Years had passed since the Blood Age ended.

  The newly founded Warrior Federation had united all sects, ushering in an era of relative peace and order.

  Among the many warriors who rose to prominence in this new age, one name shone above all others:

  Yun Jin, the Limitless Blade.

  His name spread like wildfire across the martial world.

  In every tournament held by the Federation, Yun Jin emerged victorious. From the flowing techniques of the Mount Hua Sect to the indomitable forms of Shaolin—even the profound arts of his former home, the Wudang Sect—none could match his strength.

  It wasn’t just his victories that stunned people, but the way he fought. Each match showcased something new—his techniques were ever-evolving and unpredictable, as though no limits existed to his potential.

  Thus, he earned the title “Limitless Blade.”

  Yet, despite his achievements, Yun Jin was not satisfied.

  In the Imperial City, deep within the training grounds of the Sword Pavilion—a place only royalty could tread—Yun Jin faced his master: Baek Tianjun, the Sword Saint.

  The older man now served as the Emperor’s personal sword instructor, a fitting role for a living legend.

  But to Yun Jin, Baek Tianjun was more than a courtly figure. He was the man who saved him, raised him, and molded him into the warrior he was today.

  And he was the only opponent Yun Jin had never surpassed.

  “Again,” Baek Tianjun commanded, his voice calm but sharp, like the edge of a sword.

  Yun Jin tightened his grip on his blade, its polished steel reflecting the sunlight. He lunged, his figure a blur of motion.

  But Baek Tianjun met every strike with uncanny ease. Each parry felt preordained, as if he could read Yun Jin’s intent before the sword even moved.

  “Nice try!” Baek Tianjun said, deflecting another flurry of blows without breaking a sweat. “You’ve modified the third form of the Light Blade Sovereign Style with Wudang’s techniques, turning it from a whirlwind into a single-target strike. Very clever.”

  He stepped back, lowering his sword slightly. A faint, amused smile curved his lips. “But you don’t really think I’d lose to my own technique, do you?”

  Yun Jin’s knuckles whitened around the hilt. The frustration he’d been holding in finally overflowed.

  “Yeah? And where exactly am I supposed to find other techniques?” he snapped, voice tinged with bitterness. He lowered his blade. “Maybe I should try to find the Blood God Arts.”

  He lunged again, blade flashing like lightning, but Baek Tianjun moved with effortless grace. Each counter was precise and calm, a testament to the vast gulf between them.

  With every failed strike, Yun Jin’s frustration grew. His master wasn’t just blocking his sword; he was crushing Yun Jin’s aspirations with every flawless movement.

  Was this what it meant to be a disciple—forever chasing a shadow he couldn’t catch?

  Steel met steel in a ringing clash, the impact driving Yun Jin back. He skidded across the stone floor, breath ragged, while Baek Tianjun stood unshaken, as steady as a mountain.

  No matter what Yun Jin did, the result was the same.

  “Even then,” Baek Tianjun said lightly, “you’d still need to find the Blood Sword buried somewhere on that mountain to perfect those arts. By the time you managed it, I’d probably be long dead.”

  He let out a soft laugh—half humor, half resignation.

  Yun Jin scowled, frustration roiling just beneath the surface. “You just had to kill everyone,” he muttered. “Now who am I supposed to test my techniques on?”

  The words hung in the air like a challenge.

  Baek Tianjun studied the young man, pity and affection mingling in his gaze. He knew Yun Jin’s talent was limitless—yet in an age of peace, the young swordsman had nowhere to truly measure himself.

  “Let’s call it a day,” Baek Tianjun suggested, his voice turning casual.

  “No.”

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  Yun Jin exhaled slowly, raising his blade once more. He didn’t shout or waver. Instead, he focused all of his qi, all of his will, into the edge of his sword.

  Baek Tianjun’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise breaking through his usual composure.

  “You even learned that technique?” he murmured, allowing a small, impressed smile.

  Time seemed to slow.

  Then, with an impossibly smooth motion, Yun Jin struck.

  The slash was so precise, so seamless, it looked almost motionless—no wind, no resistance, just a faint shimmer of light as it swept forward with lethal intent.

  It was the Sword Saint’s ultimate technique, born of absolute focus and mastery:

  Light Blade Sovereign Style: Fourteenth Form – Vector to Heaven.

  Even so, it wasn’t enough.

  Baek Tianjun deflected it with unsettling ease, his mastery so profound that Yun Jin’s perfected strike looked clumsy. He closed the distance in a single step, his blade moving faster than Yun Jin’s eye could follow, knocking Yun Jin’s sword out of his grip.

