I Was Reincarnated As A Sword Spirit

Qing'er spent the next few days practicing diligently, training with the sword from dawn till dusk. Yao Yan observed her every movement, his Emperor Realm senses analyzing her techniques.

"She lacks proper form," he muttered. "Too stiff, too cautious. If she were to face a real opponent, she would lose instantly."

At first, he had thought about guiding her. But there was one problem—she had no idea he existed.

That all changed one fateful evening.

The sun had barely set when Qing'er found herself wandering too far from her sect's boundaries. The dense forest around her was eerily silent, the air thick with an unnatural chill.

Then—a rustling.

She turned sharply, gripping her sword tightly. From the shadows, five figures emerged, their eyes gleaming with ill intent.

Cultivators.

No—greedy wolves in human skin.

"Well, well," one of them sneered, a scar running down his cheek. "A little disciple wandering all alone? What luck."

Another laughed. "That sword of hers is no ordinary weapon. I can feel its power from here. Why don't we take it for ourselves?"

Qing'er tensed, but she did not back down.

"This sword belongs to me," she declared. "Leave now, or—"

"Or what?" The leader chuckled darkly. "You think you can fight five of us?"

The men closed in. Qing'er's grip tightened. She knew she was outmatched—her training had not yet prepared her for real combat.

Yao Yan felt her fear.

A cold rage awakened within him.

This girl… his master… was in danger.

His soul burned. The sword trembled in her hands.

"Damn it all," Yao Yan growled. "If she can't fight, then I will."

The Sword Spirit Awakens

Just as the first cultivator lunged at Qing'er, the sword burst into flames.

A golden light erupted from the blade, blinding them all. Qing'er gasped, feeling an immense power surge through her hands.

Then—he appeared.

Before the attackers could react, a figure materialized before them, stepping out from the flames like a god descending from the heavens.

A young man, his red hair blazing like fire, his golden eyes piercing as the sun.

Dressed in flowing black robes adorned with golden embroidery, he stood with effortless grace, his gaze filled with an authority that could crush mountains.

For the first time in ten years, Yao Yan had stepped out of the sword.

Qing'er's breath caught in her throat.

"W-Who are you?" she stammered.

Yao Yan turned his head slightly, meeting her stunned gaze. A slow smirk curved his lips.

"Your sword, of course," he said smoothly. "Did you really think a weapon this powerful wouldn't have a spirit?"

Before Qing'er could process his words, the cultivators regained their senses.

"Who the hell is this?!" one of them shouted.

The leader scowled. "It doesn't matter! Kill them both!"

Fools.

Yao Yan's expression darkened.

"You dare raise your hands against my master?" His voice dropped, carrying the weight of an Emperor.

His figure blurred—and in the next instant, the battle was over.

One moment, the attackers stood poised to strike.

The next—they were on their knees, trembling, their weapons shattered, their cultivation crippled.

The sheer force of Yao Yan's presence had crushed them without him even lifting a finger.

Qing'er could only stare in disbelief.

Who… was this man?

And why… did he call her master?