the air was colder. Every wall was covered in ancient inscriptions — names, prayers, and oaths of fallen disciples. At the center floated a blue flame, suspended in midair. Its flickering light cast moving shadows that seemed alive.
When Lin Yuan stepped forward, the voices grew louder.
"Who walks the path of the dead?"
"Whose blood carries the Orchid's scent?"
"Whose heart beats with the rhythm of betrayal?"
He closed his eyes briefly. "I am Lin Yuan, disciple of the fallen path, seeking truth in the silence of those before me."
The blue flame expanded — and his surroundings shifted.
He stood now in a vast, endless hall. All around him were reflections of himself — each one holding a sword, each moving slightly out of sync.
A voice echoed within:
"The blade's shadow follows you… but what follows the shadow?"
Lin Yuan drew his sword, and instantly all reflections mimicked him. Their auras flared — dozens of Lin Yuans, each representing a fragment of his past: his rage, his grief, his arrogance, his doubt.
The moment stretched. Then — they attacked.
Steel clashed against steel, sparks illuminating the darkness. He parried one reflection, only to be slashed by another. Their coordination was flawless — his own flaws, multiplied.
His breathing slowed. The Mirror Art could not help him here — this was a battle of self, not skill.
He sheathed his blade, standing still amidst the storm of slashes.
"Power born from fear is power borrowed," he murmured. "But power born from silence… that is mine alone."
He spread his palm. The Spirit Core within him pulsed once — and the reflections shattered into shards of light, dissolving into mist.
The hall vanished.
He was back inside the pagoda, standing before the blue flame — now calm, steady. In its glow, a single object floated forth: a small jade token engraved with the emblem of the Heavenly Sky Sect… and beside it, a faint lotus mark — the same as his master's.
Lin Yuan's heart tightened. "So Master was once one of them…"
As he took the jade, the whispers softened — their tone now almost peaceful.
"Walk forward, Shadow of the Blade," the voices said. "The truth awaits beyond fire and storm."
The flame extinguished itself.
Lin Yuan turned, stepping out of the pagoda as dawn broke through the fog. The wind carried no more whispers — only a faint hum of balance restored.
He tucked the jade token into his robes, eyes distant.
The path ahead was no longer just about power — it was about why his master had chosen to walk the path of exile.
He looked northward, toward the faint glow of red in the sky — the flames of the next battlefield.
"Fire, then storm…" he murmured. "Let's see what fate forges next."
And he began walking again, leaving the Whispering Pagoda silent behind him.