Chapter 13: The Sword That Never Left Its Scabbard

In the Voidwave Realm, there was only daylight; the fierce sun hung high, yet the air was still and hollow.

After walking for an unknown amount of time, a flat lawn appeared amidst the forest. The edges of the lawn were scorched black, and the center was bare, stripped of all life. Waves of heat rolled off the ground like rising flames.

A figure was suddenly sent flying, crashing violently into a tree trunk. With eyes full of resentment, he swallowed a mouthful of blood and shouted desperately.

"Let me try one more time!"

His hands had already been burned into raw, red flesh, covered in ugly blisters and scabs, trembling uncontrollably.

The onlookers had held their breath as they watched him try to pull the sword, only letting out a silent sigh of relief when he was repelled.

In the center of the clearing stood a sharp divine sword. Its hilt was fiery red, with a streak of vivid crimson along the spine, while the edge was as bright as snow. Soft white feathers wrapped the junction between the hilt and the blade, swaying gently in the breeze.

The moment the man had gripped it earlier, the blade erupted with fierce flames. With a resonant ring, a shockwave shook those nearby, leaving their skin feeling scorched and their eyes bloodshot.

"Stop trying. You’d be better off looking for other weapons," someone mocked. "How many gifted sword cultivators are there really? Even if there were, it wouldn't be people like us who climbed the stairway."

A few others, unwilling to give up, tried to approach. But as they neared the divine sword, it hummed irritably, sending a column of fire into the air and instantly scaring them off.

Zora watched for a long while before cutting off the sword’s volatile resonance. She didn't approach at all and quietly walked away.

The Oracle believed she hadn't yet adapted to the settings of the immortal world: [Well, for a sword cultivator, the sword is everything. It’s a partner that walks beside you.]

"..." She ignored it completely.

The realm seemed to have no boundaries. While it appeared to be a forest of plants, weapons were scattered everywhere. Even beneath a tree, hidden in the soil under spiritual herbs, one might find a silver needle.

A black whip, coiled like a snake at waist height in the grass, emitted a faint scent of blood.

Oddly shaped jars hung from the edges of cliffs.

In short, weapons of all kinds were everywhere. Generally speaking, they were to stay in the realm for an entire day.

Zora eventually found another sword. It lacked any obvious signs of "humanity," making it feel more like a proper inanimate object—much more comfortable.

As she swung the sword, the sound of something being dragged rapidly approached from the distance, accompanied by a scream.

"AAAAAHHH!!"

It was another disciple who had entered the realm. He was being dragged along by a sword, his hands gripping the hilt for dear life as he hurtled toward her.

The disciple cried out in terror, "Get out of the way!"

Suddenly, the sword in Zora’s hand let out a chime, as if rejoicing at this encounter. Now that both swords had wielders, they could move freely instead of being stuck in the dirt.

The blades clashed in the air.

Within heartbeats, the two swords exchanged dozens of moves, the crisp sound of cold metal meeting like water striking stone.

However, there was no killing intent. It felt more like a spar between friends, as if the most famous previous wielders of these two swords had been a pair of companions, and the weapons themselves shared that ancient bond.

In the Hall of Immortal Pursuit:

The elders had been watching the girl’s journey. Seeing her ignore the legendary crimson sword, they remained silent.

Fortunately, she had finally picked up a weapon. They had feared she might walk out of the realm without taking anything at all, which would have been a tragic waste of her talent.

"Not bad. That other disciple is a sword cultivator too. A bountiful harvest for the Sword Gate this year."

"Those two swords... they look like the ones owned by that pair of friends who fought the Demon Realm together."

"Indeed..."

Once the two swords parted, having satisfied the lingering regrets of their previous masters, the excitement died down. The sword in the disciple’s hand grew quiet, and he finally broke into a joyful grin: "I have a sword! I finally have a sword!"

Moreover, the sword techniques it had just guided him through were flawless. It was clear the previous master had practiced them millions of times, until the sword itself had absorbed the style.

Like a shooting star, it carried the essence of the Kunlun Sword Style. It was truly miraculous.

Could this be a fated encounter?

The disciple’s face twitched with excitement as he stared intently at the weapon, his hand trembling as he stroked the blade.

From the moment the sword had begun moving on its own, effectively controlling Zora’s hand, she had pressed her lips into a tight line.

She couldn't let go, as the other disciple’s sword was still attacking. Before she could appreciate the elegance of the technique, she was filled with a sense of revulsion.

The disciple was now using his sleeve to meticulously wipe the blade, as if cleaning a precious treasure.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of something hitting the ground. He looked up, only to see the girl had dropped her sword and was walking away.

