Marked by the Blade

The battlefield stood frozen. Jiang Chen's blade, gleaming with the ethereal light of Wudang, hummed softly in the eerie silence that followed his strike. The bodies of the fallen masked figures lay still, their monstrous transformations undone in death, their limbs twisted in unnatural ways. The air, thick with demonic energy just moments before, now swirled with dissipating remnants of their corrupted qi.

Jiang Chen's breath was ragged, his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. The weight of the sword in his hands felt heavier now—not from exhaustion, but from understanding. This was no ordinary blade. It was history, it was legacy, it was a truth long buried beneath time and legend.

Juan Lei's voice, a whisper in his mind, carried an emotion Jiang Chen had never heard before. Awe.

"Even in my prime, I never wielded it like this."

Jiang Chen's grip tightened. "Then why now? Why me?"

Juan Lei remained silent for a moment before answering, his voice lower, almost reverent. "Because the sword chooses."

A sudden movement snapped Jiang Chen from his thoughts. He turned just in time to see Qin Tianzhao staring at him, his own sword still raised but unmoving. His sharp eyes reflected not fear, but calculation. Beyond him, Haoyu, Yujin, and Shen Mei all stood, their expressions a mix of astonishment and apprehension.

Then, from the far side of the battlefield, a slow, deliberate clap echoed through the clearing.

"Well done," a voice called out.

The remaining warriors turned toward the sound, their instincts on edge. Stepping forward from the thinning mist of demonic qi was a man draped in dark robes, his face obscured by a hood. His presence alone was oppressive, carrying an aura far denser than that of the fallen masked figures. Though he did not radiate the same twisted corruption, his aura was deep, vast, an abyss that threatened to pull them in.

Jiang Chen steadied his stance, his sword vibrating slightly as if reacting to the newcomer.

"You have proven yourself worthy," the man said, his tone amused. "But tell me, do you even know what you hold in your hands?"

Jiang Chen lifted his chin. "The Sword of Wudang."

The man chuckled. "That is merely a name. What you wield is far greater than a relic of Wudang's past." He stepped closer, each movement slow and deliberate. "That blade has rewritten Murim's fate—again and again. Do you think you'll be the last?"

Jiang Chen said nothing, but his grip on the sword tightened.

Qin Tianzhao shifted, his stance subtly changing. "Who are you?"

The man sighed. "Ah, yes. Introductions." He slowly reached for his hood and pulled it back, revealing a face sharp as a dagger, eyes the color of smoldering embers. "You may call me Bai Xuan. But titles matter little. What matters is what comes next."

Shen Mei took a cautious step forward, her blade still drawn. "What do you want?"

Bai Xuan smiled. "Oh, I have already taken what I wanted." He gestured toward the fallen masked figures. "Their sacrifice was… necessary. A step forward in my grand design."

Haoyu spat to the side. "You talk too much."

Bai Xuan's grin widened. "Perhaps. But you see, I am in no rush." He gestured lazily toward Jiang Chen. "The blade has awakened, and with it, so too will those who seek it. Wudang, Mount Hua, the Demonic Cult—they will all come. Some to claim it, others to destroy it."

His eyes glowed faintly. "Tell me, Jiang Chen, are you ready to bear the weight of what you now carry?"

Jiang Chen felt Juan Lei's presence surge within him, but he did not need his master's guidance to answer.

"I don't need to be ready." He raised his sword. "I just need to keep moving forward."

Bai Xuan laughed, slow and deliberate. "A fine answer." His gaze swept across them once more before he exhaled. "Very well. Consider this your first trial."

Without another word, he materialized a sword in his hand—one forged purely from demonic qi. The air around it twisted, warping under its presence.

But before he could strike, daggers sliced through the air toward him.

"Who dares interfere?" Bai Xuan's voice was laced with irritation as he caught the daggers effortlessly in one hand.

From the shadows of the trees, figures emerged—cloaked in dark robes, their presence carrying a suffocating weight.

"The Veiled Sentinels?" Jiang Chen's eyes widened, his voice edged with frustration. "Why now? You should have been here earlier!"

One of the Sentinels turned slightly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"We act when the tides demand it. Not before."

Their swords remained drawn, wreathed in dark blue flames—similar to Wudang's, yet undeniably different.

One of them lunged, his blade slicing through the air toward Bai Xuan.

With nothing but his bare hand, Bai Xuan caught the strike, his palm reinforced with a thick layer of demonic qi. His eyes flared a deep crimson. "Insolent wretches! How dare you raise your blade against a high-ranking master of the Heavenly Demon Cult!"

Demonic energy surged as he prepared to retaliate—only for another Veiled Sentinel to move.

The strike was clean. Precise. Effortless.

In an instant, Bai Xuan's body was cleaved in two, the upper half of his torso separating from the lower.

He did not scream.

