Mist clung to the waters of the One Thousand Lakes, veiling the mountain basin like a breath of the heavens. At its heart floated an ancient stone platform, anchored by time and spirit alone. Upon this sacred ground stood a jade table, chipped with age, surrounded by the last surviving masters of Murim's once-glorious ancient sects. They had gathered here in silence and secrecy, answering a summons few living dared to question—Master Wuheng's. From each corner of the realm, they arrived: Jang Baekho of the Northern Heavenly Blade Sect, tall and white-haired, with eyes like steel. His disciple, Seo Junrok, a refined swordsman with noble bearing, carried a hybrid weapon—half blade, half sword—named Moonfang. Yeom Guhwan of the Heavenly Thunder Sect walked like a mountain; his disciple, Yu Gwanjeong, stood behind him with his massive war spear Heavenpiercer, crimson hair blazing like fire. Elder Mistress Gyo Seorin of the Moon Sword Sect came veiled in silver robes, while her disciple, Yeon Soheon, golden-haired and beautiful, carried dual moonlight daggers. And lastly, Elder Mistress Dan Chohwa of the Heaven Splitting Sect arrived, with the cold, calculating strategist Ok Seryeon in tow, her curved blade and bow slung across her back.
Though the disciples were the future of their sects, it was clear they didn't yet know why they had been brought here. Their masters remained silent—until a figure in flowing black robes stepped onto the platform. Wuheng had arrived. Silence fell, reverent and taut. Behind him walked a young man clothed in white with green jade embroidery. On his back were three swords: a sealed golden blade, a gleaming white dragonbone sword, and a pitch-black blade humming with a quiet void. A red-jeweled ring flickered on his hand. This was Tian Xuanzi.
The masters stood in unison, offering their respects. "He is the final disciple of the Tianyuan Origin Sect," Wuheng announced calmly, "and the heir of its legacy." But the disciples behind the masters exchanged glances, uncertain. His mismatched eyes—one red, one blue—were unlike anything they'd seen. His aura felt too ancient. Too silent. Seo Junrok studied him. Ok Seryeon narrowed her eyes. Yu Gwanjeong scoffed. "He doesn't look that strong," he muttered. Yeon Soheon watched Tian quietly. "Strange… why does he feel familiar?"
Doubt stirred. A master finally asked, "What is his origin? Those eyes are not of this world." Wuheng met their gaze evenly. "His mother entrusted him to me. His father comes from a distant land. That is all you need to know—for now." Still, the tension would not vanish. Tian stepped forward. "Let me fight," he said. "Not with my swords. Not with my eyes. Only fist and palm. Let me answer your doubts through strength." Wuheng nodded once. "Do not go too far."
One by one, the disciples stepped forward. Gwanjeong was first, his thunderous spear cutting the air—but Tian moved like the wind, sidestepping and striking with one palm. Gwanjeong was thrown backward across the platform, stunned. Seo Junrok came next, precise and fluid, but Tian blocked his blade with a single knuckle. Seryeon aimed an arrow and dashed in close—yet Tian caught her blade between two fingers. Soheon danced around him, her daggers swift as moonlight, but she could not find an opening. Not once did he draw his swords. Not once did he use the power in his eyes.
By the end, silence ruled the lakes. The disciples sat quietly, their egos wounded, but their hearts shaken with respect. "He's… no ordinary cultivator," Soheon murmured. Gwanjeong grit his teeth, then smirked. "I wanna fight him again."
The masters reconvened around the jade table. "He's stronger than he looks," said Dan Chohwa. "But still, this boy—what do we truly know of him?" Wuheng closed his eyes. "Two decades ago, I saved the Crimson Flame Sect's leader—Lady Feihong's father—from assassins. We became sworn sword brothers. Two years later, his daughter came to me, injured, hiding a child. She told me everything. Her brother had tried to kill her. The man she loved—Tian's father—was from a distant empire, bearer of dragon blood. She returned to her sect to protect it, while he returned to his kingdom to fight for his people. She entrusted Tian to me, and with him… two of her husband's swords." The black blade, Voidhowl, was not one of them—it belonged to the Tianyuan Origin Sect, passed down from Wuheng's own master. She also gave him a red-jeweled ring—one that would glow if her son ever came near her again, as a silent beacon of protection. Only Wuheng and Tian's mother knew of this. Tian himself remained unaware.
As Tian trained under Wuheng's relentless guidance, he awakened the legendary Crimson Dragon Eye in a dream filled with his mother's memories. In it, he saw her sorrow, her farewell. And deeper still… he met the Azure Dragon. It did not speak in words, but in truth, revealing the weight of his lineage. Days later, his second eye, the Azure Soul Eye, awakened during a moment of enlightenment as he meditated beneath the ancient waterfall of Tianyuan's ruins. He could now see through illusions, and his senses expanded beyond mortal limits. Wuheng forged for him a sword from dragonbone and heavenly steel—Starfang. He would not allow Tian to carry these weapons lightly. "You are no longer a boy," Wuheng told him, as they sat under the falling cherry blossoms. "You are the storm before the dawn."
Now, at the table, the masters spoke of the next step. "The world believes the ancient sects died with the flames," said Gyo Seorin. "But rumors speak of a prison in the north… where the old warriors were taken." Wuheng nodded. "You will go to Longyan City. There, we build our headquarters. A final fortress before we march to the Central Plains. The disciples will begin from the North—starting with the Ice Palace—and push southward, uniting old allies, crushing enemies. While you do, we will search for the hidden prison… and free those who can still wield a blade."
Beyond the trees, Tian sat beside a curious group of disciples. They had slowly begun to talk, share stories. Soheon teased his tiger cub, who playfully tackled her. "He's adorable," she laughed. "Does he have a name?" Tian smirked. "He hasn't told me yet." They questioned him—his three swords, his white robe with green jade, the ring on his finger. "Just keepsakes," Tian said simply. "But they matter." In turn, he asked about their weapons. Seryeon spoke of her bow carved from the wood of the Nine-Star Tree. Junrok described Moonfang, forged from a broken divine blade. Gwanjeong told him of the mountain he split with Heavenpiercer. Soheon? She just smiled and said, "I don't need a story. You'll see them in action."
Just then, a bell rang. The masters summoned them.
The age of waiting had ended.
The war to reclaim Murim had begun.