The Sword's Warning — When Fate Devours Back
The night was deep — darker than usual, as though the heavens themselves had drawn their curtains shut.
The peach blossoms rustled faintly, though no wind stirred.
Xiao Wang sat cross-legged beneath the old tree, his breathing steady, the crimson sword resting before him.
Moonlight spilled across its blade, turning it into a river of blood and starlight.
Yet something was wrong.
The sword was humming.
Not softly, not serenely — but with a low, shivering pulse that felt almost… afraid.
"Sword," he said quietly. "What troubles you?"
For a moment, there was no answer. Then — a whisper.
Faint.
Ancient.
Trembling.
"The girl…"
His eyes opened. "Lian Yue?"
"Her presence stirs what should remain sealed."
The words hung in the air like falling ash.
He frowned. "You mean the mark? Or her Qi?"
The voice was slower now, strained — as though the sword itself was resisting some unseen force.
"Not her Qi. Her soul."
"It remembers me… and that memory is dangerous."
Xiao Wang's hand hovered above the blade. "Explain."
The whisper deepened, resonating through his bones.
"Long ago, before your first death… a soul like hers stood beside mine."
"A companion forged by destiny — until she betrayed me to the heavens."
His breath caught.
"You're saying… she's—"
"A reincarnation? An echo? Perhaps. But echoes carry both memory and curse."
He looked toward the courtyard window.
Through the faint light, he could see Lian Yue sleeping near the hearth, wrapped in a blanket Xiao Mei had given her.
Her face was peaceful — innocent even.
Yet beneath that serenity, a faint crimson glow pulsed across her wrist.
The same sigil that bound the sword.
"If she bears your mark," Xiao Wang murmured, "then our fates are already linked."
"Yes." The sword's tone hardened. "And when fates entwine, one devours the other."
The Silent Training Ground
The next morning, Xiao Wang left before dawn.
Mist coiled over the mountains as he walked toward the training fields behind the village — a place abandoned since the sect elders declared him unworthy years ago.
The wooden dummies still stood there, cracked and broken, half-swallowed by moss.
He stared at them for a long while, then unsheathed the crimson blade.
The air changed instantly.
A rush of energy flooded outward, shaking the ground. The mist scattered like frightened ghosts.
He exhaled.
Then began.
Each swing was fluid, precise, yet heavy with intent.
His movements cut through air and silence alike — the form of a swordsman who had once died by betrayal, reborn in rage.
But with every swing, the sword fed.
It drew Qi from the surroundings — from the air, the ground, even from the faint life hidden in the moss beneath his feet.
"Enough," he growled.
But the sword did not stop.
It continued to hum, the runes along its surface glowing bright red.
Suddenly — the air split.
A dark shape burst from the ground — a shadowy remnant of devoured energy, swirling into form like smoke made flesh.
A Phantom Wraith.
A creature born from excessive devouring — the backlash of unbalanced energy.
It screamed, lunging toward him.
Xiao Wang twisted his body, sword flashing. The blade cleaved through it — but instead of dispersing, it clung to his arm, biting into his skin like molten chains.
Pain flared.
The runes on his hand burned brighter.
"What is this?!"
The sword's whisper was sharp now.
"You have taken too much. The world retaliates."
He clenched his teeth, forcing his Qi to stabilize.
With a guttural roar, he drove his power through the blade — the energy erupted, consuming the wraith entirely.
When the light faded, silence returned.
But his arm was bleeding — faint black lines crawling up toward his shoulder.
"If I keep using this power…" he whispered. "I'll become like them."
The sword's tone softened — almost sorrowful.
"Every devouring cultivator walks the same edge. Power or self. One must be sacrificed."
He sheathed the sword slowly, his jaw tight. "Then I'll find another way. I won't lose myself."
"Perhaps that's what you said in your first life too…"
The whisper faded, leaving only silence.
The Girl's Awakening
When he returned, Lian Yue was awake — sitting beneath the peach tree, her gaze distant.
The morning sun touched her hair, and for a moment, she looked ethereal.
"You're injured," she said softly.
He stopped. "You can sense that?"
She nodded. "Your Qi flow is unstable. There's something inside you that isn't… yours."
He frowned slightly. "And you can see that how?"
Her eyes dimmed. "Because I've seen it before. In another life."
His pulse quickened. "You—"
"I don't remember everything," she interrupted. "Only fragments. But every time I sleep near that sword… I dream."
"What kind of dreams?"
She met his gaze. "Of you. Standing in a realm of stars. Holding that same sword… as the heavens shattered."
A cold wind swept through the courtyard.
The sword trembled on his back — faintly, like a heartbeat skipping a note.
"It remembers," it whispered inside his mind. "And so does she."
The Voice of the Sword
That night, Xiao Wang meditated again.
His breathing was calm, his mind focused — but the sword pulsed faintly beside him, alive and restless.
"You hesitate."
He exhaled. "Because I don't know what's real anymore."
"Reality is forged by those who conquer it."
He chuckled bitterly. "And what if I conquer too much?"
"Then you will become me."
He fell silent, the weight of those words settling on him like iron.
The whisper continued, slower now.
"Power is hunger, Xiao Wang. You think you wield the sword — but it is hunger that wields you."
"Then why give me this power at all?"
"Because only hunger can defy fate."
He opened his eyes — and froze.
The reflection in the sword's blade wasn't his.
It was another version of himself — eyes glowing red, expression cold, devouring the light around him.
The reflection smirked.
"We are the same. The only difference is time."
Then the image shattered like glass.
Xiao Wang's heart pounded. Sweat rolled down his temple.
"Sword," he whispered, "what am I becoming?"
There was no answer this time — only silence, and the faint tremor of something awakening deep within the blade.
The Omen Beneath the Blossoms
At dawn, Xiao Wang stepped outside.
The peach tree was blooming again — full blossoms now, hundreds of them, glowing faintly crimson under the rising sun.
Lian Yue stood beneath it, gazing upward.
"It's beautiful," she said quietly. "But… does beauty always come before tragedy?"
He looked at her. "Why would you say that?"
She turned — her eyes were shimmering faintly, the same crimson as the blossoms.
"I saw it again," she whispered. "The stars falling. The sword consuming them one by one… until nothing remained."
He froze.
"You saw the future."
She nodded slowly. "Or maybe the past."
The wind stirred, carrying a whisper from the sword — faint but clear.
"When fate devours back… neither of you will remain whole."
The blossoms fell around them like drifting blood.
And as the crimson petals touched the ground, Xiao Wang realized —this was not the beginning of his rise.
It was the beginning of the world's reckoning.