Chapter 3 · free to read
The heavens had thrown these swords away. Three hundred years later, they finally remembered how to hate.
One drink to become a cultivator. It burned exactly like dying — and then it did not stop burning.
The sweeper who owned nothing suddenly held an army of blades the heavens had discarded.
But no one watched the water. And far below the drowned swords, something that had commanded them all — long before the sect, long before the heavens' verdict — opened a single burning eye.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.