Chapter 10 The Silent Guardian

The morning sun filtered gently through the tall blackwood trees, spilling golden light over the forest floor like a calm tide. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance, their songs soft and scattered. The forest was still, quiet, as though it were holding its breath.

On one of the tallest black ironwood trees, perched high among the thick branches, sat a young man. His dark robe rustled in the breeze as he leaned against the trunk, his arms carefully cradling a beautiful sword a slender, delicate blade with a rich purple glow and ancient carvings running along its body.

This young man was Silas Thorne, still new to the world of cultivation. And the sword in his hands, though elegant and polished like a masterpiece, held a faintly dangerous air.

He stared at it silently, his eyebrows drawn together.

"What kind of sword are you?" Silas thought, gently running his fingers across the hilt. The purple sword felt cool, smooth, and alive. There was still a strange ferocity in it-barely noticeable, but it was there, like a sleeping beast just beneath the surface.

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. The sword didn't seem evil at first glance. In fact, it was so well crafted that most people would call it an art piece. Yet... Silas couldn't shake the feeling that something about it was deeply mysterious. And possibly dangerous.

As he rubbed the sword, lost in thought, the breeze brushed through his hair. He heard a faint sound.

"...Father."

Silas blinked. He looked around.

"Who's there?" he muttered aloud, quickly scanning the area.

But the forest remained still. Nothing moved but the swaying of the leaves, dancing slowly in the wind. Shadows stretched and curled across the blackwood floor, giving the place a dreamlike quality.

He chuckled nervously. "Am I hearing things now? Am I so tired that I'm imagining voices?"

He tried to convince himself it was just his imagination. After all, he was only a beginner cultivator, newly accepted into the Azurelight Order. He had only been here for three days. Maybe he was just stressed. But even as the thought crossed his mind, his grip on the sword tightened.

"Father."

There it was again. Louder. Clearer.

Silas's breath caught.

The voice had come from... the sword.

He stared down at it, heart pounding in his chest. For a moment, he hesitated, then slowly lifted it in front of him. He could feel something-something stirring inside the blade.

"This can't be real..." he muttered. He nearly dropped the sword.

"A sword shouldn't talk!"

Some rare swords were said to contain spirits. But those were ancient tales, things he'd only read about in scrolls. Spiritual weapons with consciousness, with the ability to speak to their masters-such things existed in myths, not reality.

But here it was. Speaking to him.

Suddenly, without warning, a strange force tugged at his mind. Before he could react, the forest around him disappeared in a blur. His vision darkened, and he felt his consciousness being pulled somewhere deep.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself standing in a strange land.

The sky was dark purple, glowing with a fierce light. Above him, a black sun hung high, pulsing with raw, ferocious energy. The ground beneath his feet was red, like scorched earth, and scattered across it were the corpses of terrifying beasts.

The nearest was a dragon-like creature, larger than a house. It had four thick arms and sharp claws that gleamed like polished steel. Its entire body was covered in jagged scales and bone-like spikes. Even in death, it gave off a frightening chill that made Silas's skin crawl.

"This thing... it could probably kill me with a single breath," he whispered.

He stepped back instinctively. And yet, the dragon was dead. Its massive head had been cleanly severed. The wound on its neck shimmered faintly as if cut by a single powerful strike.

Silas swallowed hard. His hands trembled slightly.

"Who could have done this...?"

As he moved forward, he saw even more beasts. Giant tigers with wings, snakes with multiple heads, strange birds with eight eyes and armored bodies. They were all dead. The corpses stretched as far as he could see, filling the red land like an endless battlefield of monsters.

Each one gave off a powerful, lingering aura. Though lifeless, they seemed ready to pounce at any moment. Silas had to force himself to keep walking.

"This must be..." he murmured, "...a beast mausoleum."

So many... Too many. The scale of destruction was unimaginable.

He began to suspect something terrifying.

"Wait... was all of this caused by the same person?"

The thought sent a shiver down his spine. Just imagining such power made his stomach twist. Was the owner of the sword truly that strong?

Then, he heard the voice again.

"Father."

He turned sharply and froze.

Standing before him was a little boy, no taller than his knees. The boy had a round, chubby face, bright purple eyes, and wore nothing but a tiny pink belly wrap. His small hands clutched at Silas's robe, and he looked up with a pitiful expression.

"Father," he said softly.

Silas blinked in disbelief.

"You... You're the sword?"

The boy nodded shyly.

"My name is Elias," he said. "You woke me up. The first thing I saw was you. That means... you're my father."

Silas picked him up, still confused. "But why 'father'? That's a bit much, isn't it?"

Elias's eyes sparkled. "You gave me life."

Silas didn't know what to say.

After talking with Elias for some time, the truth became clear.

The sword in his hands was called the Purpleblood Sword. Elias wasn't just a strange child he was the newly born sword spirit of the blade. A spirit created after countless years of rest and slumber. The sword had once belonged to an unbelievably powerful cultivator who had slaughtered countless fierce beasts across unknown lands. That black sun, still hanging high in this inner world, was the source of the sword's terrible aura an energy formed from endless killing and battles.

Silas slowly looked around at the battlefield again. His chest felt heavy.

"All of this..." he murmured, "...was done by one man?"

Elias nodded. "My last master was... very strong. But something happened. A great catastrophe. The sword nearly shattered, and the old sword spirit vanished. I was born much later... and you woke me."

Silas gently placed Elias down and touched the hilt of the sword again.

So this space was the inner world of the Purpleblood Sword. A place formed from its memories. A reflection of its past.

He stared up at the black sun again. It still pulsed with that powerful, violent energy.

"How many beings did it take to create such a terrible aura?" he whispered. His heart ached slightly as he realized the weight of what he now carried.

Still, he felt lucky. If the original sword spirit had survived, who knows how it would have reacted to him? It might not have accepted him. It might have consumed him.

But Elias... Elias was kind. Innocent. A blank slate.

Looking at the little spirit who had already saved him more than once, Silas's heart softened. He reached down and gently patted the boy's head.

"I'll call you Elias," he said. "But no more calling me father, alright? It's too weird. Just call me brother."

Elias blinked. Then he smiled brightly. "Okay, brother!"

Silas laughed.

Then he asked, "How do I leave this place?"

Elias yawned. "Brother can come and go just by thinking about it. But now... Elias is very tired. I need to sleep again..."

Even as he spoke, his small body began to fade, turning misty, like smoke in the wind.

"Elias!" Silas called.

The boy gave one last sleepy smile before vanishing completely.

Silas was alone again.

He looked around once more at the field of dead beasts, the dark sky, and the glowing black sun. Then he closed his eyes and focused.

In the next breath, the purple world vanished.

The ironwood forest returned. The sunlight was still shining through the treetops. Birds still sang in the distance.

Silas sat in the tree again, holding the Purpleblood Sword across his lap.

It was quiet.

His heart pounded not with fear, but with awe.

He now knew that this sword wasn't just a weapon-it was a legacy. A treasure. A burden.

And from this moment on, his path in the cultivation world would never be the same.

But before he could even take a breath to think more...

A shadow moved beneath the trees.

Unseen by Silas, something-or someone-had begun watching from the darkness.