📖 Snowfold and Frostcleave Record

... Ice shards flew like arrows, the winding path their bowstring, the open fields their mark. The night stretched boundless and deep. Stars and moon seemed to stoke a hidden fire, burning the lonely village into ash. Inside a small countryside tavern, the attendant trimmed the wick. The candlelight flickered briefly, then filled the room once again with its warm, steady glow. "Come on, senior, stop digging up the past. Sun Xuechen's a washed-up cripple now. How could he possibly be worthy of the Trisunder? A weapon like that belongs to someone truly strong." "That blade's cursed, you know. Ever since Sun lost to the Crescent Swordsman, the sword's passed through many hands. And every last one of them lost their mind and their life." "They just weren't strong-willed enough!" the younger swordsman snapped, clearly unwilling to linger on the subject. "Where's the wine? I've been waiting forever!" "Coming, coming!" The attendant snapped out of his daze, quickly stepping around the drunkard slumped over the tables. One misstep, though, sent him stumbling, splashing wine onto the hem of the drunk's robe. The drunk didn't stir just lay there snoring heavily. The attendant silently thanked his luck. At least it was the outsider who got soaked. The locals were a rough bunch accidents like that wouldn't end so peacefully with them. That vagabond had been drifting through the village for about a month now. By day, he curled up by the roadside, dozing and picking at fleas. By night, he came here, chasing dreams at the bottom of a wine bowl. The villagers mocked him, called him crazy, but he never fought back. The attendant felt sorry for him and always slipped him some leftover buns or cold stew. He set down the fresh wine for the two swordsmen, but as he turned to leave, the older one suddenly grabbed his wrist in a vice-like grip. "You work the roadside all day, welcoming travelers don't tell me you haven't seen anyone strange?" "Sir, I... I've got no reason to lie to you." The attendant glanced back over his shoulder, suddenly remembering the man in the corner. Hunched over, face half-hidden in a filthy sleeve... Couldn't be a demonic cultist could he? "But our master wouldn't have sent us here without a lead..." Pain shot through the attendant's wrist, and he cried out, panicked. "The Demon Purge Assembly scared everyone into hiding! No one's been out for days, not even for the herb market! How could there be strangers around?" Mist coiled along the thatched roof, slipping through the cracks, painting dark streaks down the walls. The older swordsman frowned, sensing something was off. He sprang to his feet and barked, "Who's there?!" But before he could draw his sword, a flash of steel flicked through the candlelight just enough to knock the tassel clean off his hilt. A calm voice followed. "The one you're looking for."

The young swordsman made a move to stand, but was stopped by his Senior, "You're no match for this demon." "How rude." A young man in purple flew into. "You will die by Yuwen Ci." The young swordsman lunged at Yuwen Ci, who blocked with his blade. "Is this... the demon sect's treasured blade, Frostcleave?" Yuwen Ci said, "You have knowledge. Trisunder would tremble in the scabbard sensing Frostcleave. But to unleash its blade light as frost, it needs to be bathed in the blood of a swordsman!" He stepped forward and no one could see how he brushed aside their swords and how it slipped to their necks. "If you don't act now, I'll take their lives," Yuwen Ci said. The young attendant realizing hiding was futile crawled out from under the cabinet, "Sir, please have a seat here." Yuwen Ci sized him up, "Your breathing is steady, even I didn't notice you. You're a martial arts prodigy. Why not join demon sect?" He sliced the tendons of the two swordsmen's hands and feet with the tip of his blade, then reached out and grabbed the young attendant. The young attendant, with his throat constricted, whimpered, "No way..." "Sun Xuechen, still refusing to wake up?" Yuwen Ci gathered his Inner Force and spoke each word with emphasis. The young attendant felt dizzy, his ears ringing. "I'll kill him and set the whole village on fire " he seemed confident of his victory, "just like you did to demon sect people." Finally, a hoarse sigh came from inside the room, "Since you came for me, why involve the innocent?"

Sun Xuechen opened eyes and sat up. The only difference between him and a beggar was perhaps those empty, indifferent eyes. The young attendant had seen too many strange things today, so when he heard that the idle man was the greatest swordsman, he merely reacted. "Hahaha, where is Sun Xuechen, who once vowed to eradicate demon sect?" "I can no longer wield a sword, nor do I have the heart to." "That is not up to you. Only by cutting you down with my Frostcleave Blade can I console my brother's spirit!" Sun Xuechen, unable to defend, sidestepped to avoid it. The young attendant was knocked over by the blade's hilt, spitting out blood. As Frostcleave Blade brushed past him, Sun Xuechen heard the demon sect woman's curse you shall lose kin and friends, doomed to a life of solitude. In a daze, he took a solid hit. "How boring. You probably can't even lift a sword now?" Yuwen Ci kicked the two previously dazed swordsmen and said, "I kept these two to serve as witnesses, but it seems unnecessary." He whistled through his fingers, and outside, responding whistles echoed. Then came voices, dogs barking, cries, shouts, and the crackling of burning wood. "Leave no one alive." As Frostcleave Blade approached Sun Xuechen, his limbs felt as if they were bound. He closed his eyes, memories of decades spent with the sword surfacing in his mind. Back then, it was still divine sword Snowfold, untainted by curse, not yet Trisunder that severed humanity. In his youth, he wielded Snowfold, his friend wielded Frostcleave, fighting side by side. Suddenly, his lover was killed, his friend defected to the demon sect, and he was unable to draw the divine sword again. Frostcleave did not fall. The young attendant overturned the table, "Hero Sun run!" Frostcleave embedded in the table. From the young attendant, Sun Xuechen caught a glimpse of old friend's figure. He forgot all his moves, as old friend's questioning echoed within him Sun Xuechen, why do you wield the sword? Outside, the flames roared, turning the world into a mortal hell. He hated the demon sect's cruelty and his own powerlessness. Though the sword would bring bloodshed, if he did not, he would be like fish on a chopping block, let alone protect others. Why do you wield the sword? All hesitations, loves, hates, and inner demons became bygones, as Sun Xuechen walked towards the self that fled in defeat years ago. The greatest sword was not a curse, but a mission. To wield the sword is to protect. In that instant, he understood, as if awakening from a slumber, emerging from a grand dream.

Yuwen Ci gritted his teeth, fury barely contained, and turned his blade on the attendant. Clang A single iron chopstick shot forward, intercepting Frostcleave's deadly arc. A faint mark bloomed on the otherwise flawless blade. Yuwen Ci spun around. There stood Sun Xuechen, holding the chopstick like a sword, calm and unshaken, as if daring gods and demons alike. Light danced across the chopstick's surface as energy surged through it, sword aura radiating in every direction. The wind howled, whipping Sun's robes like sails in a storm. Only as he raised Frostcleave to block did Yuwen Ci realize it was that move. Sun Xuechen's signature strike. A mere span of metal against three feet of cold steel. Four ounces deflecting a thousand pounds. A so-called divine weapon... was nothing more than desire wrapped in steel. Born of obsession, ruined by obsession. Only when one lets go of victory, defeat, and pride can one wield the sword with no regrets. "With that bloodthirsty heart of yours," Sun Xuechen said coldly, "you think you deserve to wield Frostcleave?" The iron chopstick now moved like an extension of his will his strikes bold and fluid, free of doubt or restraint. To the one who holds a sword in their heart, anything can become a blade. The attendant watched, spellbound. He would go on to tell this story a thousand times over in his lifetime. Moonlight climbed the windowsill. The dust had settled. In one final strike, the chopstick drove straight at Yuwen Ci's wrist. Frostcleave slipped from his grasp, falling into the earth along with the drops of ice.