The Cunning Treasure Hunter

"...What is that?"

"It won't be long before senior brother and we all become part of the Younger Generation of Nine Provinces," Vera replied calmly.

The Younger Generation of Nine Provinces referred to the martial world's brightest stars in their early twenties, the beacons of the future.

"I am satisfied with the sword passed down in my family. But as the leader among the future Suncrest prodigies, don't you think senior brother should wield a sword befitting his status?"

Vera drew the Falling Blossom Sword from its sheath. Its blade shimmered with a mystical, multi-colored radiance, dark and lustrous like the night sky. Engraved along its length were constellations of the Twenty-Eight Celestial Mansions.

A family heirloom, its craftsmanship was unparalleled, its material unfathomable. Even the intricate details revealed that it was far more than a mere treasure—it was a masterpiece.

On the hilt were three engraved characters: Falling Blossom, symbolizing the perfection of beauty in transience.

"Looking at it closely, this truly is a remarkable weapon," said Noah, his voice tinged with awe.

"Passed down in your family? Incredible... So, which noble house are you from?" Ethan asked with wide eyes.

"Ethan, for heaven's sake! That's not something you ask!" Noah scolded, though the question lingered in everyone's minds.

From a distance, it appeared to be a simple, long sword. But up close, it exuded the aura of a weapon that might belong to the sect leader of a prestigious martial sect.

Vera quietly sheathed the sword. Having used it earlier, everyone now knew that her blade was extraordinary. Yet neither the sect leader Gideon nor the senior disciples like Magnus or Aetheris seemed to recognize it.

'...So both the Soul Harmony Realm and the Falling Blossom Sword have been utterly forgotten in Suncrest,' Vera thought bitterly.

It wasn't surprising.

The sword had once been entrusted to a disciple who had barely entered the first stage of the Supreme Mastery. For most, it was a blade they couldn't even draw, let alone wield, and so the sword's brilliance had never been seen.

The same was true of the Soul Harmony Realm. No one had ever mastered it or used it to unleash the Nine Heavens Cherry Blossom Sword Technique, leaving the blade's unique abilities a mystery.

It wasn't that the technique was forgotten—it was never truly known.

Vera ran her fingers over the sword's intricate craftsmanship. Its scabbard and hilt were modest compared to the Black Steel Sword she had been given earlier. Though refined and elegant, it was indistinguishable from countless other treasures.

Even the Soul Harmony Realm Technique and the Cherry Blossom Descent Manual appeared to be nothing more than unassuming books.

Her father had received the sword twenty years ago, and now, Vera wondered if anyone even remembered the name Victor Blackthorn, the Black Cherry Blossom Swordmaster.

"Vera, what are you thinking so deeply about?" Marcus's voice pulled her from her reverie.

Everyone was looking at her.

"...I was reflecting on childhood memories," she replied softly.

"Your childhood includes the present. So stop making such a sorrowful face," Marcus said with a chuckle.

"That... might be difficult," Vera admitted.

Her dark eyes, usually empty, now shimmered faintly with sadness. Marcus reached out and patted her back gently, offering silent comfort.

Then, as if to break the mood entirely, Ethan raised his hand.

"What does 'reflecting' even mean?" he asked, tilting his head.

"It means to examine closely," Noah explained with a sigh.

The Akrest Residence at Suncrest

The sect leader's annex was reserved for honored guests, such as Theron and his father, Ebon Akrest.

Behind the annex, Theron was practicing the King's Sword Technique.

It had been two years since he began learning the form from the Sword Sovereign, and his mastery of the Blue Sky Sword was nearing perfection. By next year, he would even begin training in the Skybound Celestial Force.

Returning from his meal, Ebon paused to watch his son practice.

"...He's training diligently," he muttered, a note of surprise in his voice.

Theron's routine was well-known to his father. At home, he was the most dedicated to his training. But outside, he rarely trained openly. He preferred to keep his techniques private, resting and relaxing whenever he could.

'And yet, he's here at Suncrest, training just before a friendly duel?' Ebon thought, furrowing his brow.

He waited until his son completed the full sequence of the King's Sword Technique before stepping into the yard.

"You're working hard," he said.

"Something like that," Theron replied, sheathing his sword.

"You usually take it easy outside the clan."

"That's true, but..." Theron glanced at his father before looking up at the moon.

"For the first time, I feel like I might lose."

"You? Lose?" Ebon's expression faltered.

