Feng Qingyao said nothing more. Leaning against the headboard, she slowly raised her uninjured right hand.
Her movements were slow and gentle, as though every slight motion tugged at immense pain. Her palm faced upward, her fingers curling slightly.
Then, a faint glimmer emerged from her palm.
At first, the light was weak, like the last candle flame in the wind. But as Feng Qingyao gathered her will, it gradually steadied and brightened, eventually taking the form of an ancient bronze radiance.
The glow receded, and a longsword silently floated above her palm.
The sword was over three feet long, its design exceedingly ancient—one might even call it crude. Its blade was dull and lusterless, bearing the bronze hue of something weathered by countless years. Fine, ancient patterns covered its surface. They were not decorations, but more like naturally formed veins that contained a certain kind of law. Dark cloth was wrapped around the hilt, making it appear utterly unremarkable.
Yet, the instant the sword appeared—
The Shadow Authority and the origin of the Flame of Continued Combustion within Shen Yi both stirred distinctly.
It was neither fear nor rejection, but a strange sense of resonance and intimacy that made Shen Yi's heart jolt.
It was as if this seemingly ordinary bronze longsword had some indescribable, profound connection to the very source of his power.
This feeling was exactly the same as when he had first seen the ancient longsword Feng Qingyao had given him.
No, it was even stronger!
In an instant, Shen Yi's gaze locked onto the bronze longsword.
Near the sword guard, eight ancient characters were clearly visible.
Though Shen Yi did not recognize that unfamiliar script, those eight fixed characters—engraved by history and eroded by laws—naturally conveyed their original meaning to him.
No beginning is the