The blade was seamless. Not a single flaw marred its edge. The steel shimred with shifting hues—at one angle a cool silver, at another, a faint undertone of jade and crimson sparks, remnants of the flas that had birthed it. The edge was so fine that even his sharpened senses could not catch its limit; it seed less like tal and more like a line carved between heaven and earth.
When he tilted the weapon slightly, it humd. A deep, resonant tone, neither harsh nor sharp, but dignified—like the low voice of an ancient elder acknowledging its place in the world. The sound sent a shiver through Tian Lei’s arms, spreading into his chest.
He tested its aura with a faint surge of qi. Instantly, the sword answered. A faint arc of light leapt from the blade’s tip, carving a hairline crack into the stone floor. Tian Lei narrowed his eyes. That had not been a strike—only a whisper of intent—yet the weapon had responded as if eager to cut.
His reflection gazed back at him from the mirror-like surface of the sword. His face was gaunt, his body battered from days of endless forging, but his eyes burned brighter than ever.
"A blade that breathes," Tian Lei murmured. His fingers traced the hilt, where the rough ore had refined into smooth, dark tal. It carried no jewels, no decorations. Simple, plain—yet majestic. Its power did not need to be flaunted.
For a mont, he allowed himself silence, simply standing there with the sword in hand, letting its presence fill the room. Then, with a sharp exhale, he lowered the weapon and set it across his knees.
"Hm. Now that I still have two more days, I should keep pushing," he muttered, before returning to the forge. This ti, he aid only for an Earth-Rank sword to refine his consistency.
When he quenched it, he examined the results with a critical eye. "As I thought. More work is needed." His strikes beca harder, his control sharper, and his will refused to bend.
On the thirtieth day, the trial reached its end. Flas roared, sparks danced, and Tian Lei’s hamr fell one last ti. When the smoke cleared, another Heaven-Rank weapon lay before him—this one a spear, its shaft gleaming with steady power.
By the end, his record was undeniable: seventeen Earth-Rank weapons, thirteen Spirit-Rank, and two Heaven-Rank.
Knowing what such an achievent ant, Tian Lei finally allowed himself to rest. He set aside his tools, changed into his sect robes, and prepared to step out into the world once more.
His robe was deep blue, embroidered with a mountain-shaped emblem across the chest. This was the mark of the Mountain Heart Fla Sect—a powerful forging sect under the banner of the Myriad Heaven Sect. Though only a subsidiary, it had earned renown across the region as a peak of blacksmithing skill. Nestled atop a natural volcano where lava flowed endlessly, the sect’s forge flas were said to burn hotter than the Holy flas even.
As Tian Lei tied his robe and fastened his belt, he paused, running his hand lightly over the sect’s crest.
With steady steps, he left the forge hut. Outside, disciples were already gathering, whispers filling the air. The day of results had co, and the na Tian Lei was about to shake the Mountain Heart Fla Sect.
Soon, Tian Lei arrived at the inspection hall, carrying a single sword wrapped in cloth. Like him, many others stood in line, each holding their own creations.
He didn’t recognize any familiar faces. So, the others must have also been placed into different bodies for this trial, rather than coming here with their real ones, he thought, narrowing his eyes slightly.
The hall slowly quieted as three elders entered. The one in the center was a tall man, his body built with steel-like muscles, his age difficult to tell. His presence was sharp, like a blade honed for decades.
"This will be the final inspection for your batch," the elder said, his voice cold and firm. "If any of you were unable to forge at least a Spirit-Rank weapon, you will be expelled from this sect imdiately."
At his signal, the two other elders stepped forward, carrying scrolls to record the nas.
One by one, nas were called.
Each disciple stepped forward, unwrapping their weapon with nervous hands. The first revealed a short blade that glimred faintly. The elder’s gaze swept over it, and he gave a small nod.
"Low Spirit-Rank. Pass."
Relief washed over the disciple’s face as he bowed and stepped aside.
The next brought out a spear. Its aura was steadier, sharper. The elder’s brows lifted slightly.
"Mid Spirit-Rank. Pass."
Another stepped forward, unveiling a curved saber that pulsed faintly with qi. The air around it felt denser, firr.
"High Spirit-Rank. Not bad. Pass."
A murmur ran through the crowd as the disciples realized how strict the standards were. Spirit-Rank weapons were no easy feat, yet the elder dismissed them without praise, only acknowledging their rank.
One by one, more weapons appeared—daggers, swords, hamrs, even a bow. Almost all of them hovered around the Spirit-Rank. A few faltered, their weapons dull and lifeless. Those disciples trembled as the elder’s cold voice cut them down.
"Failed. Expelled."
The unlucky ones were dragged away by guards, their faces pale with despair. The hall’s tension only grew heavier.
Occasionally, a disciple managed to produce an Earth-Rank weapon. Each ti, the elder’s eyes sharpened, his nod carrying a trace more weight.
"Low Earth-Rank. Pass.""Mid Earth-Rank. Pass.""High Earth-Rank. Decent. Pass."
Whispers rippled among the waiting disciples. Earth-Rank already placed them leagues above their peers, worthy of true recognition in the sect. But even so, the elder’s expression remained restrained, as though such results were expected of true talents.
And so the line grew shorter. The pile of accepted weapons stacked on one side, failures removed on the other.
At last, the elder’s voice rang again."Tian Lei."
The hall fell into a deeper silence.
No heads turned—most assud he was just another bulky outer disciple, nothing worth noting. Tian Lei walked steadily, the wrapped sword in his hands, his expression unreadable.
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