Time Until First Rift Appears: 2 Years, 2 Months, 24 Days.
"Keep your hands up, boy!" a warden bellowed, his voice cutting through the howling wind. "Come now, you're supposed to be using both arms, not just one!" he added with a sharp edge of exasperation.
Rin clicked his tongue, his jaw tightening as he adjusted his stance. He forced his left arm into action, moving it in tandem with his right to deflect the relentless strikes aimed at him from both sides. The two opponents danced along the narrow rope with unnerving ease, their wooden blades striking faster than the eye could follow. Rin’s feet wobbled slightly. Below him yawned a deep chasm, the jagged rocks far below blurred by swirling mist.
The rope he stood on wasn’t much wider than an arm's length and barely sturdy enough to hold three fighters. Every misstep sent it trembling, a subtle reminder of the cost of failure.
Now, one might wonder why Rin was fighting multiple opponents in such a precarious position. To understand, we must go back to the day he emerged from the infirmary, bruised but triumphant, after he and his friends had exchanged their hard-won qi crystal for rewards.
The exchange was not without complications. While Linhua and Goruo received rewards carefully tailored to their cultivation paths, Rin’s... deficiency left the sect at a loss. In the end, they gave him an elder token—an item of significant value, usable for almost anything: a fine weapon, rare resources, or even land. Rin accepted it with a faint smile, masking any disappointment. He had expected this outcome, after all.
His friends, however, had not. Linhua’s face turned stormy, and Goruo’s fists clenched tight as they voiced their outrage. They marched straight to the exchange hall, demanding fairness with all the fire of loyal comrades. It was Rin who had to step in, pulling them aside and offering a quiet reassurance.
“I kind of expected this,” he said with a small shrug. “Really, it’s fine.”
Reluctantly, they backed down, though not without some lingering grumbles and muttered curses. Rin, meanwhile, felt his chest warm with pride. Their indignation on his behalf wasn’t just touching—it was a reminder of how deeply they cared. He was lucky to call them friends.
After they left the exchange hall both of his friends left to go use their rewards to immediately start cultivating and advance their paths.
Goruo received a cultivation manual focused on rock, stone, and sand. It was an unusual choice for someone born into the Frozen Edge Sect, where ice and frost were the natural elements of study—but no stranger than a girl choosing flame. Linhua, for her part, accepted discipleship under a master specializing in long-range bladed weapons. Her training would take her far from the sect for quite some time, so she hurried home to pack the essentials for her journey.
Although they were officially Cliff Wardens, both Linhua and Goruo were told their services weren’t immediately needed. Instead, they were encouraged to focus on their cultivation paths. And so, they did. After heartfelt goodbyes, Linhua and Goruo went their separate ways, leaving Rin behind.
As his friends departed, Rin found himself uncertain about what to do next. He could return home—but what purpose would that serve? Nothing, he decided, shaking off the thought. Instead of heading back, he turned in the opposite direction, his feet carrying him to a destination he hadn’t visited in years.
It didn’t take long before the modest home of Master Lu Ri came into view, sprawled comfortably against the landscape. Compared to the grand mansions dotting the sect’s grounds, the house seemed humble, almost out of place. It had been over two years since Rin last stood here.
Squaring his shoulders, he stepped forward and rapped his knuckles against the sturdy wooden door, the sound a soft, rhythmic thud. Unlike the other mansions with their outer gates and polished exteriors, Master Lu Ri’s home resembled the humble dwellings of mortals more than the ornate abodes of cultivators.
Rin waited a few moments, but no one answered. Frowning, he knocked again—this time with a bit more force, the thuds resonating louder against the quiet surroundings.
He knew that the chances that Master Lu Ri would be available was slim but there should have been at least someone to take his message to give to the master but just as he wanted to turn and leave the door opened just a crack as a winded question came through "Rin?"
It was Master Lu Ri's son Lu Ri jr. he must have been training Rin thought
"Yes Master Lu Ri I am here to speak with the chief is he around?" Rin asked to which the older man scoffed "Of course you are" he looked towards Rin again again the door was just opened just a crack
"Could you come back later by any chance"
Rin hesitated, his brow furrowing at the vague dismissal. “Come back later?” he repeated, his tone polite but firm. “I’d prefer to wait. It’s important.”
Lu Ri Jr.’s eyes darted briefly behind him, the movement so quick Rin almost missed it. The older man sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine, give me a moment,” he muttered. The door closed with a soft thud, leaving Rin standing awkwardly on the doorstep.
From inside, muffled voices rose and fell—one distinctly female, her tone low and hurried. Rin caught the faint shuffle of footsteps, followed by the click of another door shutting firmly. Moments later, the front door reopened, and Lu Ri Jr. stood before him, now visibly composed.
