Broken Sword

Xu Yan had been at the Armory Pavilion for a while, wandering between rows of weapons. His eyes swept over racks of swords, each one seemingly identical to the next. He picked one up, testing its weight and balance. Too light. Another was too heavy. The next felt awkward in his grip.

The swords weren't bad—they were practical, well-crafted, and sharp. But there was no connection, no spark that made any of them feel right. Xu Yan put another one back with a sigh.

The only swords he could afford were mundane tier weapons, and though they were functional, none seemed worth the cost. He continued browsing, his frustration mounting. Maybe he was expecting too much, but something told him he needed more than just an ordinary blade.

As he turned to leave, the pendant beneath his robes pulsed faintly. Xu Yan froze, startled by the sensation. He glanced around, confused. Was it reacting to something?

Following the strange sensation, his steps brought him toward a dusty corner of the pavilion. There, a pile of old and neglected weapons lay forgotten. Among them, a rusted sword caught his eye. Its blade was dull, marred with nicks and cracks. The hilt looked no better, the leather wrapping faded and torn.

Xu Yan picked it up, testing its weight. It felt unremarkable in his hands, yet something about it stirred faintly within him. He couldn't explain it, but the pulse from his pendant hadn't been random.

"Junior Brother has keen eyes," came a voice from behind. Xu Yan turned to see a disciple running the pavilion, smiling as he approached. "That sword may not look like much, but it's no ordinary blade."

Xu Yan raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Doesn't look like anything special to me."

The disciple chuckled. "That's because of its condition. This sword was once a refined tier weapon, possibly even approaching the spirit tier. At least, that's what the rumors say. It's been damaged for years, but some believe its essence still lingers."

Xu Yan glanced at the blade again. The explanation sounded convenient, almost like a sales pitch. But then, the pendant had reacted. That alone made him hesitate.

After a moment, he sighed. "Fine. How much?"

The disciple named the price, and Xu Yan handed over his contribution points without argument. He didn't believe the story entirely, but if the pendant saw value in the blade, it was worth a chance.

Xu Yan left the pavilion with the sword in hand, his thoughts turning to its potential. The blade looked like scrap, but perhaps there was more to it than met the eye.

As he disappeared into the distance, the disciple leaned back against the wall, a grin spreading across his face. He chuckled softly. "Another fool who fell for it," he said under his breath. "I didn't think I'd find someone dumb enough to believe that old tale again. What a steal."

...

After making it back to his cave dwelling, Xu Yan sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor. The faint light of a single lantern flickered across the walls, casting jagged shadows that seemed to shift with his thoughts. The tournament to join the inner sect was approaching, and he needed to prepare. Winning wasn't optional; it was the only way forward.

His shadow qi was his greatest concern. While most disciples would dismiss it as an ordinary variant of demonic qi, the elders would not be so easily fooled. 

Their sharp senses and extensive experience meant they would notice its peculiar nature. And if they probed deeper, they might uncover its true origin—or worse, the pendant.

Xu Yan clenched his fists. If the elders discovered the pendant and its uniqueness, they wouldn't hesitate to kill him and take it for themselves. Treasures didn't belong to the weak, and the sect wouldn't protect him. Strength reigned supreme here, and no one would question the actions of those who held power.

He exhaled slowly, pushing away the thought. Leaving the sect had crossed his mind more than once, but it wasn't a viable option. As a rogue cultivator of the demonic path, he would become a target for everyone—righteous sects hunting him for glory, and demonic cultivators preying on him for resources. Without the protection of a sect, survival would be nearly impossible.

The Blood Fang Sect, for all its dangers, was still his best option. It wasn't like other demonic sects that thrived on chaos and savagery. The sect prided itself on strength and discipline, disdaining reckless slaughter and the use of truly sinister techniques—acts like indiscriminate killing or targeting defenseless women and children. Such methods were considered the tools of the weak, unworthy of cultivators who sought true power. Here, at least, there was some sort of structure.

His jaw tightened as his resolve solidified. He couldn't afford to expose his shadow qi's true nature.

'I'll just have to conceal it the best I can,' he thought, gritting his teeth. It was a gamble, but it was his only option. He would suppress its unique traits as much as possible. The risk was high, but it was better than letting anyone see the truth.

The tournament would demand careful control. Winning meant drawing attention, but losing wasn't an option either. He needed to reveal enough strength to secure his place in the inner sect, but not enough to provoke questions.