  The younger swordsman staggered back, pain radiating from his wrist as his weapon clattered across the floor.

  Baek Tianjun lowered his sword with a small click of the hilt. Though his expression remained calm, pity flickered in his eyes.

  He’s mastered every technique I taught him, Baek Tianjun thought, gripping his own blade. But without an opponent who can truly challenge him, he’ll remain incomplete. No matter how strong he becomes, there’s an emptiness he can’t fill.

  “I’ve seen enough for today,” Baek Tianjun said gently, his voice tinged with sorrow. “Let’s get something to eat before you collapse from exhaustion.”

  Yun Jin retrieved his sword, pride still aching from the defeat. “Fine,” he muttered, dusting off his sleeves.

  They left the Sword Pavilion and made their way through the bustling Imperial City. The aroma of spiced broth and sizzling meats filled the air. Soon they found a modest street vendor, seated themselves at a small wooden table, and ordered steaming bowls of noodles.

  Between bites, Baek Tianjun broke the silence. “What’s your dream, Jin?”

  Yun Jin paused, brow furrowing. “To surpass you,” he said simply.

  Baek Tianjun leaned back, smiling warmly. “Straight to the point, as always. But let me tell you something.” He set his chopsticks down, resting his arms on the table. “I’m already at this age. I don’t have many years left. One day, I’ll die, and you’ll inherit the title of strongest. They’ll call you the Limitless Sword Saint. Quite a name, don’t you think?”

  Yun Jin’s chopsticks stilled, his lips drawing into a tight line. “No,” he replied firmly, shaking his head. “That’s not enough.”

  Baek Tianjun raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

  Yun Jin’s gaze was unwavering. “I don’t just want to be the strongest by default. I want to be strong enough that even you, in your prime, couldn’t have stood against me.”

  Baek Tianjun regarded him silently for a moment, then let out a deep, genuine laugh. “Ambitious as ever, aren’t you?” he said, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye.

  His voice softened, warmth lingering. “I’m proud of you, my disciple.”

  Yun Jin opened his mouth to reply, but Baek Tianjun’s mood shifted. Grinning mischievously, the Sword Saint lifted his bowl of noodles and pointed his chopsticks at Yun Jin.

  “Let’s see how you handle this next contest! Whoever eats the most, wins!”

  Caught off guard, Yun Jin blinked—then a competitive spark ignited in his eyes. “Oh, you’re on, old man!”

  He activated a thread of qi to steady the bowl as he started slurping noodles at an alarming speed.

  “Hey! No qi—That’s cheating!” Baek Tianjun barked, though clearly enjoying himself.

  They tore through bowls of noodles, tossing each other playful glares while onlookers gawked at the absurd sight: two of the greatest swordsmen in the land engaged in a furious eating contest.

  For Baek Tianjun, it was perfect: a peaceful world where even legends could indulge in such simple moments.

  The moon was high when they finally returned to the inner palace. Baek Tianjun carried Yun Jin, who was half-asleep and stuffed with noodles.

  “For someone who calls me old,” Baek Tianjun teased, “you sure lost in the stamina department.”

  Yun Jin groaned, eyes shut. “Blame the noodles...” he mumbled.

  “Skill issue,” Baek Tianjun said, grinning. “Maybe work on that next time.”

  He brought the younger man into his room, laying him gently on the bed. For a moment, Baek Tianjun paused in the doorway, a soft chuckle escaping him before he turned and left.

  But Yun Jin didn’t sleep.

  Sitting cross-legged, he began to meditate, directing his qi to calm his body and quell the ache in his stomach.

  Even in this stillness, his thoughts churned.

  The lighthearted mood of the evening gave way to his usual nighttime frustration.

  I want to surpass him... but how?

  He had mastered every technique, defeated every challenger, yet he still felt chained. The gap between him and Baek Tianjun wasn’t merely skill—it was something beyond his reach.

  Maybe I should go out as a rogue warrior, he mused. Fight bandits, take down criminals. But how would that help him surpass Baek Tianjun?

  No matter how he turned it over in his mind, it all ended the same way:

  Wait for him to grow old and die... while I do nothing.

  His fists tightened on his knees, frustration roiling in his gut. “Is this all there is?” he muttered.

  Suddenly, the air around him vibrated.

  A faint hum filled the room, and before him appeared a glowing screen—a translucent, hovering panel inscribed with shifting symbols that quickly morphed into legible text.

  [Would you like a challenge?]