The lands of Đại Việt shift with the seasons, each carrying its own beauty. In the North, golden rice waves under the autumn sun, the Red River flows thick and red with silt, and temples rise among swirling mists. In the Central plains, emerald mountains plunge into deep seas, while white-crested waves pound the rocky shores of Lý Sơn. In the South, fields stretch beyond sight, rivers flood their banks, and the scent of ripened rice mingles with warm breezes.
The people of Đại Việt treasure honor and martial prowess. From village lanes to bustling markets, the clang of wooden clappers, the rhythm of drums, and the soaring notes of traditional chants echo like blood pulsing in the veins of the descendants of Lạc Hồng. In this land, heroes and traitors often differ only by a hair's breadth. Good and evil are intertwined, as inseparable as cresting waves upon the ocean.
It was the waning years of the Trần Dynasty. The Emperor, old and ailing, ruled in name alone. Within the court, treacherous officials schemed in shadows. At the borders, Champa's armies pressed ever closer. And among the martial world, rumors spread like wildfire of a hidden treasure beneath the sea at Lý Sơn Island—a tome known as the Long Tàng Secret Manual. This fabled manuscript was said to hold not only supreme martial arts but secrets of Đại Việt's dragon veins. In the right hands, it could save the nation. In the wrong, it might plunge all under heaven into chaos.
On one storm-swept night, at the edge of the churning Lý Sơn Sea, waves hurled themselves against jagged black rocks. Rain fell in silvery spears, wind howled like a thousand ghosts. Amid the tempest, a lone figure stood atop a towering boulder, robes of pale turquoise fluttering like seabird wings amidst the spray.
She was Nguyễn Bích Thủy, famed throughout the martial world as the Bích Hải Dragon Maiden. Her gaze was deep as ocean trenches, her bearing at once cold and sorrowful. Raising a slender silver flute, she spoke, her voice clear and cold as steel:
"Phạm Quang Minh! Hand over the Long Tàng Secret Manual, lest this storm become your burial shroud!"
Opposite her stood a youth of eighteen, drenched to the bone, eyes ablaze like twin stars. He was none other than Phạm Quang Minh, the last disciple of the Thiên Vân Sword Sect. Clutching his sword hilt so tightly that veins stood out on his hands, he shouted:
"The Long Tàng Manual belongs to my sect and my late master. How can I surrender it to one whose heart I cannot fathom? Bích Hải Dragon Maiden, if you wish to seize it, you'll have to step over my corpse first!"
The sea thundered as if in applause. Lightning blazed like heavenly blades. Before Quang Minh could draw breath, Bích Thủy flew forward, silver flute flashing like a falling star. Quang Minh gave a fierce cry, sword sweeping forth in a shimmering arc. Steel rang against steel, sparks scattered like fireflies in the rain.
In the blink of an eye, a sharp whoosh sliced through the storm. The flute's tip tore through Quang Minh's sleeve, a thin red line blooming across his arm. Crimson droplets spattered the stone beneath their feet, quickly washed away by rain. Bích Thủy's eyes blazed as she hissed:
"Still you refuse? Then tonight, the waves shall claim your bones!"
At that very instant, a cold laugh slithered forth from behind a towering rock:
"Excellent… excellent! Two young hawks, eager to spill blood. Why kill each other, when you could simply entrust the manual to Lê Hồng Liêm instead?"
Lightning flashed again, revealing a lean figure with a long, narrow face and eyes glowing like coals. In his hand, a sword gleamed crimson as though dipped in fresh blood, each droplet dripping onto the stone like falling rubies.
He was none other than the dreaded Huyết Kiếm Lão Nhân—the Blood Sword Elder.
Meanwhile, the sea of Lý Sơn raged on, waves roaring as if determined to swallow all who dared defy the storm…