“Sorry about that,” Lu Ri Jr. said, his expression calm, though a faint flush lingered on his face. “I was… occupied.”
Rin raised an eyebrow but decided against pursuing the matter. The faint trace of perfume in the air and the unusually ruffled state of Lu Ri Jr.’s robes told him all he needed to know.
They were training
Lu Ri Jr. crossed his arms, leaning casually against the doorframe. “You’re lucky I like you, kid. Most would’ve been sent packing.”
“And yet, here I am,” Rin replied lightly, his smile widening. “I’m here to speak with Master Lu Ri. I’d like to train under him.”
The older man’s relaxed demeanor stiffened slightly at that. “The old man? He’s not here right now and I don't think he will be available to teach you as he has been busy running around with the Medicinal hall elder .”
“I’m not here to become his disciple,” Rin clarified. “I’m here to learn from him—or from you, if you’re available.”
“Me?” Lu Ri Jr. snorted. “What makes you think I’ve got time to babysit?”
Rin didn’t miss the teasing glint in the man’s eyes and countered smoothly, “Because you’re already standing here, and you’re obviously not too busy.”
Lu Ri Jr. narrowed his eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin. “Alright, boy, I’ll bite. Why my style? You don’t exactly look like the type.”
Rin’s gaze sharpened, his usual calm giving way to quiet determination. “I want to master something unique. Something that makes up for... other disadvantages. I’ve seen how twin blades can create opportunities in a fight—turning defense into offense, adapting to almost any situation. That’s what I need.”
Lu Ri Jr. studied him for a long moment before his eyes flicked to the elder token Rin held. A low whistle escaped him. “You really came prepared, didn’t you?”
“It’s not a bribe,” Rin said quickly. “I just want to train. If that token helps, then fine. But I’m serious about this.”
Lu Ri Jr. scratched his chin, a mix of amusement and exasperation in his expression. “Alright, fine. You’ve convinced me. But let me make something clear—twin blades aren’t just about swinging swords around. You’ll need discipline, speed, and stamina. And looking at you, you’re not exactly bursting with any of those.”
Rin smirked. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”
The older man sighed. “You’re a piece of work, kid. No, there’s no manual for twin blades right now,” he admitted. Because I haven’t written one yet, he added silently, already lamenting the effort it would take to craft something worthy of the style. “But forget about manuals for now. You’ll start by training your body. Conditioning comes first.”
Rin nodded, undeterred. “When do we start?”
“How about tomorrow?” Lu Ri Jr. suggested, rubbing his temples as though already regretting his decision. “Meet me here at dawn. And bring the token. If I’m putting in this effort, I might as well make sure you’re serious.”
Rin grinned. “Dawn it is.”
As he turned to leave, Rin caught the sound of soft laughter behind him. “You’ve got guts, kid. Let’s see if you’ve got what it takes to back it up,” Lu Ri Jr. called after him.
Rin didn’t reply, his resolve firm as he walked away. Tomorrow would mark the beginning of something new, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a flicker of excitement.
Inside, Lu Ri Jr. leaned against the door, his expression thoughtful. Guess I’ll have to write that damn manual after all. He sighed heavily. This kid better be worth it.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Rin, for his part, was blissfully unaware of his new mentor’s internal lament. Not that it would’ve mattered.
The training wasn’t merely grueling—it was transformative. Hours spent hauling weights, running treacherous trails, and enduring frigid rivers with burdens strapped to his limbs left Rin’s body honed and his mind sharpened. Each warden’s unique approach chipped away at his limits, molding him into something more resilient, more prepared.
Rin’s training under Master Lu Ri Jr. was relentless—a brutal regimen designed to push him far beyond his limits. Yet, as grueling as it was, Lu Ri Jr. wasn’t always available to oversee every moment. On those days, other wardens stepped in, each bringing their own unique style of torment to Rin’s development, along with a relentless stream of jibes about his supposed inadequacies, no matter how flawlessly he performed.
Elder Siyan, a wiry man with an expression as sharp as his aim, was among the first. “You move slower than a drunk turtle,” he’d bark, hurling stones at Rin with pinpoint precision. Balancing on a narrow beam suspended over jagged rocks, Rin was tasked with deflecting or dodging the projectiles without losing his footing. Despite Siyan’s constant criticisms, the slight nod he gave when Rin began to predict and counter the attacks spoke volumes.
Warden Tai, on the other hand, was all brute strength and booming laughter. “That scrawny frame won’t hold up in a real fight!” he’d bellow, tossing Rin a massive log to drag up a hill so steep it seemed carved to punish anyone who dared ascend it. Tai’s sparring sessions were equally merciless, with Rin often finding himself planted into the dirt. “Stand firm, boy! Or are you planning to let every opponent throw you around?” Rin’s resilience grew with every match, though Tai’s grin only widened. “Not bad, twig. But try harder next time.”
