CHAPTER 16

The Blood Sword Awakens: A Chance Encounter with Hangfang

Sitting cross-legged in his dimly lit room, Hangfang drew in sharp but shallow breaths. His body was mangled from the violent fight, and bloodstains clung to his tattered garments.

With eyes closed, he turned inward and concentrated his power to mend his wounds. The burning pain in his muscle calmed down as his torn tissues knitted together with his cultivation technique, threading through his veins.

But then—

A sudden shift.

A foreign burst of energy coursed through his mind; a being so potent that it forced him to snap back to reality.

Before he could respond, he was standing in the dark, and the air smelled of blood.

And in front of him—

She appeared.

A woman with hair- brilliant red, cascading down her back as a river of flames. With wild fury, her eyes glimmered of dark purple. She wore a cherry-red gown that caught the light where it was woven with pattern, and shone black like liquid shadow where it wasn't, draped over her slight form.

But it wasn't just her appearance that sent chills up Hangfang's spine.

It was the sword she held in her hands.

The Blood Sword.

The same blade that Hangfang called out not long ago.

His heart pounded.

"You are not my master," Hangfang said, his tone cool but bold. "What are you doing in my master's subconscious?"

The woman's face twisted with frustration at his words.

Without warning—she attacked.

A streak of red and black surged at him, the sword coming down through the air with terrifying force.

Hangfang hardly had time to respond.

CLANG!

He lifted his arms, a charge of energy flashing around him like a defensive wall—but the impact shook his bones, pushing him back a few steps.

The force of the attack was tremendous. If she kept this up, he was going to die here.

He gasped for breath, sharply.

It's not just some trick of the mind. She's real.

She wasn't just battering him — she wanted him dead.

Desperation scratched at him, but he had no rebuke before a different being stepped into the room.

A voice—calm, commanding.

"You cannot harm him."

The woman froze mid-strike.

Hangfang turned, his eyes enlarging.

It was him.

The real Hangfang.

He stared, arms crossed, at the woman. He did not hesitate, did not fear, unlike Hangfang.

"From this day forth, he's your master," the real Hangfang declared. "You're going to help him, not attack him."

The woman gritted her teeth, tightening her hold on the Blood Sword. She wanted to object, to protest. Before she could get a word out, however, the real Hangfang had silenced her with a wave of his hand.

She ground her teeth in frustration — then she suddenly disappeared.

Or rather—

She got sucked back into the Blood Sword.

The energy in the room was different. The crushing pressure loosened. The air, previously charged with bloodlust, gave way to a strange silence.

The real Hangfang turned around towards him, the Blood Sword splaying out.

"Take it."

Hangfang hesitated.

Twitching his fingers at his sides, his instincts screamed at him to be careful.

"Did you... kill her?" he finally asked.

The real Hangfang gave his head a shake. "No. She is a sword spirit. She is only in deep sleep. I did not destroy her."

Hangfang's breath caught and steadied, but his brain whirled with a, thousand questions.

Before he was even able to say it, the actual Hangfang dismissed him.

"You are too weak to understand everything yet."

His voice was final, unyielding.

"First, focus on amplifying your power. Then, you will know the answers."

Before Hangfang could protest —

The real Hangfang vanished.

And Hangfang stood alone—Calhen no baled by the anvil of the Blood Sword n

ow resting in his hands.

The weight of it was heavier than ever.

Not just in mass.

But in destiny.