Chapter 1: Humble Beginnings

The sun was just beginning to rise over the mountains, casting long shadows across the training grounds of the Azure Cloud Sect. Bleddyn stood in his usual place near the edge of the courtyard, gripping the hilt of his wooden training sword, watching as the senior disciples practiced their forms with fluid precision. Their movements were graceful, sharp, and powerful—everything Bleddyn aspired to but had yet to achieve.

His hands tightened around the sword. He had been part of the sect for years, training every day, pushing his body to the limit. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he remained at the bottom of the ranks, always falling short of the expectations placed on him. His master barely acknowledged him, and most of the senior disciples treated him with either indifference or disdain.

“Look at him. Still at the edge, like a coward.”

Bleddyn’s stomach tightened at the sound of that familiar voice. Talon, his senior brother, walked past with a sneer, his eyes filled with contempt. Talon was one of the most skilled disciples in the sect, and he never let Bleddyn forget their difference in rank.

Bleddyn said nothing, keeping his head down, but he could feel Talon’s eyes on him, searching for a reaction.

“Why don’t you just give up, Bleddyn? You’re not suited for the sword,” Talon mocked, his voice dripping with arrogance. “You’ve been here for years, and yet, here you are, still stuck at the bottom.”

Anger flared inside Bleddyn, but he knew better than to respond. Talon thrived on making others feel small, and any show of defiance would only make things worse.

“Just stay out of the way, and don’t embarrass yourself again.” With a smug grin, Talon turned and rejoined the other senior disciples, leaving Bleddyn alone.

Bleddyn exhaled slowly, pushing down the frustration and humiliation. He had long grown accustomed to Talon’s taunts, but that didn’t make them any easier to bear. Still, he wasn’t about to give up. He couldn’t. Not after everything his father had taught him about perseverance and honor.

His father…

Bleddyn’s hand instinctively moved to the simple silver ring he wore on his left hand, the only thing his father had left him before he passed away. The ring had been in their family for generations, passed down from father to son, and while Bleddyn had never understood its true significance, it was a symbol of the strength he aspired to achieve.

With renewed determination, Bleddyn moved to an empty corner of the training ground and began practicing his forms, focusing on the basics. His movements were slow and deliberate, but there was a certain stiffness in his body, a lack of fluidity that frustrated him to no end.

Hours passed, and as the sun reached its peak, the other disciples left the training ground to rest and eat. Bleddyn, however, remained, his brow slick with sweat, his muscles aching, but his determination unbroken. He swung his sword again and again, repeating the same moves in hopes that repetition would make them perfect.

But perfection never came.

As dusk began to settle over the mountains, Bleddyn’s arms felt like lead, and his vision blurred from exhaustion. He knew he should stop—his body had reached its limit—but something inside him wouldn’t let him quit.

That was when Talon returned.

“Well, well, still here, are you?” Talon’s voice was filled with mockery, and Bleddyn’s heart sank.

Before Bleddyn could respond, Talon swung his practice sword with lightning speed, knocking Bleddyn’s weapon from his hand and sending him sprawling to the ground.

“Pathetic,” Talon spat, standing over him. “You’ll never be a swordsman. You’re a disgrace to the sect.”

Bleddyn’s vision swam as pain shot through his body. Talon’s words cut deeper than the blow. He had always known he was weaker, but hearing it out loud from someone like Talon made it feel all too real.

Without warning, Talon struck again, his foot connecting with Bleddyn’s side, sending him rolling across the dirt. Pain radiated through his ribs, but Talon wasn’t done. He grabbed Bleddyn by the collar and pulled him up, his eyes blazing with cruelty.

“You think you belong here? You’re nothing,” Talon growled before throwing Bleddyn to the ground one last time.

Bleddyn lay there, blood trickling from his lip, his body screaming in pain. Talon stood over him, sneering. “You should just leave. Save us all the embarrassment.”

Talon turned and walked away, leaving Bleddyn bruised and broken in the dirt. For a moment, Bleddyn felt the crushing weight of failure, the overwhelming desire to give up.

But then his hand brushed against the ring, and a strange warmth spread through his body. He coughed, tasting blood, but as his fingers wrapped around the ring, a voice echoed in his mind.

“Stand.”

The voice was deep, ancient, and filled with authority. Bleddyn froze, his breath catching in his throat. It wasn’t his own thoughts. It was someone—something—else.

“Stand, Bleddyn.”

Shaking, Bleddyn struggled to his feet, every muscle protesting the effort. The warmth from the ring grew stronger, and as he looked down at it, he saw a faint glow emanating from the silver band. His heart pounded in his chest as the voice continued.

“I have been waiting… for someone worthy.”

Bleddyn’s eyes widened in shock as a faint figure began to materialize before him. It was a man, tall and imposing, dressed in ancient robes with a sword strapped to his back. His presence was powerful, commanding.

“I am the spirit of the Sword Saint,” the figure said, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. “And you, Bleddyn, are the one who will inherit my legacy.”

Bleddyn could only stare in stunned silence as the spirit of the Sword Saint stepped forward, his eyes blazing with intensity.

“You have been chosen. Now, rise.”