He had been so confident when boasting to Gideon over drinks, declaring his son unbeatable. Yet now, even Theron himself was voicing doubt.

How humiliating would it be if this agreement fell apart now?

For some other figure in the martial world, a moment of embarrassment could be overlooked. After all, not every martial artist can accurately assess the abilities of their peers, nor predict the future with certainty. Mistakes happen.

But if it were the Head of the Akrest Clan, the stakes were different.

If it were the son of the Sword Sovereign, then his every word must weigh heavier than gold.

"...Can you win?"

"I'm not certain," replied Theron.

"How much of a chance do you think you have? Out of ten fights, how many could you win?"

Theron fell silent, his mind turning over the question. Slowly, he adjusted his grip on his sword, closing his eyes as he recalled the image of Vera from their last encounter.

Though faint, the memory of her movements in the dueling arena came to life in his mind.

He began to spar against this imagined opponent.

There was no sound, yet sweat trickled down Theron's forehead. Each time his blade clashed against the air, his arms trembled slightly.

He transitioned from the King's Sword Technique to the Boundless Sky Sword Technique, then to the Three Talents Sword, before returning to the King's Sword Technique again.

And yet, no matter how he shifted his techniques, he couldn't find a way to win.

Even against this imagined version of Vera, he was being pushed back.

It wasn't a lack of power.

It was her mastery of ethereal control, a skill that seemed light and inconspicuous on the surface yet shook him to his core.

Every movement of her sword conveyed profound principles: striking late but landing first, yielding yet overpowering.

The refined strength of his powerful techniques crumbled before her precision.

This wasn't a simple opponent—it was as though he were facing his natural nemesis.

"...Ha," Theron exhaled deeply.

By the time an hour had passed, his hair was soaked with sweat. Wiping it back, he steadied himself and lowered his sword.

He finally had an answer.

"About two wins out of ten," he said.

"Two out of ten? Good. Then you must ensure those two victories are decisive!" said Ebon, relief coloring his tone.

"No," Theron interrupted with a bitter smile, sheathing his sword.

"What I mean is... I'd lose eight times out of ten. At best, I might win twice."

"What?!"

"Eight losses. Two victories, if I'm lucky," Theron clarified.

"Is that... is that the truth?"

Theron rested the sheathed sword over his shoulder, glancing at his father. Though Ebon was his senior in skill, already having stepped into the Supreme Mastery, his father's aptitude was far inferior.

In Theron's eyes, his father would never reach the mid-tier of the Supreme Mastery.

He was too old, too rigid in his thinking, and lacked discernment.

"Why would I lie about this?" Theron asked plainly.

"But... but you're a Celestial Martial Body. Your mother and I gave you that gift!"

"And having the Celestial Martial Body doesn't mean I'll be the greatest in the world, does it?"

Ebon froze as though struck.

Theron's words were irrefutable.

Was the Sword Sovereign a Celestial Martial Body?

No.

If anything, the Demonic Cult Leader was a Universal Demon Body, a being capable of wielding all demonic arts with unmatched ease.

Yet the Heavenly Demon fell to the Sword Sovereign. His severed head became a trophy of justice.

Though the Sword Sovereign hadn't accomplished the feat alone, he survived that bloody battle and went on to unify the righteous factions of the Nine Provinces, becoming the World's Number One Martial Artist.

"...So you really see no hope?"

"Who said there's no hope?" Theron replied, twirling his sword before gripping it tightly again. He raised his eyebrows with a wry grin.

"A twenty percent chance isn't hopeless, is it?"

"What do you mean—"

"Against that monster?" Theron cut him off.

A monster.

Not a prodigy, genius, talent, or savant—a word reserved for something that defied human limits.

Theron knew exactly what he was saying.

"That girl is a true monster," he said, his voice steady.

"A monster..." Ebon echoed faintly.

"She's still young, but make no mistake—she's the real thing."

Ebon sat down heavily on the wooden veranda. The situation seemed insurmountable, leaving him at a loss for what to do.

Meanwhile, Theron resumed his training, his sword slicing through the night air with relentless precision.

'What should I do...' Ebon thought desperately.

And then, a single idea came to him—one he couldn't share with Theron, nor with the Sword Sovereign Zephyrion Akrest.

'But this is the only way,' he resolved.

Quietly, he rose from his seat and left, careful not to disturb his son's training.

Under the faint crescent moon of an inky black night, Ebon summoned someone.

The figure arrived clad in black martial robes, blending seamlessly into the darkness.

It was a night veiled in endless shadow.