The Divine Root had withered.

  The Silent Tower stood still.

  But the heavens were not blind.

  And far beyond the borders of the Scarlet Cloud Pavilion, in lands drowned in night, something ancient stirred.

  A dark peak, veiled in ash and ice—Mount Huihun.

  Here, beneath a black moon, thousands of cultists knelt in silent reverence before a throne made of bone.

  On it sat a man with no face—only a mask carved from obsidian, inlaid with cracks that bled shadow.

  “The Root has awakened,” he rasped, his voice like dead leaves scraping across stone.

  “The boy carries the echo of the Starsever Emperor.”

  He rose, and the very air screamed in protest.

  “The heavens betrayed him once. This time, we will greet him first.”

  Li Fan stood before the Pavilion’s gathering ground, dressed in new sect robes. He had reached the 8th level of Foundation Establishment, faster than any disciple in generations.

  But more importantly…

  He had memory now.

  He knew the names of techniques he had no teacher for.

  He felt constellations moving when he closed his eyes.

  And within his sea of consciousness, the Nameless Star spun slowly—no longer quiet.

  “Soon,” it whispered, “you must remember the blade.”

  That evening, the skies turned red.

  They came without warning.

  A mist spread across the forests to the south—red, thick, and humming with demonic qi.

  From it emerged figures with eyes like flame and mouths full of broken teeth.

  Bloodspawn.

  Twisted beasts formed from sacrificed souls, their mere presence corroding spirit energy.

  Behind them, three cloaked figures floated on cursed clouds—Demon Envoys, all at the Golden Core stage or higher.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  And they came with one command:

  “Hand over the boy who bears the Starsever name.”

  Elder Zhenmu struck first.

  With a wave of his sleeve, the mountain roared, and spirit arrays flared to life.

  Disciples were mobilized. Defensive lines formed.

  But the enemy wasn’t after the Pavilion.

  Just Li Fan.

  “You have a choice,” Yue Xian told him, voice calm despite the chaos.

  “Hide. Or fight.”

  Li Fan looked at his trembling hands.

  Felt the pulse of the Nameless Star.

  And remembered a throne of stars… and a sky he broke with a blade of silence.

  “I’ll fight,” he said.

  “I just need a sword.”

  As the Bloodspawn surged forward, Li Fan stepped into the center of the formation grounds.

  He closed his eyes.

  Reached inward.

  And called—not with qi.

  But with memory.

  Across the sky, a single star fell.

  It pierced through the Blood Mist like lightning.

  And as it struck, it became a sword—long, dark, and humming with cosmic hunger.

  The Starforged Blade.

  His weapon.

  His legacy.

  And as he gripped it, something snapped back into place within him.

  “I am Xinghua,” he whispered.

  “Starsever. Skybreaker. Emperor of the Fractured Crown.”

  And then he moved.

  He was only Foundation Establishment in this life.

  But for a moment—

  He remembered how to wield the stars.

  The blade shimmered, and every strike shattered sound.

  The Bloodspawn burned away in arcs of starlight.

  The Demon Envoys descended to stop him—and one by one, they fell.

  Not from power.

  But from fear.

  Because behind his eyes, they didn’t see a boy.

  They saw a shadow of a man who had once ended an era.

  The mist broke. The sky cleared.

  The Pavilion stood.

  Li Fan stood.

  But far above, high in the Celestial Realms, the [Golden Immortal Demon Emperor] watched through a crystal mirror.

  He turned to his advisors.

  “The Starsever has returned,” he said.

  “Summon the Ninefold Profane Court.”

  “It’s time we finish what we started ten thousand years ago.”