Yura’s sessions were a different beast altogether. A master of balance and flexibility, she turned the forest canopy into Rin’s personal trial ground. Tightropes stretched between trees, uneven terrain for acrobatics, and hours spent in painful meditative stances. “Control, Rin,” she’d say with a raised brow and a smirk. “A stiff warrior is a dead one.” Her cutting praise—“At least you didn’t fall this time”—lingered in Rin’s mind, driving him to perfect his movements until he flowed like water over the ropes and through the air.
Even Warden Hesh, the strategist among them, played his part. “Your body might hold up in a fight, but does your mind?” he’d demand, crafting elaborate tactical scenarios that forced Rin to think critically under pressure. Rin’s knack for strategy often earned grudging approval, though Hesh would never admit it outright. “Passable,” he’d scoff. “For someone who relies so heavily on instinct.”
Yet no matter how much he progressed, Lu Ri Jr. always returned with fresh trials. “So, they didn’t fix your hopelessness while I was gone?” he’d quip, though his sharp eyes betrayed none of the disdain his words implied. If Rin showed improvement, Lu Ri Jr. merely upped the intensity. “You’re still too slow. Push harder.”
The training wasn’t merely grueling—it was transformative. Hours spent hauling weights, running treacherous trails, and enduring frigid rivers with burdens strapped to his limbs left Rin’s body honed and his mind sharpened. Each warden’s unique approach chipped away at his limits, molding him into something more resilient, more prepared.
And so, when Rin found himself suspended on a taut rope stretched over a yawning chasm, the roar of wind in his ears and the jeers of onlookers echoing above, he wasn’t afraid.
“Keep your hands up, boy!” came the booming voice of Warden Tai from above, accompanied by Siyan’s sneer: “Don’t lose your footing now. I’d hate to have wasted all those rocks on you!”
Rin clicked his tongue in annoyance but complied, raising both arms to deflect the strikes coming at him from either side. Twin blades clashed against the wooden practice rods in his hands, the force of the blows threatening to upset his balance. Yet his footing remained steady, his movements sure.
The rope beneath him swayed ominously, but Rin’s body moved as if part of the wind itself. His left arm, less dominant but no less precise, caught the strike of a downward slash, while his right parried an upward swing aimed at his legs.
“Not bad,” Tai called, though Rin knew the remark was more provocation than praise.
Gritting his teeth, Rin drove forward, using the rhythm of the rope’s sway to his advantage.
Deflecting another blade from the warden in front of him, Rin shifted his weight as the rope quivered beneath his feet. The vibrations coursed through the taut line like a living thing, each subtle shift alerting him to an oncoming strike. He angled his rod just in time to catch the next blow, the force of the clash sending a sharp jolt up his arm.
Behind him, a second warden lunged, the air splitting as their blade whistled toward his flank. Rin’s body twisted fluidly, his stance adjusting without hesitation. The wooden rod in his left hand swept upward, intercepting the strike with a resounding crack. His right followed, spinning into a counter that forced the attacker to withdraw.
The rope pitched dangerously, the rhythm of its swaying growing erratic with every exchanged blow. Rin’s balance held firm, his feet adjusting to the shifting tension with a practiced ease. Each movement was calculated, not an ounce of energy wasted.
The warden in front pressed harder, driving a flurry of rapid strikes toward Rin’s center. The staccato rhythm of the blows echoed like drumbeats, but Rin met each one, his arms moving in sharp, precise arcs. The clash of wood reverberated through the chasm, a testament to the intensity of the exchange.
A sharp movement from behind sent a ripple through the line. Rin adjusted again, his body bending low as the rear warden’s strike whizzed harmlessly overhead. In the same motion, his right rod swept upward in a tight arc, grazing their weapon and forcing them to retreat a step.
The rope’s sway grew wild now, the tension pulling in unpredictable ways. Rin shifted his stance once more, his weight flowing with the motion as his rods worked in tandem. One caught an overhead slash, redirecting it to the side, while the other thrust forward, forcing the warden ahead of him to stumble.
A sudden vibration ran through the line—a signal of an attack from above. Rin shifted immediately, angling his body to deflect a diving blow. The impact rocked the rope, sending another wave of instability beneath his feet. Yet, he remained unshaken, using the motion to pivot into a sharp counterstrike that sent his opponent’s weapon clattering.
The wind howled, carrying the taunts of the wardens above. “That all you’ve got, boy?” someone bellowed, the words sharp and mocking.
Rin pushed forward, his body a blur of coordinated movements, every step and strike honed by hours of relentless training. The line quivered beneath him, the chasm yawning wide on either side, but his focus never faltered. Each vibration, each gust of wind, each subtle shift in the tension of the rope became a part of his rhythm—a dance of survival and precision.
