The Last Immortal's Blade

The tension in the air was palpable as Chen Wei’s figure disappeared into the shadows of the labyrinth, his mocking laughter lingering like a bitter aftertaste. The once-harmonious atmosphere, guided by Zhou Yin’s soothing melodies, now felt heavy and oppressive, as if the labyrinth itself had absorbed the hostility of the encounter. The walls, which had shimmered with a gentle glow moments before, now seemed darker, their intricate carvings twisting into jagged, menacing patterns. The faint hum of energy that had accompanied Zhou Yin’s music was replaced by a low, ominous rumble, as though the labyrinth were warning them of the storm brewing ahead.

Su Xuan stood firm, his hand resting on the hilt of the Blade of Eternal Requiem, its cold, ancient steel a reassuring weight against his palm. His expression was calm, but his eyes burned with quiet determination. He had faced ridicule and scorn before, and Chen Wei’s words were nothing new. Yet, the venom in Chen Wei’s voice had struck a nerve, reminding him of the countless times he had been dismissed as weak or unworthy. This time, however, Su Xuan was not alone.

Liu Chen stepped closer, his sword still drawn, its blade gleaming faintly in the dim light. His stance was protective, his sharp eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of Chen Wei’s return. “That man is like a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Liu Chen muttered, his voice low and edged with frustration. “He hides his malice behind a smile, but his intentions are as sharp as a dagger.”

Zhou Yin, her flute now silent, stood beside them, her brow furrowed with concern. The warmth in her brown eyes had dimmed, replaced by a flicker of unease. “Chen Wei’s ambition is like a raging fire ,” she said softly. “It consumes everything in its path, leaving only ashes behind. We must be careful. He won’t hesitate to strike when we least expect it.”

The labyrinth seemed to echo her words, the walls shifting subtly, as if to remind them of its ever-changing nature. The path ahead was no longer clear; the once-bright glow had faded, leaving only faint, flickering lights that danced like will-o’-the-wisps in the darkness. The air grew colder, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and something metallic, like the tang of blood. The labyrinth was no longer a place of guidance—it had become a battlefield, its illusions twisting to reflect the growing tension among the trial-takers.

Su Xuan took a deep breath, his gaze steady as he looked at his companions. “Chen Wei’s words are like water off a duck’s back,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “They can’t hurt me unless I let them. But we can’t ignore the threat he poses. He’s like a poisonous snake , waiting for the right moment to strike.”

Liu Chen nodded, his expression grim. “We’ll stay vigilant. The labyrinth is treacherous enough without adding Chen Wei’s schemes to the mix. But remember, Su Xuan, this trial isn’t just about strength or cunning. It’s about endurance—endurance of the body, the mind, and the spirit. Chen Wei may be strong, but his arrogance will be his downfall.”

Zhou Yin’s fingers tightened around her flute, her resolve hardening. “We’ll face whatever comes together,” she said, her voice steady. “The labyrinth may test us, but it also reveals the truth. Chen Wei’s true nature will be exposed in time. Until then, we must stay united.”

As they pressed forward, the labyrinth’s environment continued to shift, reflecting the turmoil within their hearts. The walls seemed to close in at times, their surfaces rippling like water, only to recede and reveal new paths moments later. The faint hum of energy returned, but it was no longer harmonious—it was discordant, a cacophony of whispers and echoes that seemed to taunt them with every step. The illusions grew more vivid, flashes of their fears and doubts manifesting as shadowy figures that lurked just out of sight.

At one point, Su Xuan caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the polished surface of the wall. For a moment, he saw not the determined young man he had become, but the boy he once was—small, frail, and burdened by the weight of others’ expectations. The image was fleeting, but it left a deep impression, a reminder of how far he had come and how much further he still had to go.

Liu Chen noticed his hesitation and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “The past is like smoke in the wind ,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “It may linger for a moment, but it cannot hold you back. You’ve already proven your strength, Su Xuan. Don’t let Chen Wei or anyone else make you doubt that.”

Zhou Yin nodded in agreement, her flute now resting against her lips as she played a soft, soothing melody. The notes were faint at first, but they grew stronger, weaving through the labyrinth’s oppressive energy and pushing back the shadows. The walls seemed to respond, their jagged edges softening, the faint glow returning. The path ahead became clearer, though the sense of danger remained.

“We’ll face whatever comes,” Su Xuan said, his voice steady. “Together.”

As they moved forward, the labyrinth’s illusions began to fade, replaced by a sense of quiet determination. The journey was far from over, and the challenges ahead would be great, but they were ready. Chen Wei’s threats, the labyrinth’s trials, even their own fears—they would face them all, one step at a time. For in the end, it was not just the trial that would define them, but the choices they made along the way.