The following night, beneath a storm-wracked sky, Ye Xiu found himself alone on the outskirts of the mechanical graveyard—a desolate stretch where the boundaries between the mundane and the mysterious blurred. The events of the day still haunted him: the terrifying emergence of the mechanized tentacles, the sudden, brutal display of unknown power, and the fateful contact with the jade slip that awakened a fragment of the ancient sword manual within his blood.
He returned to the only sanctuary he knew—a ramshackle dwelling concealed among the remnants of an old service station. There, in the dim glow of a flickering neon sign, he sat cross-legged in a sparse room. The wooden sword pendant, which had served him faithfully until now, rested against his chest. Its presence was both a comfort and a curse—a tangible reminder of the power he was beginning to wield and the sacrifices it demanded.
Driven by a mixture of determination and trepidation, Ye Xiu retrieved the pendant and examined it closely. He recalled how, during the chaos of the day, the pendant had transformed into a full-length blade, its crimson aura blazing in response to his desperate need. Now, alone in the quiet, he could almost hear its silent call—a beckoning to test the boundaries of his newfound power.
Summoning the fragment's energy, he drew a deep, steadying breath and activated the latent ability within the pendant. The transformation was swift and intense. In an eruption of red light, the wooden pendant expanded and hardened into a formidable sword—a blade that glowed with a fierce, pulsating energy. Its surface was etched with intricate symbols, and along its length, crimson veins seemed to shimmer as if alive with an inner fire.
At that moment, the silence of the room was shattered by a distant, echoing crash. The building shook as if struck by an unseen force, and Ye Xiu staggered to his feet. Outside, the storm had intensified, torrents of rain lashing against the broken windows. It was as if the very elements were attuned to the tumult brewing within him.
Compelled by the need to test his control over this dangerous power, Ye Xiu stepped into the raging night. In a desolate clearing at the edge of the graveyard, he confronted a scene that felt both surreal and inevitable. The ground itself pulsed with residual energy—an echo of the ancient battles fought on this cursed soil. Here, amid the howling winds and pounding rain, he decided to push forward with the first trial of the sword.
Recalling the fragmentary instructions gleaned from the jade slip, Ye Xiu positioned himself in a defensive stance. The ancient manual had mentioned three techniques: Breaking Wind, Cutting Steel, and Burning Blood. Though his knowledge was incomplete, the instinctive resonance of the blade within his hand urged him to begin. He closed his eyes and allowed the power within him to awaken, drawing upon the memory of pain, sacrifice, and the unyielding determination to protect his mother and his legacy.
In a burst of searing energy, Ye Xiu unleashed a controlled swing of the wooden sword. The blade's edge blazed with an intense red light as it cleaved through the stagnant air. In that moment, the sword seemed to come alive—the symbols on its surface glowed with ethereal brilliance, and the red aura spread outward like a ripple in a pool. The technique, later to be known as Breaking Wind, shattered the stillness, sending shockwaves that scattered debris and stirred the dormant energies of the land.
But the act of unleashing such raw power came at a steep cost. As the energy surged through his arm, Ye Xiu felt a sudden, agonizing burst of pain. His right arm convulsed violently, and a sharp, burning sensation coursed through his veins. He gasped, clutching his arm as blood began to seep through his torn sleeves. The strain was overwhelming—the sheer force of the unleashed technique had caused a rupture in one of his major blood vessels.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Ye Xiu staggered backward. The blade, now slowly dimming from its ferocious glow, hung heavy in his grasp. His vision blurred with tears, not solely from the physical agony but from the realization of what he had just endured. The ancient texts had warned of the cost of channeling such power—the wielder's life force was inexorably bound to the blade, and each use exacted a toll.
In that critical moment, as his body convulsed and his strength waned, Ye Xiu remembered another detail from the fragment: the antidote lay within the very essence of the beastly energies—a potent liquid secreted from the tentacle cores he had witnessed earlier. With trembling hands, he retrieved a small vial he had secured from the chaotic events of the day—a vial containing a few drops of the tentacle core liquid, still glistening with an otherworldly sheen.
Driven by desperation and the need to preserve his life, Ye Xiu uncorked the vial and swallowed its contents. The liquid was bitter, its taste acrid, but as it coursed through his bloodstream, a soothing warmth replaced the searing pain. The ruptured vessels began to mend, albeit slowly, and the harsh sting of his injury receded into a dull, persistent throb. In that moment of vulnerability, Ye Xiu recognized the dark symbiosis at work: his own blood, capable of melding with the energies of the beast, could provide a remedy—but it would also leave a permanent mark upon him.
Standing amidst the storm, drenched in rain and blood, Ye Xiu felt a profound transformation take place. The trial had been brutal—a stark demonstration of the blade's power and the steep price it demanded. Yet, within that trial lay a glimmer of hope: a path toward mastering the dual forces that raged within him. The ancient fragment's whispered promise echoed in his mind: only by embracing both the darkness and the light could he transcend his mortal limitations.
Exhausted but resolute, Ye Xiu sheathed the transformed blade and allowed himself a moment of respite beneath the lashing rain. His right arm bore the scars of the trial—a network of crimson lines that would forever remind him of the cost of power. Yet, as he gazed upon the pulsating symbols on the blade, he sensed that these very marks were not just signs of injury but also of potential—a testament to the fusion of his blood with the beastly energy that flowed within him.
As the storm subsided and the first pale light of dawn began to break through the clouds, Ye Xiu made his way back to his modest refuge. Each step was heavy with pain, yet filled with a newfound determination. The first trial of the sword had been a harrowing initiation, a glimpse into the dangerous path that lay ahead. But it had also ignited within him a burning resolve: to master the art of balancing the ancient, lethal energies and to uncover the full legacy of his bloodline.
In the quiet solitude of his sanctuary, as he tended to his wounds and recorded the ordeal in a worn journal, Ye Xiu vowed that this was only the beginning. The fragment of the Nine Heavens Sword Manual, the transformative power of Calamity's Edge, and the mysterious legacy of his father were all threads in a vast tapestry yet to be unraveled. And though the road ahead promised further suffering and countless trials, he was determined to walk it—to forge his destiny from the ashes of a shattered world.