Chapter 16 - Severance

Han Zhen gazed down at the sword in his grasp. Not merely a weapon, but an extension of his will.

Exhaling softly, he turned and stepped into the courtyard. The moon hung high in the sky, its pale radiance draping the stone floor in silvery hues.

As he came to a halt at the courtyard's center, a series of movements surfaced in his mind.

Severance Swords.

A sword technique of the Earthly level, known for its ruthless precision and merciless execution. Though only an entry-level technique in the grand scheme of sword arts, it was formidable nonetheless.

Given his current cultivation, he could only manage its foundational forms, but for now, that was enough.

Swordsmanship was etched into Han Zhen's soul, an innate understanding of countless techniques merged into his very being, as though carried over from another life.

Yet, despite possessing such profound knowledge, he had never trained his body to wield a blade. That disparity had become painfully clear in his battle against Han Yun's men.

Against mere guards in the Spirit Awakening Realm, raw strength had sufficed. Their techniques were crude, their defenses filled with openings. But as his enemies grew stronger, as their presence and vitality became more formidable, he knew brute force alone would no longer be enough.

True swordsmanship was not simply about power. It was an art, one that required fluidity, precision, and lethal intent merged into every strike.

And Han Zhen's body had yet to remember that art.

His vast knowledge of the sword was nothing more than an echo without form, a collection of techniques that his hands had yet to master.

His strikes were clumsy, his movements disconnected. An unsightly display for someone who carried the instincts of a master.

This gap between mind and body had to be bridged.

Closing his eyes, he visualized the Severance Swords, replaying each strike in his thoughts. The technique was not one of mercy, it was a swordplay meant to kill. Each movement was designed to sever, to leave no room for retreat or survival.

As he focused, something in the air shifted.

A chilling stillness spread through the courtyard, creeping into the very stones beneath his feet. The air grew dense, heavy, suffused with an invisible pressure, as though death itself lingered in the air.

The temperature seemed to plummet, an eerie chill settling over the courtyard. The stillness in the air grew heavy, and oppressive, as if the world itself had momentarily halted to bear witness.

Had anyone been nearby, they would have felt it, a creeping sense of dread, like standing in the depths of a frozen cavern, their very souls recoiling from an unseen menace.

Yet Han Zhen remained undisturbed, lost in the rhythm of his blade.

Every movement was a perfect embodiment of the sword's essence, no longer mere technique but an unspoken truth-given form. His body and the sword moved as one, flowing seamlessly from strike to strike. A dance of death, swift, fluid, absolute.

Time slipped away unnoticed.

Han Zhen's blade gleamed with undiminished brilliance. The once-clumsy executions of the Severance Swords had transformed, evolving into something sharp, fluid, almost transcendent.

With a final, decisive stroke, Han Zhen came to a stop.

His breath was steady, his heart calm. The sword slid back into its scabbard with a whisper, as if acknowledging his mastery.

He exhaled, allowing the cool air to settle deep within his lungs.

Lifting his gaze, he found the sky stretched above him, the vast expanse adorned with glimmering stars.

For a fleeting moment, his mind wandered, fragments of two lives intertwining, past and present blurring together. Triumphs and regrets from his former existence mingled with the new experiences shaping his current path.

"Master, the owner has returned."

Just then, a voice cut through the silence.

A figure stepped forward, the person who had been stationed outside to guard him.

Han Zhen blinked once, the distant thoughts vanishing like mist before the wind. Without hesitation, he turned and made his way to the main hall.

The moment Han Zhen stepped into the hall, his gaze immediately fell upon his mother, Han Mei.

She sat at the table, her usually steadfast presence now marred by exhaustion. The faint pallor on her face, the subtle heaviness in her posture, signs of fatigue that even she could not fully conceal.

"Mother, have you uncovered anything?" Han Zhen asked, his voice calm yet filled with concern.

Without hesitation, he poured her a cup of tea.

Han Mei let out a weary sigh, shaking her head. "The only possible lead lies at the crime scene, but the Mayor's Mansion has sealed off the entire area. Shuiyue and I attempted to investigate, but we couldn't get through. We searched the surroundings, hoping to uncover something of value, but…"

She paused, rubbing her temple. "Nothing. It's as if every trace of the truth has been deliberately erased."

Han Zhen's eyes narrowed slightly, unease creeping in. The Mayor's Mansion had given him a few days, yet, they had ensured that any meaningful investigation would be impossible. This was no simple obstruction. Someone was manipulating events from the shadows.

"What of Shuiyue?" he asked, his brows furrowing.

Han Mei sighed once more. "That child is as stubborn as ever. I told her to return and rest, but she refused. She insists on continuing the search."