A sudden surge from the front—an overhead strike meant to disarm him entirely. Rin’s right rod shot up, catching the blade in a hard parry, while his left twisted into a calculated counter that forced the attacker back once again. The rope dipped under the warden’s retreat, but Rin’s footing held, his movements unyielding.
Behind him, the other warden surged forward for a final attack, their blade aiming low. Rin spun, the momentum of his turn flowing seamlessly into a sweeping strike that knocked their weapon aside and left them unbalanced.
But the small victory was fleeting; a warden lunged from below, sweeping Rin's legs out from under him. He plummeted into the yawning chasm, hurtling toward what seemed like certain death—if not for the tether that jerked taut, saving him from the abyss he had just been balancing above.
"Always remember an attack could come from any where boy" a rough voice spoke
It was master Lu Ri Jr.
"Now lets do that again..." he paused "But this time remove the blind fold let see what you got!!"
Deep within the sect’s labyrinthine halls, Kaidan sat cross-legged on the polished stone floor of his private quarters. The room was far from modest, as befitted one of the most promising new candidates in the sect. The walls were smooth and inscribed with faintly glowing runes that served as both decoration and reinforcement. A low table dominated the center of the room, its lacquered surface gleaming under the soft, pulsating glow of a qi-powered lantern suspended above.
The lantern cast a gentle, shifting light, its core a swirling mote of refined qi that illuminated the opulent furnishings. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with ancient tomes and neatly rolled scrolls. A finely crafted weapons rack stood to one side, displaying an array of swords, spears, and other implements of combat—all meticulously polished. Nearby, a silk tapestry depicting an intricate battle scene hung as a reminder of the sect’s storied history.
At the center of this display of prestige lay two unassuming objects on the table—a scroll wrapped in crimson silk and an amulet forged of shadow-black metal. The amulet seemed alive, its surface rippling faintly with patterns that shifted like flowing water. Occasionally, it emitted a soft pulse, as if it had a heartbeat of its own.
Kaidan’s fingers brushed over the amulet, his touch light yet deliberate. The metal was cool under his hand, its texture unnervingly smooth despite its jagged appearance. The pulses quickened at his touch, sending subtle vibrations up his arm—a sensation he had grown accustomed to in the weeks since the Warden Trials.
Weeks. It was hard to believe how quickly the time had passed since he’d claimed his prize from the trials. Much had changed since then. His name carried weight now, whispered in corners of the sect with equal parts respect and unease. His new quarters reflected his rise in standing, yet they were not so grand as to invite envy—he’d seen to that.
The scroll, still sealed with crimson wax, sat untouched beside the amulet. Kaidan regarded it with the patience of a predator. He had read it once, committing every symbol and phrase to memory, but its purpose was too vast, too intricate to act upon hastily. Power, after all, was as much about timing as strength.
Kaidan leaned back slightly, his gaze drifting across the room. The ornate furnishings were a stark contrast to the utilitarian accommodations of the Cliff Wardens, a reminder of his elevated status. Yet, for all its comfort, the room felt more like a staging ground than a home—a place to prepare, to plot, to plan.
The soft hum of the qi lantern filled the silence, a rhythmic backdrop to his thoughts. Rising to his feet, Kaidan moved with the precision of someone who understood the value of economy in motion. He approached the window, its carved wooden frame inlaid with shimmering jade accents. Pushing it open, he let the night air fill the room, cool and laden with the faint scent of blooming spirit flowers from the gardens below.
The sect’s spire loomed in the distance, its peak crowned by a faint halo of qi light. Kaidan’s lips curled into a faint smile as his fingers tightened around the amulet’s cord. The artifact pulsed in response, its energy thrumming like a second heartbeat.
Returning to the table, he unrolled the scroll with a deliberate motion. The parchment whispered against itself as it unfurled, revealing intricate glyphs that seemed to shift and writhe under the qi lantern’s glow. The symbols were ancient, their meaning obscure to all but a select few. Kaidan traced one with his finger, the faint warmth it emitted confirming its dormant power.
Replacing the scroll with care, Kaidan allowed himself a rare, quiet laugh. The sound was low, almost a murmur, but it carried a weight that filled the room. "Soon," he said, the word cutting through the stillness like a blade.
The lantern’s qi core flickered, dimming briefly before steadying once more, as if echoing his resolve. Kaidan took his seat again, his posture calm yet poised, every movement deliberate. He placed the amulet in the center of the scroll and rested his hands on his knees.
For now, he would wait. The trials were over, and the groundwork had been laid. When the time came, he would seize the opportunity, reshaping his fate—and the sect’s future—with ruthless precision.
