Gray-white stone shards scattered with each swing of the blade, breaking and reforming repeatedly, embodying the spirit of the ancient phrase “unyielding resilience.”
Hestia’s breathing grew labored, beads of sweat matting her hair against her forehead. Once again, she narrowly evaded the colossal hand descending with breakneck speed. Planting her foot against the massive, blue-and-red arm, she launched herself backward, body arcing in a graceful flip. Her sword carved a crescent of chilling light through the air, severing the tattered gold-and-red ribbon fluttering on the automaton.
The golden radiance enveloping the giant dimmed, fading into a dull, earthen yellow. Hestia leapt once more, spinning in midair. Her sword and form twirled as one, creating a fleeting yet stunning vortex of flying hair and swirling skirts.
Zzzzt—
Her sword plunged into the giant bronze eye, sparking a flurry of electricity and debris. Abandoning the weapon, Hestia retreated rapidly. The massive construct began to crumble like weathered stone, collapsing with a deafening crash that sent shockwaves through the ground.
This should be enough, Hestia thought. While the academy’s AI support had been useful, real strength was still essential to earn the respect of others. Without it, her efforts would seem like a child parading gold through the streets—inviting exploitation without gaining any say.
Suspended in midair, she quietly observed the masked man below, her sword hanging loosely in her hand, its tip trailing along her white sleeve.
“Heh… heh heh… HAHAHA! Are you mocking me?!” he roared, clutching his forehead. His voice twisted and cracked before settling into a tone seething with rage.
If the girl had begged him with tears and vulnerability, he might have relented. But her stubborn defiance only deepened his humiliation. To Gu Qianlou, her actions felt like a scornful indictment of everything he’d stood for.
Look at her—Gu Yongrong’s daughter, returning after just 20 years to dismantle the very things you once prided yourself on. Your painstaking perseverance over the years—what did it amount to? All those sacrifices, tarnishing Thousand Towers City’s reputation and even losing your sister—what value did they hold?
To kill the spirit is worse than to kill the body. Hestia had likely only wanted Gu Qianlou to see the futility of clinging to the past. But she underestimated his obstinance. To a man as entrenched in his ways as Gu Qianlou, her actions were not persuasion but a direct challenge to his authority—a desecration of his legacy.
“Fine! You want to prove you’re right? I’ll grant you your wish!” he declared, launching himself skyward. His black robes billowed furiously, and his golden mask shifted, igniting into a fiery red hue.
A crimson blade erupted from its sheath, streaking toward Hestia like a comet. The blast of magical energy embedded within it sent her reeling. Heat, searing and toxic, spread through her veins, choking her breath.
But just as her azure eyes flared with light, extinguishing the fiery poison within her, Gu Qianlou struck again. His fiery red mask morphed into a white-on-yellow pattern, and his sword, now released, hung suspended in midair.
The sword hovered at the center of an intricate web of golden magical lines, glowing like a circuit board. Layers of shimmering light coalesced upon the blade, building its power.
Pierce. Shatter Gold. Break Magic. Accelerate.
Thousand Towers’s Secret Technique: Instant Kill Formation!
A golden ray blazed forth, the blade moving at near-lightning speed. It pierced Hestia in an instant, its path nearly imperceptible.
As the bloodied girl plummeted from the sky, the crowd below could only watch in stunned silence. Whether from the Sword Guardians’ faction or the Divine Generals’ camp, a somber chill washed over them all.
After all, this girl was Gu Yongrong’s daughter—the closest blood relative Gu Qianlou had left. She was one of Thousand Towers City’s future hopes. If she were to fall here…
The golden blade withdrew, returning to Gu Qianlou’s grasp. His mask turned blue-green as he raced toward the falling girl, his intent now clear: capture her.
But midway, a spinning arc of snowy light intercepted him. Feng Jianxue stepped forward, blocking his path.
“Cough… cough…” Hestia knelt on the ground, clutching her bleeding right shoulder. Her body trembled.
Gu Qianlou had shown restraint. He hadn’t aimed directly at her heart.
From the distance, the Sword Guardians rushed to shield her. Among them, Ge Lianfeng scanned the surroundings, his gaze locking on the ancestral hall nearby. A decision crystallized in his mind.
“Take Her Highness into the ancestral hall! It’s the safest place. We can fortify our defenses there.”
“Understood!”
Encircling Hestia protectively, the guardians guided her toward the long-sealed ancestral hall. Though it appeared to be a simple two-story structure, it had been constructed with the highest-grade defensive materials and security measures, making it exceptionally sturdy.
While opening its gates was straightforward for Thousand Towers City’s inner circle, entering again after the defenses were activated would be nearly impossible.
Within moments, Hestia felt the pain in her wounded shoulder subside as the healing process began. Breathing a small sigh of relief, she surveyed her surroundings.
The ancestral hall’s decor was austere, exuding a solemn simplicity. Statues lined its sides, coated in a layer of dust. Their faded blue and red paint suggested they symbolized celestial deities—sun, moon, stars, and the forces of nature.
At the center of the hall stood two towering statues, their heads nearly brushing the beams of the ceiling. Between them was an intricately carved phoenix relief, under which rested an incense burner. When lit, the burner’s smoke would coil upward, revealing faint visions of a phoenix soaring.
Yet the hall’s most captivating feature lay behind the burner: a horizontally placed ancient sword encased in what resembled a stone sheath. Its hilt was wrapped in azure threads, with a lotus flower carved at its pommel.
The hall lacked any modern technology, preserving its archaic charm. The atmosphere was steeped in silence and timelessness.
Once inside, the group quieted out of respect for their ancestors and heritage. No one dared to speak loudly.
Rising unsteadily to her feet, Hestia gazed toward the sword in the distance. It seemed as though she could hear a faint melody—not a song, but the lingering echo of history’s essence.
