I Was Reincarnated As A Sword Spirit

A deep slumber. A forgotten existence.

For ten years, Yao Yan had known nothing but darkness. No time, no sound, no sensation—only an endless void where his soul drifted in silence.

But then, something stirred.

A pulse.

Like a droplet falling into still water, the void trembled. Yao Yan's consciousness surged awake, his mind snapping back into existence. He gasped—or would have, if he still had lungs.

"Where… am I?"

He tried to move but found himself utterly bound. There was no body, no limbs, no breath—only an overwhelming sensation of confinement, as if he had been forged into something solid, something sharp.

It was then that he saw it.

Reflected in the shimmering surface of a pristine sword, a faint, translucent figure stared back at him. Red hair, sharp golden eyes—the same face he had in his past life.

Except he wasn't standing. He wasn't even holding the sword.

He was the sword.

A sudden realization struck him like a thunderbolt.

"I… I have become a sword spirit?"

His mind raced. He recalled his final battle—the betrayal, the flames, the agony of death. He had perished. His very soul had burned away into nothingness. And yet, here he was… unchanged.

His power… remained.

He could feel it, surging within him—the Emperor Realm cultivation that once made him unparalleled. He had not weakened. If anything, his soul felt even purer, even stronger than before.

Yet, despite all that strength, he could not move freely. He was trapped within the sword, bound to it like a spirit chained to fate itself.

"How… absurd," he muttered bitterly.

For ten years, had he been slumbering within this blade? Had no one wielded it all this time?

Just as these thoughts plagued his mind, a voice rang in the distance. A gentle, melodic voice—one that awakened something unfamiliar in his heart.

"Master, I will cultivate harder and make you proud!"

The voice belonged to a young girl, her tone filled with determination.

Yao Yan felt a strange pull, as though the sword itself responded to her words. Through some unseen force, he saw her.

She was beautiful—a girl no older than sixteen, with hair as pure as snow cascading down her back. Clad in simple robes, she knelt before an elder, her clear eyes brimming with resolve.

The elder chuckled. "Good, Qing'er. This sword is now yours. Treat it well, and it shall guide you to greater heights."

The girl, Li Qing'er, bowed deeply, both hands gently grasping the hilt of the sword—his sword.

The moment her fingers wrapped around it, Yao Yan felt something click within his soul. A connection. A bond.

For the first time in ten years, he felt warmth.

And then, as her master, she raised him toward the heavens.

His journey… had begun anew.