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The autumn wind swept through the Heavenly Sword Sect, rustling the golden leaves that adorned the sect's grand courtyard. The sun had long since set, but the sect was still abuzz with activity as disciples prepared for the upcoming sword ceremony.
The Sword Ceremony was a prestigious event where every disciple of the Heavenly Sword Sect showcased their mastery of the swords. Those who demonstrated exceptional skill and rose to the top of the competition were honored with the opportunity to become personal disciples of the esteemed elders. Additionally, the Sect Master himself would bestow upon them invaluable rewards.
High atop the central peak, the sect's majestic Hall of Swords glowed with a warm, inviting light. Inside, dozens of candles flickered, casting long shadows on the ancient stone walls adorned with murals of legendary swordmasters.
At the front of the hall, an elder with a serene face and a long, flowing beard stood before an altar. His robes, embroidered with intricate silver patterns, rustled softly as he raised his hands in a solemn prayer. “Ancestors of the Heavenly Sword Sect, we beseech you,” the elder intoned, his voice echoing through the hall.
“Grant your blessings upon tomorrow's ceremony. May it reveal young swordsmen of exceptional talent who will bring honor and strength to our lineage.” Before him, an ornate wooden stand held several ancestral tablets. Incense burned in tall bronze holders on either side, filling the air with a delicate fragrance. Behind the elder, a group of high-ranking sect members kneeled in reverence, their white ceremonial garments contrasting with the rich, dark hues of the hall. As the elder finished his prayer, he bent low, touching his forehead to the polished stone floor.
The other sect members followed suit, and the hall was filled with the soft sound of foreheads tapping the ground in unison. When the ceremony concluded, the sect members rose and began to file out of the hall, their footsteps soft on the stone floor. Outside in the corridor, their reserved demeanor gave way to quiet conversations.
“This year has passed so swiftly,” one elder remarked, adjusting his robes. “It seems only yesterday we were preparing for the last sword ceremony."
“I wonder what prodigies will emerge this time,” another elder mused. “The Sword Sect has seen a lull in exceptional talent these past few years.” “Indeed,” a third elder agreed.
“Other sects have been producing remarkable swordsmen. That young prodigy from the Thunder Sect, Lei Feng, has already achieved the third level of sword mastery. His potential is said to be boundless.” The mention of Lei Feng’s name caused a ripple of concern among the elders. His rapid rise in power had cast a shadow over the Heavenly Sword Sect, a constant reminder of the competition they faced. “But there is still hope,” one elder said, a note of optimism in his voice.
“I have heard promising things about a young disciple named Li Ming. He began walking and talking at an early age, and his poetry displays a rare intellect. Despite losing his parents, he has shown great resilience and ambition.”
“Yes, Li Ming’s potential is undeniable,” another elder added. “If his abilities are as extraordinary as they seem, he could rival even Lei Feng. A prodigy of his caliber would be a great boon to our sect.” The sect leader, who had lingered at the entrance of the hall, overheard their conversation. With a thoughtful expression, he stepped forward, his voice gentle yet firm. “My fellow elders, it is late, and we must all rest well tonight to be at our best for tomorrow's ceremony.”
“Remember,” the sect leader continued, his tone serious. “We must conduct ourselves with honor. Let there be no deceit or discord that could harm the unity of our sect.” His words, though kindly, carried an underlying message. The elders exchanged glances, understanding the implications. The competition for the most promising disciples was intense, often leading to conflicts over who would have the honor of selecting the top talent.
“We understand, Sect Leader,” the elders responded in unison, bowing respectfully. With that, they dispersed, each lost in their own thoughts. The corridor soon fell silent, save for the soft whisper of the autumn wind. The sect leader lingered a moment longer, stepping to a nearby window. He gazed out over the sprawling sect, where the lights from the disciples’ quarters twinkled like stars. Despite the late hour, many were still awake, their hearts filled with anticipation and hope.
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“These young disciples are our future,” the sect leader murmured to himself, watching the flickering lights. “May tomorrow's ceremony bring forth the brilliance we need.”
At the same moment, a pair of black, eerie eyes were watching the festive atmosphere of the faraway Heavenly Sword Sect with a complex feeling inside. “Heavenly Sword Sect, this is the place where I started my journey?! It looks like the rumors were true. Samsara Pearl really worked.”
