Years had passed since the day the Blood Age ended.

The newly founded Warrior Federation united all sects, ushering in an era of stability and order.

Among the many warriors who rose to prominence in this new age, one name stood above all others:

Yun Jin, the Limitless Blade.

The name spread like wildfire across the martial world.

In every tournament held by the Federation, Yun Jin emerged victorious.

From the flowing techniques of the Mount Hua Sect to the indomitable forms of Shaolin, and even the profound arts of his former home, the Wudang Sect, none could match his strength.

It wasn’t just his victories that stunned people—it was the way he fought.

Each match revealed something new, his techniques ever-changing and unpredictable, as though no limits existed to his potential.

This unpredictability earned him the title Limitless Blade.

Yet, for all his accomplishments, Yun Jin was not content.

In the Imperial City, deep within the training grounds of the Sword Pavilion—a place where only royalty could tread—Yun Jin faced his master, Baek Tianjun, the Sword Saint.

The older man now served as the Emperor’s personal sword instructor, a role fitting his legendary status.

To Yun Jin, however, Baek Tianjun was more than a servant of the court. He was the man who had saved him, raised him, and forged him into the warrior he had become.

And now, he was the only opponent Yun Jin couldn’t surpass.

“Again,” Baek Tianjun commanded, his voice calm yet sharp, like the edge of a blade.

Yun Jin tightened his grip on his sword, its polished steel reflecting the sunlight. He moved, his figure a blur as he attacked.

But Baek Tianjun met each strike with effortless grace. Each counter was precise, almost preternaturally so, as if the Sword Saint anticipated every move before Jin made it.

“Nice try!” Baek Tianjun said as he deflected another flurry of strikes with effortless precision.

“You’ve modified the third form of the Light Blade Sovereign Style with Wudang Sect’s sword techniques, transforming it into a single-target strike instead of the usual whirlwind. Impressive adaptation.”

He stepped back, lowering his sword slightly. A faint, amused smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “But you can’t seriously expect me to lose to my own technique, can you?”

Yun Jin’s knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on his sword. The frustration that had simmered beneath the surface finally broke through.

“Yeah? And where exactly am I supposed to find other techniques?” he snapped, his tone sharp and bitter.

He lowered his blade, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe I should try to find the Blood God Arts.”

Yun Jin attacked with relentless speed, his blade flashing like silver lightning.

Yet, Baek Tianjun moved as though choreographing a dance, each counter precise, effortless, reminding Yun Jin of the vast chasm between them.

With each failed strike, Yun Jin’s frustration deepened. His master wasn’t just countering his sword; he was crushing the weight of his ambition with every flawless move.

Was this what it meant to be a disciple—forever chasing a shadow he couldn’t catch?

Steel met steel in a deafening clash, the force sending Yun Jin sliding backward. He gritted his teeth, his chest heaving as Baek Tianjun stood unmoved, his stance as calm and unyielding as a mountain.

No matter how hard he tried, the result was always the same

“Even then,” Baek Tianjun said, his tone light, “you’d still have to find the Blood Sword buried somewhere on that mountain to perfect the art. And by the time you did, I’d probably be long dead!”

He let out a soft laugh, a sound that carried both humor and resignation, as if the idea amused him despite its grim undertone.

Yun Jin scowled, his grip tightening around his blade.

“You just had to kill everyone,” he muttered bitterly. “Now who am I supposed to train my techniques against?”

The words hung in the air, heavy with frustration.

This boy... Tianjun thought, his expression softening.

The pity he felt for Jin grew stronger with each sparring session, a quiet ache he couldn’t voice aloud.

The boy’s talent was unmatched, his potential limitless—but his path was one of isolation, a blade searching for a stone to sharpen itself against in a world that no longer offered one.

It was the era of peace. Yun Jin was born for war.

Baek Tianjun’s pity grew heavier, though he kept it hidden behind his faint smile.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Let’s call it a day,” he said casually, his tone light again.

“No.”

Jin exhaled slowly, his blade rising ever so slightly. He didn’t roar, nor did he falter. Instead, he channeled all his qi, his will, and his discipline into the edge of his sword.

Baek Tianjun’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise breaking through his composed demeanor.

“You even learned that technique?” he murmured, his lips curling into a giant smile.

The world seemed to hold its breath almost as time stopped.

And then, with a single, flawless motion, Jin swung his blade.

The strike was so precise, so clean, that it appeared almost motionless.

No wind, no resistance—just a stillness that defied comprehension. A faint glimmer of light traced the path of the slash as it surged forward, invisible to most but deadly in its intent.

It was the ultimate slashing technique of the Sword Saint, an attack born of absolute focus and mastery.

Light Blade Sovereign Style, Thirteenth Move: Vector to the Heaven.

But even that wasn’t enough.

Baek Tianjun deflected with ease, his mastery making Yun Jin’s best efforts seem clumsy.

Before Jin could react, Baek Tianjun stepped forward, closing the gap in an instant. His blade moved with blinding speed, disarming Jin in one fluid stroke.

The younger swordsman stumbled back, his weapon spinning through the air before clattering to the ground behind him.

Yun Jin gasped, clutching his arm as the sting of the disarming strike radiated through his body. His chest heaved, and a bead of sweat trickled down his temple.

Baek Tianjun lowered his blade with a faint click. His expression remained composed, but his gaze softened with pity.

