In the heart of the Fallen Star Gorge, where the ancient markings glowed beneath the early morning light, Ye Xiu found himself cornered by fate. The gorge was eerily silent except for the distant echo of dripping water and the constant, low hum emanating from his pendant. The atmosphere here was charged with an otherworldly energy—a force that whispered of the old ways and promised both power and peril.
Unbeknownst to him, this secluded place had long been known among clandestine circles as a site where the veil between the mundane and the mystical thinned. Here, the energies of the world coalesced, ready to react with those who bore the mark of destiny. For Ye Xiu, it was time to test the nascent powers he had only glimpsed in flashes and fevered dreams.
A sudden tremor in the ground drew his attention. Without warning, from the rocky walls emerged a writhing mass of tendrils—mechanical tentacles animated by a strange, pulsating energy. They were unlike any creature of the wasteland he had encountered before; these tentacles moved with an unnatural grace, as though controlled by a hidden intelligence. Their glossy surfaces shimmered in the soft light, and from their cores emanated a dim, crimson glow.
As the tendrils closed in, Ye Xiu's heart pounded fiercely. He had read in the forbidden texts that such entities might be attracted to the unique energy signature in his blood—especially on nights when the moon was absent. Now, with the gorge as their arena, they were drawn to him, testing his resolve and his control over the ancient art he had begun to awaken.
The mechanical tentacles slithered forward, coalescing into a chaotic swarm. In that instant, a memory flashed before his eyes—the dying scream of Old Wu from the mechanical graveyard, the bloodied jade slip, and the sudden revelation of the first fragment of the Nine Heavens Sword Manual: three rudimentary techniques that he barely understood. The memory galvanized him. There was no turning back now.
With a surge of desperation, Ye Xiu clutched the wooden sword pendant. In response, the pendant flared with a burst of red light, its transformation accelerating as if fueled by his rising adrenaline. The familiar patterns—the bloodlike filaments now blazing across its surface—materialized as if by magic. The pendant unfurled into a full-length sword, its blade exuding an aura of fierce crimson energy. In that moment, the ancient techniques called out to him: Breaking Wind, Cutting Steel, and Burning Blood.
Surrounded by the swarm of mechanical tentacles, Ye Xiu raised the transformed sword and cried out an incantation that he had learned only in fragmented whispers from the jade slip. The words, archaic and laden with power, reverberated through the gorge. The sword's edge burst into radiant red light as the technique known as "Breaking Wind" was unleashed—a sweeping arc of energy that sliced through the darkness.
In a blinding flash, the sword's red aura collided with a writhing tendril. With a sound that was part metallic shriek and part shattering stone, the blade cleaved through the tentacle's core. For an agonizing instant, Ye Xiu saw inside the severed limb—a gleaming, metallic bone inscribed with intricate symbols, a "sword bone" that pulsed with mysterious energy. The sight both horrified and awed him, confirming that the pendant was not merely a weapon but a key to a legacy of ancient martial power.
But the triumph came at a dire cost. The unleashed energy surged uncontrollably through his arm, and he felt a searing, burning pain as his right arm's blood vessels ruptured under the strain. His vision blurred, and a rush of crimson overwhelmed his senses. The technique had exacted its price—a sacrifice demanded by the ancient art.
Barely able to stand, Ye Xiu staggered backward, clutching his injured arm. The mechanical tentacles, momentarily repelled by the devastating strike, recoiled and writhed as if in protest. Amid the chaos, his memory returned to Old Wu's desperate words: "This cursed thing devours your spirit…" And now, with his own blood fueling the very power he sought to master, he understood the bitter truth.
In a moment of desperate clarity, he recalled another fragment of that fevered vision: the tentacle core's mysterious liquid—a potent elixir that had the power to ease the backlash of the technique. Summoning the last of his strength, Ye Xiu reached into a small pouch strapped to his belt. Within it lay a vial of viscous, glimmering liquid salvaged from the remains of a severed tentacle core. With trembling hands, he uncorked the vial and downed its bitter contents.
Almost immediately, a soothing warmth spread through his veins, dulling the unbearable pain. The ruptured vessels began to knit together, and the raging agony ebbed into a persistent, dull throb. Though his body was battered, his resolve only hardened. The success of his first true trial of the sword was now etched in both flesh and spirit—an indelible lesson in sacrifice, power, and the perilous price of mastery.
For several long moments, Ye Xiu remained in the heart of the gorge, breathing heavily as he surveyed the scene. Around him, the mechanical tentacles slithered slowly away, their threat temporarily abated by the sheer force of his unleashed technique. The metallic bone—the sword bone—lay on the rocky floor, its runes pulsing softly in the dim light. It was an omen, a fragment of the ancient legacy that now beckoned him further down the path of the Nine Heavens Sword Manual.
Gathering himself, Ye Xiu retracted the now-dormant sword back into its pendant form, careful not to disturb its intricate patterns. He pressed a callused hand to his injured arm, feeling both the pain and the promise of power that flowed within his veins. He had tasted the dark ecstasy of the sword's might—and he knew there was no turning back.
Slowly, resolute and weary, he made his way out of the gorge, each step a testament to his newfound determination and the sacrifices he would have to endure. The morning light grew stronger as he emerged from the shadows, and though his body was battered, his eyes burned with an inner fire that would not be quenched.
In that fragile dawn, as the wasteland stirred and the ancient energies whispered of destinies yet fulfilled, Ye Xiu vowed to embrace both the pain and the power of Calamity's Edge. His journey had taken a dark, irreversible turn, and the secrets of the Nine Heavens Sword Manual were now his to command—if only he could survive the trials ahead.