The whispers of forgotten legend

Chapter 2

~The whispers of forgotten legend~

The sun climbed higher, casting its golden glow upon the bustling town. The aroma of freshly steamed buns drifted through the streets, mingling with the scent of spice and dust. Merchants called out their wares, travelers exchanged news, and the clatter of hooves echoed in the distance. Yet, within this lively scene, Li Xin remained still, his world untouched by the motion surrounding him.

He stood behind his stall, carefully tending to the buns, his expression as unreadable as the quiet surface of a lake. A beggar girl, frail and silent, sat nearby. Though she never spoke, her wide eyes absorbed everything—the people, the noise, and most of all, Li Xin.

Two travelers, weary from the road, took a seat nearby and began speaking in hushed but excited tones.

"Have you heard?" one of them whispered. "The Majestic Sword—it's been stolen."

Li Xin's hand paused briefly before continuing to arrange the buns.

The other man scoffed, shaking his head. "Stolen? That sword was nothing more than a legend. No one has seen it for years."

"That's what we all thought, but rumors spread fast. Some say the sword was hidden away in a sacred vault, watched over by powerful cultivators. And now… it's vanished."

The first man leaned in, lowering his voice. "They say the one who wields it can command the heavens and the earth. It can carve mountains and shatter rivers, an artifact of boundless power."

The second traveler laughed dryly. "A sword so great, and yet its master is nothing but a forgotten name. People talk about the blade, but not its wielder. Strange, isn't it?"

Li Xin looked down, his face unreadable.

"When a legend loses its name," the first man muttered, "it is no different from death."

The beggar girl watched their conversation with innocent curiosity, but Li Xin's gaze had already drifted away. His heart was unmoved, or so it seemed.

Without a word, he picked up a fresh bun and placed it near the girl's small hands. She blinked in surprise, hesitating for a moment before grasping it gently, as if afraid it might vanish. Li Xin said nothing, nor did he acknowledge her silent gratitude. The world had long changed him, but some things remained untouched—kindness, however faint, could never fully disappear.

Somewhere beyond the walls of this small town, a lone man walked a desolate path. His journey had been long, filled with whispers, dead ends, and danger at every turn. His dark robes, layered with dust and wear, concealed a frame hardened by hardship. His face remained hidden beneath a hood, shielding sharp, calculating eyes.

He had searched through the ruins of forgotten sects, bribed informants in hidden markets, and followed clues left behind by those who once guarded the blade. But the sword remained elusive, its existence more myth than reality. Each lead had been a disappointment, each source offering only half-truths or riddles.

Some claimed the sword had been sealed away in an impenetrable vault, lost to time. Others insisted it had been destroyed, shattered so no man could claim its power. But he knew better. A legend like that never truly dies.

He had fought his way through secretive clans, risked his life in hidden territories, and watched as greedy men perished in their search for something they could never grasp. Yet now, after years of nothingness, the sword had reappeared.

The news had spread like wildfire. And he was already behind.

Night fell upon the town, bringing a different kind of life to the streets. Lanterns flickered, casting warm pools of light along the roads, and drunken laughter spilled from teahouses. The hooded traveler had reached an inn, blending into the crowd as he listened carefully.

Inside, a group of imperial soldiers sat gathered around a table, speaking in guarded voices.

"The palace is restless," one soldier muttered. "The sword was never meant to leave its resting place."

Another soldier took a sip of wine, shaking his head. "Resting place? That thing was sealed away because it was too dangerous. If someone has taken it… we may be facing something far worse than theft."

A third soldier scoffed. "There's no proof the sword even has its so-called power. It could just be a rusted relic."

The first soldier's expression darkened. "That's what we tell ourselves to sleep at night. But the Emperor doesn't believe that. He's sending people after it."

The second soldier lowered his voice. "I heard something worse—an outsider may be involved."

A silence settled between them. The hooded traveler's grip on his cup tightened.

Suddenly, one of the soldiers turned his gaze toward him, sharp and assessing. "You. Traveler. You've been listening too closely."

The hooded man didn't flinch. Instead, he calmly placed his drink down. "And if I have?"

The soldier narrowed his eyes. "You look like someone with secrets. Do you have an interest in this sword?"

A faint smile played on the traveler's lips. "Interest? No. But a lost treasure calls to many. And sometimes, it's not the sword that chooses its wielder—but the other way around."

The soldier stood, his presence commanding. "What are you implying?"

The mysterious man slowly rose from his seat, his movements fluid and unhurried. "Only that legends have a way of returning. And when they do… they bring both fortune and disaster."

Before the soldiers could question him further, he stepped away, vanishing into the night like a shadow fading into darkness.

As he walked through the empty streets, he whispered to himself, his voice barely above the wind.

"Here it starts again. The sword is out in the world… I have to find it at any cost."

The night swallowed his words, carrying them into the unknown.