He’s mastered every technique I’ve given him, Baek Tianjun thought, gripping his sword tightly. But without someone to truly test him, he’s stagnating. No matter how strong he becomes, he’ll remain incomplete.

“I’ve seen enough for today,” Baek Tianjun said, his tone light but carrying a quiet sorrow that lingered in his eyes. “Let’s get something to eat before you wear yourself out.”

Yun Jin sheathed his sword reluctantly, his pride still stinging from the sparring session. “Fine,” he muttered, brushing the dirt from his sleeves.

The two made their way to the bustling streets of the Imperial City, where the scent of spiced broth and sizzling meats filled the air.

They found a modest street vendor serving bowls of steaming noodles, the kind Baek Tianjun always claimed tasted better than anything from the palace kitchens.

Seated at a small wooden table, Yun Jin picked up his chopsticks, twirling the noodles absentmindedly.

Between bites, Tianjun broke the silence. “What’s your dream, Jin?”

Yun Jin paused mid-bite, his brow furrowing slightly. “To surpass you,” he said simply, his voice steady but earnest.

Tianjun leaned back in his chair, a warm smile crossed his face. “You’ve always been straightforward,” he said with a chuckle. “But let me tell you something.” He set his chopsticks down and rested his arms on the table.

“I’m already at this age,” Tianjun began, his voice soft but tinged with humor. “I don’t have many years left. One day, I’ll die, and you’ll probably inherit the title of strongest. They’ll call you the Limitless Sword Saint. That’s a good name, don’t you think?”

Yun Jin’s chopsticks stilled in his hand, his lips tightening into a thin line. “No,” he said, shaking his head firmly. “That’s not enough.”

Baek Tianjun raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“I don’t just want to be the strongest by default,” Yun Jin continued, his gaze unwavering. “I want to be so strong that even you, in your prime, couldn’t stand against me.”

For a moment, Baek Tianjun stared at him in silence. Then he threw his head back and laughed, the sound deep and genuine. “Ambitious as ever, aren’t you?” he said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

His voice softened, a rare warmth filling his tone. “I’m so proud of you, my disciple.”

The sudden sincerity caught Yun Jin off guard, his retort momentarily stuck in his throat.

But before he could respond, Baek Tianjun’s demeanor shifted once again. The Sword Saint picked up his bowl, pointing his chopsticks at Yun Jin with a mischievous grin.

“Then let’s see how you handle this challenge! An eating contest—whoever eats more, wins!”

Yun Jin blinked, caught off guard yet again. The serious lines of his face sharpened, transforming into an overly competitive grin.

“Now you’re on, old man!” he shot back, leaning forward with sudden enthusiasm.

With a cheeky smirk, he activated his Qi, using it to steady his bowl as he began devouring the noodles with alarming efficiency.

“HEY! Don’t use your Qi—that’s cheating! You damn kids these days!”

Laughing through mouthfuls of noodles, Yun Jin only shrugged, his grin widening.

The two dug in, bowls of steaming noodles vanishing at an astonishing pace as they exchanged mock glares and exaggerated movements. Passersby stopped to watch the spectacle, some chuckling at the absurdity of it all.

To see two of the brightest swordsmen in the world locked in an eating contest at a humble street vendor—it was the kind of moment that felt surreal.

But for Baek Tianjun, it was perfect.

A world of peace where anyone can be happy.

The moon hung high in the sky by the time Baek Tianjun carried Yun Jin, half-asleep and stuffed with noodles, back to the inner palace.

“For someone who calls me an old man, you sure lost to me in stamina,” Baek Tianjun teased, his voice light as he hoisted Yun Jin over his shoulder with surprising ease.

The younger swordsman groaned in protest but didn’t bother opening his eyes, his head lolling lazily against his master’s shoulder. “It’s the noodles’ fault,” Yun Jin mumbled, his words slurred with exhaustion.

“Skill issue,” Tianjun replied with a grin, shifting the boy’s weight slightly. “Maybe start training for stamina next time.”

He carried Yun Jin into his room, laying him gently onto his bed.

For a moment, Baek Tianjun lingered in the doorway.

Then, with a quiet chuckle, he turned and left, leaving the younger swordsman to rest.

But Yun Jin didn’t sleep.

Instead, he sat cross-legged on the bed, his hands resting on his knees.

His breathing steadied as he began to meditate, his qi flowing to calm his body and suppress the ache of his overly full stomach.

Even in the stillness, his thoughts churned.

The joy and lightheartedness of the evening faded quickly, as it always did. When the silence settled in, his mind slipped downward into the same spiral it followed every night.

I want to surpass him... but how?

He had mastered every technique, defeated every challenger, and yet he remained shackled.

The gap between him and his master wasn’t just skill—it was something else, something intangible.

Maybe I should go out as a rogue warrior, he thought. Fight bandits, take down criminals. But what good would fighting bandits do when I’m trying to surpass Baek Tianjun?

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. No matter how many scenarios he considered, they all led to the same conclusion:

The only path left is to wait. Wait for him to grow old and die... while I do nothing.

His fists clenched on his knees, frustration tightening his chest. “Is this all there is for me?” he muttered.

Suddenly, the air around him shifted.

A faint hum filled the room, and before him, something appeared—a glowing screen, faintly translucent, with strange symbols that shifted into readable text.

[Would you like a challenge?]