The sky burned crimson.
Reylan Voss stood atop the shattered peak of Mount Astral, his once peerless body riddled with wounds. Blood—his own and that of his enemies—coated the fractured ground. Around him lay thousands of corpses. The final battle against the Void Legion had ended in victory.
And then came the true betrayal.
"Reylan… why did you have to become so strong?"
The voice was soft, almost mournful.
Elara—the woman he had loved for two decades, the princess of the Holy Radiance Empire—stood before him, a glowing dagger in her hand. Behind her were faces he had once trusted with his life: his disciple, Karos the Thunder Blade; Emperor Valerian of the Astra Empire; and the seven other imperial representatives.
The dagger pulsed with forbidden soul magic. The Soul Reaver—a weapon designed to destroy not just the body, but the very cycle of reincarnation.
Reylan coughed, blood streaking his lips. His legendary sword, Dawnbreaker, lay broken beside him. Even with his perfected Sword Soul, he could not fight nine of the world's strongest while mortally wounded from the Void Lord battle.
"You… all of you…" His voice was a ragged whisper. "I gave everything to protect these empires. I stopped the Void. And this… this is your reward?"
Karos could not meet his gaze. "Master… your existence threatens the balance. You grew too fast. The people worship you, not the thrones. We cannot allow a new god to rise."
Emperor Valerian smiled, cold and unfeeling. "You should have remained a useful sword, Reylan. Not the hand that wields all."
Elara stepped closer. Tears fell, yet her hand was steady. "I'm sorry, my love. In the next life… perhaps you'll be weaker. Happier."
The dagger plunged into his heart.
Pain unlike any he had ever known ripped through his soul. It was more than physical; it felt as though his very existence was being erased from the flow of time.
As darkness swallowed him, something ancient stirred within his broken Sword Heart. A voice—not quite a voice—whispered directly into his fading consciousness.
"One who has reached the peak yet fallen to betrayal… do you wish to return?"
With the last fragment of will, Reylan answered: Yes.
A brilliant white light consumed everything.
Reylan's eyes snapped open.
He was lying on a hard wooden bed in a modest, dusty room. The scent of old wood and medicinal herbs filled his nostrils. Morning light filtered through a cracked window.
His body felt… small. Weak.
He sat up sharply, heart pounding. His hands—smooth, unscarred, youthful—trembled as he stared at them.
"This…"
Memories crashed over him like a tidal wave: the betrayal, the dagger, the voice… and now this.
He was fifteen again.
The year was 1247 of the Aetherian Calendar—twenty-five years before the great Void Invasion, fifteen years before he would meet Elara, ten years before he would take Karos as his disciple.
A savage, burning hatred surged through his chest.
"Elara… Karos… Valerian…" He whispered the names like a curse. "All of you. Every empire that stood by. I remember everything."
He swung his legs off the bed. His current body was pitiful—the Lin Clan's third young master, damaged veins from a failed assassination attempt years ago, the subject of endless mockery.
A cold smile formed on his lips.
"That ends today."
He closed his eyes, reaching inward. At the center of his being, where damaged veins should have been, burned a radiant, sword-shaped core: the Eternal Sword Heart. Every insight, every technique, every fragment of knowledge from his past life resided there.
He began circulating energy with the most basic sword-breathing method he knew—the method that would evolve into his supreme art.
Whoosh.
Mana—far denser than his fifteen-year-old body should have handled—flooded his meridians. Cracks echoed as damaged veins healed, impurities expelled in black sludge that oozed from his pores. Within minutes, he had reached the peak of the Sword Aura realm. A faint sword intent, sharp enough to cut steel, swirled around his fingers.
Reylan opened his eyes. They glowed with cold, calculating light.
"The Imperial Sword Academy entrance examination is in seven days," he murmured. In his previous life, he had failed miserably and been forced to join a lesser academy. This time, he would dominate it.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Young Master Reylan! The patriarch has summoned all direct descendants to the training hall. The visiting genius from the Thunder Tyrant Empire's branch family is here. You are required to attend."
The servant's voice carried pity. In the past, Reylan had been beaten black and blue by this so-called "genius," humiliated in front of the entire clan and guests.
Reylan's lips curled into a cruel smile.
"Tell the patriarch I will be there shortly."
He walked to a corner where an old iron sword hung. The clan's cheapest weapon. He gripped it.
The sword trembled. Invisible sword intent poured into the blade, refining it at a molecular level. Rust flaked away. The edge gleamed mirror-sharp.
"Not bad for a starting weapon."
He stepped into the courtyard. Servants and clan members stared. The aura he carried was different. Calm, yet ready to draw blood at any moment.
The training hall was packed.
At the center of the platform stood Varak Thane, a tall youth in luxurious robes embroidered with lightning. A genius of the Thunder Tyrant Empire's branch family, he was already at late-stage Sword Intent and radiated arrogance.
The Lin Clan patriarch sat on the main seat with a forced smile. Elders looked uneasy.
"Third Young Master has arrived," someone announced.
All eyes turned to him.
Murmurs spread:"Is that really the useless third young master?""He looks… different."
Varak sneered. "So this is the Lin Clan's useless young master? I heard your talent is so poor you can't even condense sword aura. Step up. I'll be gentle."
Laughter rippled through the hall.
Reylan walked forward, footsteps steady. The temperature seemed to drop with each step.
The patriarch frowned. "Reylan, you don't have to—"
"I want to," he said, voice calm, carrying pressure that made the elders straighten instinctively.
He stepped onto the platform.
Varak laughed. "Brave. Or foolish. Your choice."
Reylan raised the iron sword. It glowed faintly as sword intent, pure and deadly, coalesced around it.
Varak's smirk faltered.
"That's… impossible. You—"
"Enough talking," Reylan said softly.
He moved.
One step.
The distance vanished.
First Technique – Gale Piercing Strike.
The sword thrust like lightning. A white sword qi spun through the air like a drill, tearing the hall with a screech.
Varak barely raised his sword. The two blades met.
CRACK!
Varak's superior steel shattered like glass. The force slammed him into the wall. Blood sprayed as he slid down, eyes wide with disbelief and terror.
Silence.
Reylan stood in the centre, sword downward. Not a drop of sweat.
He glanced at the patriarch, the stunned elders, and the pale-faced guests.
"Is that all?" His voice was cold. "If the geniuses of the empires are only at this level… then this will be easier than I imagined."
The flames of vengeance burned brighter than ever. The first step of his new life had begun.
The empires that would one day betray him still stood at their peak.
He would grow faster than anyone could imagine.
When the time came, every one of them would kneel and beg for a death that would not come swiftly.
Reylan Voss—sheathing his sword—smiled for the first time in two lifetimes.
A smile forged from twenty-five years of hatred, regret, and unparalleled killing intent.
The Sword Sovereign had returned.