The air was thick with morning mist as Feiyin stood in the training grounds, his body drenched in sweat, his breathing deep and steady. His muscles burned from the intense week of training, but there was no fatigue in his eyes—only exhilaration.


    He could feel it.


    Something had shifted.


    For the past seven days, he had pushed himself relentlessly, refining his technique, sharpening his control, and tempering his body until he had broken through the next threshold. Now, as he clenched his fists, he could feel the raw power coursing through his limbs—4000 kilograms of internal strength. His body felt lighter, yet denser, every movement more fluid, efficient, and controlled.


    More than anything, he could feel it when he held his saber.


    Standing in the training field, he slowly unsheathed his blade, feeling the familiar weight settle in his grip. But today, something was different.


    The weapon, once an extension of his body that still required effort to wield, now felt like an inseparable part of him. Every shift in his stance, every minute adjustment of his wrist, translated effortlessly into the blade. He gave a small test swing, the saber slicing through the air with a whispering sharpness that sent a thrill through him.


    He swung again, this time slower, more controlled, focusing not on his strength but on the intent behind the strike.


    His father’s words echoed in his mind.


    "A drawn blade is a known one, and a sheathed one is unknown. People fear the unknown."


    "Intent can be a powerful thing. The sharper and more complete your intent is, the more it shapes your surroundings."


    "If your intent is clear in your mind and strong in your heart, controlling your body and inner strength will become easier."


    Now, he finally understood.


    The power of a blade was not just in its sharpness, nor in the strength behind the strike, but in the clarity of the one who wielded it.


    Before, when he swung his saber, he had focused on the motion—the way his muscles engaged, the way his inner strength flowed into the strike. But now, there was a new depth to his control, one that went beyond technique. His strikes felt cleaner, sharper, as if his intent itself was sharpening the edge of his blade.


    A slow smile spread across his face.


    His father had been right all along.


    At that moment, a deep, knowing chuckle interrupted his thoughts.


    "Looks like you''ve finally grasped something," Cai Feng said, standing at the edge of the training field, arms crossed, his sharp eyes watching Feiyin closely.


    Feiyin turned to his father, unable to contain the excitement in his voice. "Dad, I get it now. The intent behind the blade—it matters just as much as the strength behind it."


    Cai Feng nodded approvingly. "Good. Strength alone means nothing if your will is scattered. A sharp mind wields a sharper blade."


    Feiyin looked down at his saber, gripping the hilt more firmly. "Before, I was always focusing on the motion, the technique, the force behind my strikes. But now… it feels like my blade is an extension of my intent. My inner strength is smoother, my control better. I don’t have to struggle to force my power into my attacks—it flows naturally."


    Cai Feng studied him for a long moment before stepping forward. "Show me."


    Feiyin didn’t hesitate.


    He took a deep breath, shifting into a stable stance. His feet pressed firmly into the ground, his core engaged, his entire body aligned in perfect balance. He focused his intent, the image of a clean, decisive cut forming in his mind.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Then, he struck.


    The blade sliced through the air with an effortless, fluid motion, the speed and precision of the cut sharper than any he had performed before. It wasn’t just a simple strike—it was a statement, a declaration of his will.


    Cai Feng’s eyes gleamed with approval. "Much better."


    Feiyin exhaled, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths. He could feel it in his bones—this was just the beginning.


    With this level of control, with this level of clarity, his training would only advance even further.


    He tightened his grip on his saber, his determination burning brighter than ever.


    He had reached 4000 kilograms of strength. His body had grown stronger, faster, more refined.


    And now, with his blade sharper than ever—both in steel and in intent—he was ready to push forward once more.


    —----


    The peaceful hum of Pine Village was shattered by the sudden screams of warning. The clang of weapons being drawn, the heavy pounding of boots against dirt, and the sharp, chilling cry of alarm rang through the air like a death knell.


    Feiyin turned sharply toward the commotion, his pulse surging as he saw dark figures moving through the village, their black robes blending into the night like wraiths. Their movements were swift, precise, and without hesitation—they were attacking.


    For a split second, everything seemed to freeze. His mind struggled to catch up with the reality of the situation, but his instincts, honed by months of training, screamed at him to move.


    His father was already in motion.


    Cai Feng had barely given a single glance before his body surged forward, cutting across the training ground like a blade slicing through air. His movements were neither rushed nor reckless, but precise and full of lethal intent.


    "Militia, to arms! Defend the village!" Jiang Hu’s voice roared through the chaos, snapping the stunned defenders into action.


    Feiyin felt his heartbeat hammer against his ribs as he gripped his saber tightly. The villagers who could fight were already moving, forming ranks to push back the invaders. His mother, Mei Liao, had disappeared from sight, likely ensuring that the villagers who could not fight were moved to safety.


    The black-robed attackers struck like shadows, their attacks swift and merciless. The militia, well-trained under Cai Feng’s leadership, responded with a coordinated counterattack. The sound of metal clashing against metal, the sharp cries of pain, and the heavy, suffocating scent of blood filled the air.


    Then, from amidst the chaos, a lone figure emerged—a man dressed in white robes, standing at the center of the village square, his presence exuding an aura of absolute control.


    Even from where Feiyin stood, he could feel the suffocating pressure radiating from him.


    A sharp, sinking feeling clawed at his gut. This man was different.


    The leader of the black-robed figures turned his gaze toward Cai Feng.


    Cai Feng slowed his approach, his eyes locking onto the white-robed man with a look of quiet intensity.


    Then, as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist, the two men faced each other.


    The sounds of battle faded into a distant hum. The tension between them thickened like a storm preparing to break.


    Feiyin barely dared to breathe as he watched, knowing instinctively—this was not just any fight.


    This was a confrontation between titans.


    And before the night was over, the course of everything he had known would change.