The roadside inn was carved into the bend of a steep hill, its moss-covered roof nearly invisible in the night from afar. Lanterns swung gently from wooden posts, casting warm yellow light over its old stone steps. Inside, voices buzzed. Merchants, wandering cultivators, common travelers and beast hunters sat shoulder-to-shoulder on worn benches.
The main dining hall was loud but alive—flutes played by wandering performers, laughter rising over bowls of broth and spice-smoked pork.
Lan Qin and Lan Su took the farthest corner table, where fewer eyes would pry. Huang sat near the wall, always with a clear view of the exits. His sword lay beside him, and though no one could feel his cultivation… more than a few guests kept their distance without knowing why.
Elder Wu had gone ahead earlier in the evening, laying down barrier wards along the next mountain pass. He would meet them again before dawn.
Huang quietly sipped his tea, listening to the natural rhythms of the place—until they were broken.
"Oi, girl. What's that you just said?"
A harsh voice snapped from the center of the room.
A young woman, no older than twenty, dressed in traveling robes with a courier's crest on her shoulder, stood beside a table of five rough-looking men. One of them had just grabbed her wrist. She tried to pull away, but he held fast.
"I already said—I'm not interested," she said, voice taut.
"You're pretty brave for a no-name courier," the biggest brute sneered, his voice thick with ale. "Why don't you come sit with us, and we'll make you a messenger for something more… personal."
Laughter broke out at the table.
Huang's gaze didn't shift. But Lan Qin stood slowly, jaw tight.
"Let her go."
The laughter quieted.
The brute turned. "What's that?"
"She's clearly not interested," Qin said, stepping forward, hands free of his sword, but posture alert. "You don't seem like the kind of men who understand boundaries. Let me help you learn."
The lead brute grinned and stood. "Oh? And what are you going to do, little peacock?"
One of the men to his side lunged forward, swinging a heavy fist.
Lan Qin raised his forearm in a practiced block—he wasn't without skill. He redirected the strike and stepped back, sliding into a defensive sword posture. The man's fist throbbed from the impact.
"You'll regret that," the brute hissed.
All five stood.
The courier backed away toward the wall.
Qin grit his teeth. "That's fine. I'm good at regret."
But while he might've handled one or two… five was too many.
As the second brute rushed him, a flash of silver crossed the space—
Shing.
A sword tore through the second man's leg, dropping him with a cry of pain.
Gasps echoed in the dining hall.
Huang stood beside Qin now, his sword already lowered, blood flinging gently off its edge.
"Go back to your table," he said quietly. "You'll keep your limbs."
The other three paused. Not because of his words, but because of something else—something colder.
Sword Intent.
It spread through the room like invisible frost, sharp enough to cut breath in half. It was not at full force. But enough to press down on the hearts of every cultivator in the inn. Even the seasoned travelers at nearby tables fell silent, sweat beading at their brows.
Qin blinked. "That's…"
Before the next move could be made, a quiet but powerful voice cut through the pressure.
"That's enough."
Everyone froze.
The Innkeeper had emerged from the inner doorway—a tall man in robes too simple for his presence. He had the calm of an old cultivator who had long passed the need to prove anything. He walked with steady feet and eyes that missed nothing.
He stepped forward, passing Huang without fear—but stopped in front of the downed brute.
"Apologize. Pay her ten gold for the insult. Then leave before I decide to feed your heads to the beasts in the valley."
The leader tried to speak—but the innkeeper's eyes sharpened, and all resistance died in his throat.
The brutes helped their wounded out without another word.
The entire room remained hushed.
The innkeeper turned toward Huang. "A clean strike. Almost too clean."
Huang inclined his head politely.
"I apologize for the disturbance."
"You should apologize for holding back," the innkeeper said with a small grin. "You're strong. Too strong for a nameless guard. But you're smart enough not to flaunt it."
He stepped aside and looked Huang over once more—this time with an expression not of suspicion, but genuine intrigue.
"You're not from any of the sects near here, I know that much. But you carry something old. Something… still waking."
He didn't press further. He merely turned back toward the inner room.
"If you need extra food, it's on the house tonight. Finish your meal. Rest well."