"Wait..." His bewildered voice faded into her distant silhouette.

The elders before the water-mirror: "..."

One could call it arrogance, but the girl showed no emotion on her face; she looked rather dazed, and her actions weren't particularly boastful.

So, what exactly was the younger generation thinking these days?

Sitting in the last seat, the woman with the wine flask looked heavily intoxicated. Hearing their discussion, she slowly lifted her eyes. The face in the water-mirror was youthful and innocent, those brownish eyes flat and calm, harmless and pure.

Though Zhou Shijin looked drunk, her gaze was exceptionally clear.

"Why must swords be alive?" Zora asked the Oracle in her mind.

She was so displeased that her lips were pursed tight, making her cheeks bulge slightly.

The Oracle: [...]

The Oracle: [That’s why you have to conquer it! Fight side-by-side!]

"I have to carry a sword with me at all times," Zora said. "It’s not Vane. I can't put a covenant on it, and I can't use Puppet Threads."

The Oracle: [...Sigh, they aren't 'alive' all the time. Usually, they just stay in their scabbards as inanimate objects.]

She decided to find a sword that had never left its scabbard.

Walking along a small path, a rustle suddenly came from a tree. Zora looked up.

The youth who had been sleeping on a branch sat up, looking down at her with a steady gaze. The dappled shadows of the leaves covered him. A long spear leaned against him, its silver tip shimmering with light, the red tassels swaying gently. For a moment, he looked incredibly vibrant and bold.

He leaped down gracefully, his ponytail swaying as he stood before Zora. He glanced at her empty hands.

"Couldn't find a suitable weapon?"

He didn't ask if she had failed to gain a weapon’s recognition; rather, he asked if she was dissatisfied with her choices. Vane simply felt that if a weapon realm could recognize someone with his temperament, Zora must have been able to walk through it as if it were her own backyard.

Zora nodded dejectedly.

"I want to find a sword that has never left its scabbard."

Vane was slightly startled. He looked at Zora closely and then nodded in agreement: "Mhm. A weapon with a personality is only annoying. Especially if that personality clashes with your own—it’s an obstacle."

However, very few people shared this thought; he had assumed he was the only one. Vane lowered his eyes in silence for a moment, his thumb tracing the shaft of his spear.

Zora stared at the long spear.

Vane paused, then said, "It has never left this realm. Its name is Mystic Dust."

She continued to stare curiously.

Vane fell silent for a second and then handed the spear to her. Zora gripped it; it was icy cold. Once a weapon recognized a master, it was freed from the realm’s restrictions and could be held by others. Of course, the master could reclaim it with a single thought.

The spear was long and heavy. Zora gave it a spin; the red tassels fluttered in the wind like fresh blood. Objects that had never been revealed to the world carried an ancient, pure aura, untainted by anyone’s spiritual power. It was without consciousness, without thought, and without gender—a powerful and profound energy swirled within it, proving that Immortal Xi Qu’s words were no lie.

—The objects of the Voidwave Realm hold no rank or status; each is precious and unique in the world.

Vane unhurriedly tilted his head to dodge the spearhead she was swinging around haphazardly. She didn't know how to use a spear.

After a few spins, Zora quickly lost interest. Having satisfied her curiosity, she handed it back. She wanted to find an unsheathed sword, so Vane naturally followed her.

A sword is born with a scabbard. Once a sword is drawn by its first master, when that master dies, the sword returns to the Voidwave Realm, but the scabbard does not; it is usually buried with the wielder. Thus, she only needed to look for a sword that still had its scabbard.

An unawakened object lacked activity and would not resonate, making it much harder to find than a famous sword.

Vane, having somehow obtained his weapon, smelled faintly of blood. Aware of this, he kept a measured distance from her, only moving closer once the scent had dissipated in the air.

They walked for an unknown amount of time, passing countless people who were dejected because they couldn't lift a single weapon, those who turned to violence out of jealousy, and those who were repeatedly injured by the shockwaves of divine swords they couldn't control. Those people were often teleported out by the realm’s formations, likely for medical treatment.

They also encountered all sorts of bizarre weapons hanging in strange places. Zora cut off the resonance of each one. Since Vane already had his spear, he was left in peace; no spiritual tool bothered him further.

Finally, Zora reached the depths of the realm, arriving at a hidden pool.

Atop a stone by the cold pool, a sword stood upright. It had never been drawn, and thus couldn't pierce the stone’s surface; instead, it hovered above the hard rock amidst a constant flow of shimmering light.

