The Heavenless Sword Emperor

CHAPTER 6

A disciple in the image died in his sleep, and his soul, a tiny, glowing spark, was instantly yanked up the cord, screaming as it was pulled into the heavens.

"That's... that's Brother Han," Xiaochen whispered, his stomach churning. "He died last month. They said he had reached a higher state of being."

"He reached the dinner table," Ye Cangtian said coldly. "Is this the world you want to return to? A world where your every breath is a loan that must be paid back in blood?"

Xiaochen looked at the Emperor, then back at the images of his home. He thought of his father, a man who had served the sect with everything he had, only to die in a war that felt more like a cull in hindsight.

"What do you want from me?" Xiaochen asked.

"I want a vessel," Ye Cangtian said. "I cannot touch the world in this form. I need a hand to hold the blade. I need a heart to pump the dark Qi. In return, I will give you the strength to break every pillar, to kill every Utusan, and to make the Sect Leader of Qingyun beg for the mercy he denied you."

"There's a price," Xiaochen said, his voice steadying. "There's always a price. You're a demon. You don't do things out of the goodness of your heart."

Ye Cangtian smiled, a sharp, dangerous expression. "You're smarter than you look. Yes, there is a price. The power I give you is not of the Heavens. It is the power of the Void. It will consume you, Ling Xiaochen. It will turn your skin to ash and your blood to ink. It will erode your memories, your humanity, until there is nothing left but the blade and the mission. You will not be a hero. You will be a plague."

Xiaochen looked down at his hands. They were pale, covered in dirt and blood. He thought of the life he had led—the eighteen years of being stepped on, of being told he was nothing, of scrubbing the same stairs over and over again while the world laughed at him.

"I'm already a plague," Xiaochen whispered. "I'm already a hole in the world. What's a bit more darkness?"

"Then accept the contract," Ye Cangtian said. "Give me your soul, and I will give you the means to burn the sky."

Xiaochen looked into the crimson eyes of the Emperor. He saw the rage there, an ancient, cosmic fury that matched the fire in his own gut. He saw the path ahead—a road of corpses and shattered glass, a journey that would end with him becoming the very thing the world feared most.

And he didn't care.

"Do it," Xiaochen said.

The void exploded.

Xiaochen felt his consciousness being slammed back into his physical body. The pain returned, a hundred times worse than before. He felt his Qi core shatter—not into dust, but into a vacuum. A black hole opened in his chest, a screaming, hungry void that began to pull the very air of the Abyss into him.

"Gah!" he gasped, his fingers digging into the hilt of the sword.

The black lightning was no longer jumping from the blade; it was flowing into him. His veins turned black, standing out against his skin like a network of cracked porcelain. The broken bone in his arm groaned, shifting and knitting together with a sound like grinding stones, but it wasn't healing with the white light of a medicine pill. It was being fused by shadow, the bone becoming denser, heavier, stronger.

Yes... Ye Cangtian’s voice roared in his mind. Drink it in! Let the darkness fill the spaces where they told you there was nothing! You are not a hole, Xiaochen! You are the grave!

Xiaochen’s eyes snapped open. They were no longer the brown of a commoner; they were a flat, terrifying black, save for a ring of crimson around the iris. He felt a power he had never dreamed of—a cold, sharp, absolute strength that made his previous life feel like a half-forgotten dream.

He stood up.

He didn't struggle this time. His legs were solid, his balance perfect. The pain was still there, but it was distant, a secondary sensation that he could observe without being controlled by it.

"How do you feel?" the Emperor’s voice asked, now a constant presence in the back of his mind.

Xiaochen looked at the sword. It was light in his hand, as if it were made of feathers rather than steel. He swung it once, a casual flick of the wrist. A wave of black energy hissed through the air, carving a jagged line through the obsidian altar as if it were soft clay.

"I feel..." Xiaochen paused, his voice sounding like two people speaking at once. "I feel like I'm finally awake."

Good. But do not be fooled, little spark. The Heavens have felt this. They are like a hornet's nest that has just been poked with a very sharp stick. They will not let an anomali like you walk out of this pit.

"Then I'll just have to kill them," Xiaochen said, his voice devoid of emotion. "One by one. Until the sky is empty."

A bold claim for a boy who hasn't even seen the sun in three days, the sword chuckled. But we shall see. Look behind you, vessel. Your first test is arriving.

Xiaochen turned. From the swirling mists at the base of the altar, something was emerging. It was huge, a mass of segmented, skeletal limbs and glowing, ethereal slime. It moved with a sickening, liquid grace, its many legs clicking against the stone floor.

"What is that?" Xiaochen asked, his grip tightening on the hilt.

A Guardian, Ye Cangtian replied. A scavenger left behind to clean up the 'refuse' the sects throw down here. It has fed on the souls of a thousand disciples. It will find yours... spicy.

The creature let out a sound that wasn't a roar, but a choir of screams, its massive, unhinged jaw revealing rows of teeth made from sharpened femurs. It lunged, its movement a blur of bone and shadow.

Xiaochen didn't flinch. He didn't feel the paralyzing terror that had defined his life. He felt... annoyed.

"You're in my way," he said.

He stepped forward, the black sword humming a low, hungry note. The world seemed to slow down. He could see the vibration of the creature’s limbs, the way the slime dripped from its mandibles, the exact moment its weight shifted for the killing blow.

Left, Ye Cangtian whispered.

Xiaochen pivoted, the creature’s massive claw whistling past his ear. He felt the wind of the strike, but it didn't touch him.

Under, the Emperor commanded.

Xiaochen dropped into a low crouch as the Guardian’s second set of arms swept over his head. He could smell the rot now, the cloying scent of a thousand deaths.

"My turn," Xiaochen hissed.

He drove the black sword upward.

The blade didn't just cut; it consumed. As it sank into the creature’s chest, the black energy flared, tendrils of shadow wrapping around the Guardian’s limbs, pulling the ethereal slime into the metal. The creature didn't bleed. It began to dissolve, its very essence being drained into the sword—and through the hilt, into Xiaochen.

He felt a rush of heat, a sickeningly sweet surge of energy that made his vision swim. "What... what is this?"

That is the energy of the souls it has eaten, Ye Cangtian said, his voice filled with a dark relish. It belongs to us now. Drink it, Xiaochen. Waste nothing. This is how you will grow. Not by meditating under a tree, but by taking what others have stolen.

Xiaochen let out a ragged breath as the Guardian’s massive body collapsed into a pile of grey ash. The chamber fell silent again, but the air felt different. It was charged, expectant.

"I just... I just killed a monster," Xiaochen whispered, looking at his hands. "A monster that could have wiped out half the outer circle."

You killed a scavenger, the Emperor corrected. Do not let it go to your head. The ones above are much more dangerous. But you have taken the first step. How does it taste, Xiaochen? The power of the lie?

Xiaochen looked at the ash on the floor, then up at the needle-thin crack of blue light far above. For the first time in his life, he didn't feel like he was looking at a distant, unreachable paradise.