Instead, Bai Xuan merely clicked his tongue. "Tsk… fine." His voice held only irritation, not pain. Then, without ceremony, his body dissolved into mist—vanishing as if he had never been there.

Jiang Chen exhaled sharply, his mind racing.

A figure that powerful… and it wasn't even his real body?

His grip tightened around the legendary sword in his hand. Was this weapon truly worth all the bloodshed?

Even with Bai Xuan gone, the air remained thick with tension. The battle had ended, but Jiang Chen's heart still pounded against his ribs.

"Why weren't you here earlier?" Qin Tianzhao's voice cut through the silence, raw with frustration. "We could have all died!"

As expected, the Veiled Sentinels did not answer. Without a word, they vanished, their figures blurring into the night—ghosts that had never truly been there.

Qin Tianzhao clenched his fists. "Those damn—" He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. "Never mind. We need to return to the White Tiger Courtyard and report everything." His gaze shifted toward the distance, eyes narrowing. "And someone needs to be held accountable."

Jiang Chen gave a firm nod. "Then let's—"

A sharp pain lanced through his chest.

His knees buckled, and before he could stop himself, he fell forward, barely catching himself with his free hand. The sword in his grasp pulsed with energy, but his own qi felt erratic, unstable. His vision blurred for a moment, and he distantly heard Juan Lei curse within his mind.

"Damn it. The sword is still too much for your current state."

Jiang Chen clenched his teeth, willing himself to stand, but Qin Tianzhao was already beside him, steadying him with a firm grip.

"You pushed too far," Qin muttered. "Take a moment."

Jiang Chen wanted to argue, to push forward, but deep down, he knew they were right. The power he had tapped into—the sword's full awakening—it had come at a price. His body was barely holding on, and the backlash of such rapid advancement threatened to overwhelm him.

Yujin crouched beside him, concern evident in his gaze. "We'll figure it out, alright? But first, we need to regroup."

Shen Mei swept her gaze across the battlefield, her expression still tense. "We need to leave before more enemies arrive. Even with the Veiled Sentinels showing up, there's no guarantee they'll help us again."

Jiang Chen exhaled sharply. "Agreed."

With the help of his companions, he pushed himself back onto his feet. The sword of Wudang, though heavy in his grasp, no longer felt foreign. It had chosen him, but what that truly meant—what responsibility it carried—was still unknown.

As they moved deeper into the forest, Jiang Chen cast one last glance at the battlefield behind them. The bodies, the blood, the lingering echoes of the fight—it was only the beginning.

He did not know where the road ahead would lead. But he knew one thing for certain.

The sword had returned.

And with it, so too had war.

"The legacy of a legend now flows through you."

[Mission Completed: Legacy of Juan Lei (1ST STAGE)]

"May the light of Wudang grace your next move."

Objective: Purge the Demonic Threat

Reward: The Sword of Wudang

The scroll reappeared as Jiang Chen and his companions made their way back to regroup with the remaining Wudang and Mount Hua disciples.

"It seems our journey is only beginning, young Jiang," Juan Lei's voice echoed in his mind. "But I must ask… why my legacy?"

Jiang Chen barely had time to process the words before something shifted.

"First stage?" he murmured, staring up at the glowing scroll.

Suddenly, pain shot through his right arm. The legendary sword in his grasp began to dematerialize, its form unraveling into streams of pure qi that coiled around his arm like living energy.

"What the—!?" A sharp cry tore from his throat as he dropped to one knee, his body trembling under the sheer force of it.

"Chen! Are you alright?" Yujin rushed toward him, but was immediately repelled by the swirling qi. Every time he tried to step closer, an invisible force pushed him back.

The sword unraveled into glowing tendrils of qi, swirling like living fire. The moment they touched his skin, a searing pain ripped through him—hotter than molten steel, colder than a mountain storm. His veins burned with raw energy as symbols carved themselves into his flesh, glowing like embers in the night.

"What is it doing!?" he gasped, gritting his teeth against the pain.

"It seems to be fusing with its wielder," Juan Lei noted, a rare hint of concern in his voice. "The sword never did this for me when I wielded it."

He paused before continuing, his tone shifting to one of grudging admiration. "But I ask you to endure it. If this process is completed, you may rise to a level even comparable to mine."

A chuckle followed, laced with his usual boastfulness. "You're strong, Jiang. This pain is nothing to you."

His screams filled the air, the qi forming an impenetrable barrier around him. Yujin and the others could do nothing but watch, helpless.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the energy settled. The last remnants of the swirling qi vanished, leaving behind something entirely new. Ancient glowing text was now etched into Jiang Chen's skin, running from his shoulder down to his fingertips—marks of power, as if the sword itself had become one with him.

Breathless, he stared at his arm, his mind still reeling.

"This… this is something else," he panted, awe and exhaustion woven into his voice.

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