The entire thing was indigo blue, with a silver orb embedded in the hilt. A cold aura washed over them—it was hard to tell if it was from the misty pool or the sword itself.

Vane stopped, standing with his spear as he watched her approach the blade.

In front of the water-mirror, the elders fell into a collective silence after hearing the girl tell the boy she wanted a sword that had never left its scabbard.

Having reached their level of cultivation and status, they were not so foolish as to ignore the founder’s words and believe that only famous swords were the best. Quite the contrary—no one understood the value of the spiritual tools in the Voidwave Realm better than they did. No tool could be disparaged.

However, those famous, sentient swords possessed the ability to resonate. Often, disciples with exceptional talent were sensed the moment they entered and would then draw a world-renowned divine sword. Thus, for thousands of years, the undrawn swords remained undrawn, and the few who accidentally obtained one were usually of mediocre talent—they had tried the divine swords, failed, and settled for an undrawn one.

The greatest difference between a divine sword and an unawakened one was simply that a divine sword had a faint consciousness and could refuse someone with the talent to wield it. With mediocre talent, the sword remained obscured. Many returned to the realm without even birthing a sword spirit. Over time, famous swords became even more renowned, and few gifted disciples ever chose a nameless blade.

They watched the girl in the water-mirror draw the sword from its scabbard as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

In the silence, one elder sighed: "...Actually, our Formation Gate isn't bad either."

"Truly... a fine prospect. That boy too; though he isn't a sword cultivator, he could achieve great things in the Sword Gate."

Jin Chuyang, looking half-asleep, offered a casual comment: "A steady heart, unmoved by external things. Her desires and thoughts are not those of ordinary people. This disciple can walk a long path."

Turi Qi pursed her lips, a faint smile tugging at the corners. The Sword Gate had been quiet for a long time; as the head disciple, she was naturally happy to have two more people join them.

Zora drew the indigo scabbard.

The moment the sword left its sheath, it erupted with brilliant light and a cold, resonant ring. The blade was as white as snow, sleek and sharp, as thin as a cicada’s wing. At the moment of its birth, the surroundings suddenly turned as dark as night, leaving only that snowy blade, like a crescent moon or a falling star, capturing all attention.

An ancient and chilling spiritual aura burst forth, swirling around Zora and driving away the cold. The stagnant water of the cold pool below suddenly began to flow, and the mist dispersed. The plants at her feet stretched their branches and grew. This place of stagnant water and deathly stillness seemed to finally be incorporated into the living realm, bursting with new vitality.

Vane watched Zora, and Zora watched the sword.

Her brownish eyes are likely reflecting the brightness of the snowy blade,

Vane thought calmly. They seemed to shimmer with broken starlight, yet she certainly wasn't looking at it with excitement or longing.

She returned the sword to its sheath and turned around. She wasn't smiling; her expression was no different from usual, her brownish eyes as calm as water, pure and somewhat dazed.

"This is the one."

Zora noticed that Vane, who was standing not far away, seemed to pause for a second before his lips curled into a smile.

There was still some time left. Zora walked up to him. "Were you sleeping in the tree earlier?"

"Yes."

Having answered, he watched her with a sense of anticipation, only to see Zora walk to a large tree and look up at the high branches. Zora didn't know how to climb trees, especially one where the lowest branch was so high.

"How do I get up?"

"Mhm..." Vane pondered for a moment.

The youth first climbed onto the branch with practiced agility, then reached down. Zora took his hand. They remained a contrast of cold and warmth. Vane glanced at their joined hands, gave a pull, and Zora sat up next to him, leaning against the trunk.

"Sit a bit further out."

"..." Vane shifted a bit further out.

Zora hugged her sword, rested her head against the tree, and instantly closed her eyes. The dappled shadows of the leaves fell across her face, highlighting her fair, delicate skin and soft lashes. Her face had just the right amount of youthful softness, like a little snowball.

Vane sat with one leg pulled up on the branch, his elbow resting on his knee and his hand propping up his chin. He had his eyes closed but truly couldn't fall asleep. He felt as though someone was watching them. He looked around once more.

It must be the sect elders or someone similar.

There was no danger. The leg Vane had closest to Zora dangled down, unconsciously swaying slightly in the stillness of the air. It accidentally brushed against her skirt. The light blue fabric fluttered with his movement and then settled. The youthful difference between their statures was fully evident in their proximity.

The youth watched with lowered eyes, his swaying leg quietly coming to a stop. He turned his head to look at Zora, at the flecks of light and shadow on her face. Her breathing was slow and steady; she was fast asleep.