So this was the destiny her mother sought to inherit back then… She shook her head gently, then stepped forward, ascending the steps one at a time.
The crowd, already murmuring softly, fell silent at once. They lined up in orderly rows, watching Hestia move step by step toward the top of the stairs. When her pale, moonlike hand reached beyond the incense burner, her fingers brushed lightly over the scabbard.
Dust fell away as she lifted the sheath, cradling it in her hand. Gripping the hilt, she felt a familiar warmth, a bond born of blood, then slowly drew the blade.
…
Outside, in the open expanse of the sky, Feng Jianxue and Gu Qianlou’s battle intensified, though Feng Jianxue quickly found himself at a disadvantage, inwardly cursing his misfortune.
This guy isn’t normal. There’s no way a standard Sequence 6 could be this strong. He must have used some forbidden technique or sorcery. Refusing to admit his skills were inferior, Feng Jianxue gritted his teeth. After all, he was a top graduate from one of the Federation’s elite schools and a master of his family’s secret arts. How could he possibly lose to these “underground natives”?
Enough of this. I’ve done my duty. It doesn’t seem like they’ll harm that little girl Hestia anyway. If worse comes to worst, I’ll come back with reinforcements to save her later.
With this thought, Feng Jianxue prepared to make his escape. He wasn’t one to be stubborn or overly concerned with pride.
“Today isn’t a good day for a prolonged fight. Farewell for now!” he shouted. His blade spun, scattering white light in all directions, as his figure soared upward. Like a great owl, he disappeared into the layers of red banners hanging above.
“Hmph.”
With the pesky Feng Jianxue driven off, Gu Qianlou turned his attention to the ancestral hall below. With a single kick, he shattered the main doors and stormed inside, taking in the scene before him.
Hestia was slowly drawing the sword, but what emerged caused a wave of disappointment among all present. Beyond the hilt was a broken blade, and as she turned the scabbard upside down, fragments of the sword fell to the ground.
The divine sword, said to bear the heritage of their ancestors and secret arts, had long since been destroyed by the passage of time.
“You think we didn’t try to revive it back then? This is reality,” Gu Qianlou said coldly, staring at the ancient blade in Hestia’s hands.
He had drawn this sword himself in his youth, only to face the same disappointment. Thus, he chose to inherit another lineage of secret techniques, leaving the sword-wielders’ legacy to his younger sister.
“Yes, it is indeed a pity,” Hestia replied softly, bowing her head as she carefully picked up each shard.
Seeing her persistence, Gu Qianlou’s anger flared. His sword swept out, scattering the guardians of the blade and charging directly toward the young woman in the hall.
As Gu Qianlou closed in, Hestia exhaled lightly and closed her eyes. She raised both hands, palms open, and before her, the broken fragments of the sword began to float. Each piece shimmered with an intense emerald light.
A torrent of energy erupted from the fractured blade, unleashing a tempestuous force that overturned the statues in the hall. Windows and doors burst outward, shooting beams of vibrant green light into the dark underground chamber.
“What is this…?”
The fierce winds roared, shaking the entire ancestral hall until its roof was torn away. Amid the debris, Hestia stood alone, her long black hair flowing freely. The fragments of the ancient sword rose with her, aligning themselves in the air. In the astonished and awestruck gazes of everyone present, the pieces began to reconnect, forming a complete blade.
Gu Qianlou tried to approach Hestia again, braving the storm’s pressure, but the closer he came, the stronger the wind became, forcing him to slow down.
Finally, when the ancient sword was fully restored, it floated above Hestia’s head. She raised her hands, one gripping the hilt, the other caressing the once-shattered blade.
Brilliant emerald light poured from the sword’s previously missing sections, illuminating the underground expanse. Its dazzling radiance filled the core district, casting light on the battling factions, the onlookers in the core’s residential areas, and even the citizens of Thousand Towers City watching anxiously on their monitors.
In the glow of its rebirth, the fragments melded seamlessly, transforming into a flawless divine sword.
Azure Lotus’s Lament: The Purifying Ink Sword
When the divine weapon emerged from the emerald light, the phantom of a phoenix danced around it, its piercing cry resounding throughout the underground world.
As the light faded, Hestia descended, the divine sword in her grasp. Its hilt was entwined with green threads, and its translucent blade gleamed like crystal. Within its clarity, swirls of smoky ink flowed like a phoenix in flight, beautiful and ethereal.
This was not a sword meant for slaughter but a ceremonial relic symbolizing the legacy of the Azure Lotus Sword Cleansing Palace—a reminder to cleanse the mundane and achieve a pure and steadfast heart.
Holding the sword, Hestia felt a surge of ancient knowledge flow into her mind: secret techniques preserved within the blade, histories of the old Holy Land, the uncertainty of the interstellar era, and the grief of those who once wandered to escape the ravages of war. The memories unfolded, revealing the tides of change across the centuries.
The past held a poignant charm, but time’s unyielding march had transformed everything. The age no longer called for wandering swordsmen, for solitary climbers to earn a sect’s recognition, for reclusive years of swordsmanship training, or for heroes to suppress demons and monsters. Nor was there a place for those who viewed sect members as siblings, standing together in unwavering loyalty.
The decline of the great sects was not merely due to lost techniques but because, in the vast and complex interstellar era, they were no longer needed nor suited for this ever-changing world.
Where does the path forward lie…?
With a long sigh, Hestia slowly opened her eyes, gazing at the ancient, desolate halls below. She raised the blade in her hands, and as it swept downward, a gentle breeze stirred in the underground realm. Faint golden specks of light emerged from the void—magic energy formed from Aijeka particles—floating like countless lanterns, illuminating the dim underground expanse.