The Trial Realm's path wound upward again — this time into a jagged hill of scorched earth, where the sky glowed red with emberlight.
At the summit stood a blackened forge. Broken, ancient. Silent.
Chen Xin approached slowly, his steps heavy, arms trembling from his last battle.
He had not rested.
And that was the point.
The Trial Realm did not offer breaks. Only the choice to continue.
A flame sparked to life as he neared the forge. It was not lit by firewood or fuel — it was soulflame, drawn from will.
A voice echoed from within the forge itself.
"Why do you carry two swords?"
Chen Xin stood before the flame and answered calmly:
"Because I carry both what I lost… and what I never allowed myself to keep."
The forge accepted his truth.
He placed Merciless and Gu Jian on the anvil, sat before them, and began the work.
Not with hammers or bellows — but with memory, pain, and spirit.
He relived every trial — the golem's crushing blows, the phantom's bitter words, the nameless swordsman's sorrow.
Each breath of pain was channeled into the flame.
The blades did not melt — they resonated.
Lines of new script etched themselves into the steel.
When he finally stood again, the swords pulsed with life. Not reborn — but reforged. Not new — but truer.
He sheathed them slowly.
And for the first time since entering the Trial Realm…
…he smiled