With that, he disappeared into the back, his presence melting into the inn like mist.
Huang returned to the table with Qin and Lan Su, who now watched him with quiet admiration.
Qin grinned. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."
Lan Su merely tapped her teacup once, then whispered gently into Huang's mind—
> "I think he saw the edge of your spirit."
Huang gave no answer.
They finished eating in calm silence and soon retreated to their rooms, the distant hum of music returning as the inn settled down once more.
But above all, one thing had changed.
Even in a world filled with sword wielders and cultivators… Huang's presence now lingered in memory—like a blade drawn halfway and sheathed before it was too late.
The dawn mist still clung to the earth when Huang stepped out into the courtyard.
The air was crisp, filled with dew and silence. No other soul stirred—caravans still shuttered, guards snoring in their blankets, and the carriages quiet in their rest.
But Huang, as always, was awake early.
He moved efficiently. The horses were fed, their harnesses tightened with practiced hands. The wheels of the carriages were checked, their seals inspected. Breakfast rice, eggs, and a tea kettle steamed quietly over a modest fire.
Lan Qin's blanket hadn't even shifted yet.
Only when Huang was tying down the final supply satchel did he notice a presence.
The Innkeeper stood beneath the awning, arms folded. No sound had preceded him—he simply was, like an old tree that had always been there.
He watched Huang with a bemused expression.
"You're so young," he said at last, stepping forward, "and yet your Sword Intent feels like it has crossed eras. It clings to you like dried blood—old battles, old memories. You've been to the Sanctum, haven't you?"
Huang paused.
The Innkeeper grinned and chuckled lightly.
"No need to answer. I know the scent of the Immortal Will when I feel it. You carry the weight of one who's stepped into it and walked back out. That makes you… the youngest brother."
He pulled a small token from his sleeve and placed it gently in Huang's hand.
The token was shaped like a thin leaf of silver, with seven sword marks etched into one side, and an ancient character on the back that Huang didn't recognize.
"With you, that makes seven of us," the innkeeper continued. "Scattered across the realms. Seven who've seen beyond the veil and come back changed."
He tucked his hands behind his back and tilted his head.
"You're heading to the Azure Sect, aren't you? If you run into any trouble—any sect elder too full of himself, or some pompous branch master acting high and mighty—show them this. Even their Sect Leader will obey."
Huang looked at the token carefully.
"What does it mean?" he asked softly.
The Innkeeper smiled faintly.
"It means you're no longer just a sword cultivator. You're a witness. Of something deeper."
Then, with a warm finality, he said words Huang had never heard in this world before—
> "Good luck, Brother."
He turned, humming gently to himself, and disappeared back into the inn as quietly as he'd come.
—
By the time the others awoke, the aroma of cooked rice and fragrant tea filled the air.
Lan Qin stretched and blinked as he stepped outside. "You did all this? Before sunrise?"
Huang simply handed him a bowl.
Lan Su followed behind, nodding slightly with appreciation, her eyes lingering a little longer on Huang's calm form than usual.
Elder Wu returned just as they finished eating, his robes dusted from warding the hills.
"Good. You're all ready. Let's move."
As the carriages rolled back onto the trail, passing through layers of mist and fading lantern light, a quiet voice spoke in Huang's mind.
> "Got it," Jiang Fei said with slow wonder. "I know who he might be."
> "That Innkeeper… he's not just anyone. I think he's one of the Six Sword Kings."
Huang raised an eyebrow slightly.
> "They're a group of reclusive masters," Fei explained. "Not bound to sects, not bowed by empires. If even one of them shows up at a battlefield, entire clans rethink their alliances. No one's seen all six gathered in over a hundred years."
> "You're saying I met one."
> "Not just met—he gave you a Brother's Token. That's the highest recognition a Sword King can give."
> "And what does that mean?"
Fei chuckled in his mind.
> "It means you're now someone no sect, clan, or empire should mess with lightly."
The carriage rolled forward, wheels cutting through gravel as mist peeled away under rising sun.
Huang tucked the token inside his sleeve, near the hilt of his sword.
And without saying a word, he prepared for whatever the Azure Sect—and the empire—would throw at him next.