Time passed strangely in the Trial Realm. Days, or perhaps centuries — Chen Xin could no
longer tell. The mist around him thickened and thinned like breath, carrying whispers of ancient
power and forgotten pain.
His hands ached for a real blade, but his spirit was his only weapon.
Each step he took, he gathered fragments of his past — broken shards of memory and sword
alike. Slowly, he began reforging himself, but the path was littered with trials darker than any
battlefield.
One evening, as Chen Xin sat cross-legged on a jagged stone, a crimson light tore through the
mist like a falling star. It was sharp and wild — impossible to ignore.
From the depths of the swirling fog emerged a sword unlike any other — jagged, pulsating with
raw, bloody energy. It radiated overwhelming power and undeniable menace.
Chen Xin's breath caught.
The Asura Sword — Tang Chen's legendary blade, the symbol of the Asura God's wrath and
strength.A voice echoed through the realm, deep and compelling:
"Take me. Wield the power of gods. Become whole again."
Chen Xin's fingers trembled as they hovered near the weapon's hilt.
For a moment, the temptation was unbearable — to claim the power he never sought, to rise
swiftly beyond his limits.
But deep within, a voice steadied him:
"This sword is not mine to wield. To borrow a path is to lose oneself."
He withdrew his hand.
The Asura Sword flickered like a fading flame and vanished, leaving only a cold emptiness
behind.
From the shadows, the sword spirit appeared again.
"You have resisted the greatest temptation," it said softly. "Few can."
Chen Xin nodded, feeling the weight of his resolve like a newly forged edge — sharp,
unyielding.
The road ahead would be his own.