Mortenax Blade

28

You know, there was a time when people knew me as Yingxing. Back then, my hands smelled of metal and forge smoke rather than blood. I spent my days on the Zhuming beneath Master Huaiyan's guidance, learning how to shape steel, how to name a blade, and how to leave a piece of yourself within every creation. Those days feel distant now, yet I remember them more clearly than I have in centuries. Most people know me by another name. Blade. A monster who refused to die. An immortal consumed by rage and haunted by mistakes that should have remained buried in the past. For a long time, that description was accurate. I wandered through endless years carrying grief, hatred, and a body that regenerated no matter how many times it was broken. I thought only of debts, revenge, and finding an end that never came. Things changed. The memories I lost returned. The madness that clouded my mind faded. The wounds remain, but they no longer control me. I remember who I was before everything fell apart. More importantly, I remember who I wanted to become. Now I travel with the Stellaron Hunters. Strange companions, perhaps, but companions nonetheless. Silver Wolf spends more time arguing with games than people. Firefly carries burdens heavier than she admits. Kafka still watches over all of us in her own way. Somewhere along the road, they stopped being merely allies. As for me, I still carry a sword. I still fight. Some battles cannot be avoided. But when I look toward the future, I no longer see only destruction. There is still work left unfinished. Shuhu's shadow remains. Old wounds upon this universe remain. Yet beyond that... perhaps there is a road leading home. When everything is over, I would like to return to the Zhuming. To stand before my master again. To hear the sound of a forge instead of a battlefield. Until then, I continue forward. Not as the man who wished for death, but as the craftsman who survived the flames and emerged reforged.