Wang Tian quietly gazed, standing by the window of the inn, drowning in the remembrance of past memories. The Samsara Pearl was far from a useless treasure. Its true potential remained obscured due to the scant information available about the Eight Heavenly Treasures. Only after pillaging the treasuries of various Dao dynasties did Wang Tian uncover records that hinted at its capabilities. These documents suggested that the Samsara Pearl possessed the power to reverse the flow of time itself, enabling its wielder to return to the past.
In essence, it granted the owner the ability to be reborn. However, activating the Samsara Pearl required an extreme method: the erasure of the user's existence from the entire world. This could only be achieved through death, both in body and soul. Yet, who would be mad enough to test such a method? The risk of dying to verify the authenticity of those ancient records was too great, and the potential loss was too immense.
He only used the method because there was no option left for him. All his treasures and resources were used in the battle. The majority of the remaining apex existences of the Vast Sky Continent surrounded him, with no way out visible. He could only hope that it worked. As for if it doesn't work? What can he do? The only result would be eradication, both in body and soul. Wang Tian hoped that by refining the Samsara Pearl, he might unravel its origin and unlock its true functions.
But as fate would have it, the knowledge of his attempt to refine one of the Eight Heavenly Treasures did not remain hidden. Word spread, and soon, experts from all corners of the Vast Sky Continent converged upon him, seeking to wrest the treasure from his grasp. Thus began the Heavenly Demon Purging War, a conflict that turned poetic phrases into stark reality—blood flowed like rivers, and the sky itself seemed to be dyed a crimson hue.
In this brutal war, every Dao Clan and Sect, every Ancient Kingdom and Imperial Lineage, sent their representatives to hunt down Wang Tian. But these formidable representatives, with all their might and prestige, fell before Wang Tian. None succeeded in retrieving the treasure, meeting their demise before even glimpsing the Samsara Pearl.
Wang Tian stood as a towering colossus, single-handedly suppressing the entire Vast Sky Continent. His enemies, though numerous and powerful, could not extinguish the fire of his resolve to refine the Samsara Pearl. Before the onset of the Heavenly Demon Purging War, no one had suspected that Wang Tian possessed Empyrean cultivation. The extent to which he concealed his true capabilities was unparalleled, as most would not forsake the fame, reputation, and fortune that came with being at the pinnacle of existence.
But there was no room for regrets now. They had already provoked an Empyrean cultivator. Despite their initial miscalculations, the factions of the Vast Sky Continent summoned their own Empyrean ancestors to confront Wang Tian. In response, three ancient Empyrean powerhouses emerged from their deathly slumber, ready to challenge him.
For four days and four nights, these titanic forces clashed, their battles causing the entire Vast Sky Continent to tremble faintly under their overwhelming might. On the final day of this cataclysmic battle, the inhabitants of the Vast Sky Continent witnessed a sight that would be etched into their memories forever—a colossal black lotus suspended in the sky. Its paradoxical beauty and contrasting ordinariness left the onlookers in stunned silence, their minds grappling with the sheer improbability of such a sight.
When the dust settled and the outcome of the battle was revealed, the entire Vast Sky Continent was gripped by shock and fear. Wang Tian emerged victorious. One of his opponents self-detonated, another fell in combat, and the third fled, gravely wounded, in a display of cowardice. Despite his victory, Wang Tian himself sustained life-threatening injuries. Yet, this battle record was nothing short of extraordinary. For his unparalleled prowess, he obtained the title of Black Lotus Demon Empyrean, his name forever etched into the annals of history.
Initially, the people believed it inevitable that Wang Tian would be defeated, given that his opponents were ancient monstrosities of their own eras. The true extent of their lifespans, in which they accumulated resources and knowledge, was a mystery—was it a million years or perhaps tens of millions? Regardless, it was universally agreed that no one on the Vast Sky Continent could match their foundational strength, save for some hidden existences.
In stark contrast stood Wang Tian, an unknown cultivator with no prior reputation. The ancestors' downfall lay in their pride. Overconfident in their own abilities, they grossly underestimated Wang Tian. They failed to heed the lessons of history: one must never underestimate their enemies. Underestimation is the seed of defeat.
Even a tiger must deploy its full might to vanquish a mere rat. The three ancestors, with their immeasurable experience, had grown complacent, convinced of their invincibility. They saw Wang Tian as a minor threat, an inconsequential obstacle. The lesson was clear: no matter how powerful or ancient one might be, underestimating an opponent can lead to catastrophic failure.