The forest remained a cold and haunting reminder of Wei Shuren’s inner turmoil. The further he and Meilin traveled from the Temple of Silent Echoes, the deeper the shadows around him seemed to grow. The memory of the whispers and his family's demise clung to him like an ever-present phantom, a weight he could not shake off no matter how hard he tried. Despite surviving the trial, Wei knew the voices had not truly left him—they had become a part of him, echoing faintly in the recesses of his mind, waiting to surface again.

  Their journey led them along a narrow mountain path that wound its way through a jagged gorge, flanked on both sides by towering cliffs. The path was treacherous, barely wide enough for one person to walk at a time. Below, the abyss stretched endlessly, and the howling winds carried the smell of damp stone and decay. Meilin moved with a cat-like grace, her steps so light that she seemed almost weightless, the flowing edges of her dark cloak blending into the landscape.

  Wei followed, though with less ease. His body was still aching from the trials at the temple, his muscles tense and sore. The toll of his recent experiences weighed heavily upon him, both physically and mentally. But there was no time to rest—not if he was to face the next trial, the trial of the blade.

  “What awaits us now?” Wei asked, breaking the heavy silence between them. His voice was hoarse, almost swallowed by the sound of the wind.

  Meilin didn’t turn back but spoke just loud enough for him to hear. “You have faced the trial of the mind, and you survived. But survival isn’t enough. Now, we face the trial of the blade, where your body must learn to endure as much as your spirit.”

  A cold shiver ran down Wei's spine at her words. He had expected as much, but hearing it confirmed made his throat dry. His hand unconsciously touched the broken sword strapped to his back—a memento of his past, a symbol of his weakness, but also his will to live. The blade was cracked and useless, yet he carried it as a reminder of the day he lost everything.

  They walked in silence for what felt like hours, the path growing narrower and steeper. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the cliffs, when they finally arrived at a clearing—a flat expanse of land surrounded by towering stone pillars, each etched with ancient runes that glowed faintly in the dimming light.

  In the center of the clearing stood a figure, a towering man dressed in dark, angular armor that covered him from head to toe. His face was obscured by a mask shaped like a snarling beast, its sharp fangs gleaming in the fading sunlight. His presence was imposing, the air around him vibrating with the sheer force of his aura. He was like a storm held in place, a force of nature waiting to be unleashed.

  Meilin stopped a few paces ahead of Wei and motioned for him to halt. “This is Master Lei Feng,” she said, her voice low and serious. “Once a revered swordmaster of the Eastern Lands. Now, he is the guardian of the Trial of the Blade. If you are to master the sword, you must prove yourself to him. He does not tolerate weakness.”

  Before Wei could respond, the armored man turned his head slightly, his gaze locking onto Wei with an intensity that sent a wave of pressure crashing over him. It was as if the very air had thickened, pushing against his chest and making it difficult to breathe. His knees wobbled under the weight of Lei Feng’s presence, but he forced himself to stay upright.

  “You survived the Temple of Silent Echoes,” Lei Feng said, his voice deep and resonating, almost inhuman through the mask. “And yet, you look no stronger than a frightened child.”

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  The words stung, but Wei bit his tongue, holding back a retort. He had heard worse in the temple, and he knew this was another test—one designed to break him.

  Lei Feng stepped forward, his movements slow but deliberate, his armored boots crunching against the gravel beneath them. “You want to wield a sword?” he asked, stopping only a few feet away from Wei. “You think you are worthy of the blade?”

  Wei clenched his fists. Worthy? How could he claim to be worthy when all he had left was a broken sword and a shattered life? But he was here, standing in front of this legendary swordmaster, because he had no other choice. This was his only path forward.

  “I don’t know if I’m worthy,” Wei finally said, his voice steady despite the fear clawing at his insides. “But I’ve come this far, and I’ll keep fighting. I’ll learn.”

  For a moment, there was silence. Lei Feng studied him, his gaze piercing through the mask. Then, without a word, he drew a gleaming sword from his side and tossed it at Wei’s feet. The blade landed with a metallic clatter, its edge sharp and deadly.

  “Pick it up,” Lei Feng commanded.

  Wei hesitated for only a moment before bending down and grasping the hilt of the sword. It felt different from his broken blade—lighter, but with a dangerous precision. As soon as his fingers wrapped around it, he knew this was no ordinary weapon. This sword was designed for killing, and now it was in his hands.

  Without warning, Lei Feng lunged forward, his own blade arcing through the air toward Wei's neck. The attack came so fast that Wei barely had time to react. Instinct took over, and he raised the borrowed sword just in time to block the strike. The force of the blow rattled his entire body, sending shockwaves through his arms and legs. He staggered back, struggling to keep his footing.

  “No hesitation!” Lei Feng barked, his voice cold and unforgiving as he advanced again, his strikes faster and more precise. Each blow tested Wei’s reflexes, forcing him to parry and dodge with every ounce of strength he had. His movements were clumsy and uncoordinated, but he fought back, blocking where he could, deflecting where he couldn’t.

  The sound of clashing steel echoed through the clearing as Wei defended against another fierce onslaught. His arms were burning, his muscles screaming from the effort. Lei Feng’s attacks were relentless, and there was no time to think—only react.

  “You’re slow,” Lei Feng snarled, delivering a brutal downward strike that knocked Wei’s sword from his grasp. The sword flew from his hands, landing several feet away. Before he could even think of retrieving it, Lei Feng’s blade was at his throat.

  “If you fight like this, you’ll die,” Lei Feng growled, pressing the sharp edge of his sword against Wei’s skin. “Your enemies won’t show mercy. Neither will I.”

  The cold steel against his neck sent a chill down Wei’s spine. He was trembling, his breath coming in ragged gasps. But in the back of his mind, the voices from the Temple of Silent Echoes whispered again. You are not broken. You are not weak.

  Gritting his teeth, Wei pushed himself up and met Lei Feng’s gaze. “I’m not done yet.”

  Lei Feng’s eyes narrowed beneath his mask. He stepped back, lowering his sword just slightly. “Then stand up.”

  Wei forced himself to rise, his legs shaking, his body aching, but he stood tall. His breath was shallow, his mind clouded with fatigue, but something inside him refused to give up. He had faced worse, and he would face this too.

  He retrieved the sword from the ground and gripped it tightly, turning to face Lei Feng once more.

  The master swordsman nodded slightly, his expression unreadable. “Good,” he said, almost approvingly. “But you still have a long way to go.”

  As Wei stood in the clearing, bloodied and exhausted, he knew that this was only the beginning of his journey. The path of the sword was treacherous, and mastering it would take more than just strength or skill. It would take resilience, determination, and an unyielding will to survive. But now, for the first time since losing his family, he felt a spark of hope. With Meilin’s guidance and Lei Feng’s brutal training, he would grow stronger—strong enough to face the enemies that awaited him.

  The journey to reclaim his honor and his destiny had only just begun.