Rebirth of The Strongest Swordsman

Qingyun Sect — Outer Servant Division

A heavy, mud-caked boot slammed onto Lin Feng’s right hand, grinding his knuckles into the jagged gravel of the storehouse floor.

CRACK.

The sharp splintering of bone echoed off the timber walls, followed by a wave of harsh, mocking laughter.

"Still playing dead, trash?" Zhao Wei’s voice grated above him, heavy with cruel amusement. He pressed his heel down harder, delighted by the tremor running through the boy's battered frame.

Behind him, a lean servant named Li Er folded his arms and sneered. "Brother Zhao, don't waste your breath. The supervisor gave the order—if this cripple doesn't hand over his monthly allotment of Low-Grade Qi Stones by tomorrow, we throw him into the mountain ravine."

Lin Feng lay face-down in the dust, his throat choked with blood and sawdust. His body burned with fever, but deep inside his skull, two lifetimes of memories violently slammed together.

The sight of ten thousand flying swords piercing a crimson sky. The cold smile of his sworn brother, Lu Chen, thrusting a divine blade into his heart atop Heavenly Sword Peak, and three years spent as a broken, crippled servant in the lowliest corner of the Qingyun Sect.

Three hundred years had passed since his fall.

The world remembered him as Feng Wu, the legendary Sword God branded a demon in official records, while his killer sat upon the supreme throne as a savior.

‘My soul survived... reborn into this shattered shell.’

A subtle shift occurred in the atmosphere. The temperature inside the timber yard seemed to drop, an ancient authority stirring from the depths of Lin Feng's consciousness.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you, cripple!" Zhao Wei barked, raising his foot to stomp directly onto Lin Feng’s neck.

Lin Feng turned his head slowly. His dark pupils locked onto the bully.

An invisible weight pressed down on the cramped room, cold and sharp, like a bare blade resting against Zhao Wei's throat.

Zhao Wei’s boot froze in midair. His breath hitched as a sudden, instinctual dread seized his chest. He stumbled backward half a pace, his face draining of color.

"Step back," Lin Feng whispered. His voice was raw and hoarse, yet it carried an absolute, undeniable command.

Zhao Wei swallowed hard, sweat beading on his forehead. Flustered and enraged by his own unexplainable fear, he spat on the floor to mask his trembling hands.

"Keep acting tough, Lin Feng!" Zhao Wei growled, backing toward the doorway. "Tomorrow at sunrise, if I don't see those three Low-Grade Qi Stones, I will personally break both your legs and drag you to Elder Liu!"

He turned on his heel and hurried out into the yard, Li Er scrambling close behind him like a frightened dog.

Silence returned to the timber yard.

Lin Feng slowly pushed himself up against a stack of damp lumber, ignoring the burning agony in his ruined meridians. He glanced down at his swollen, bloody hand.

‘Shattered meridians... sabotaged by Elder Liu’s hidden Qi to ensure this body remained crippled,’ Lin Feng analyzed, sweeping his spiritual sense inward. ‘To an ordinary cultivator, this body is ruined. But for my Nirvana Sword Sutra, it is the ultimate canvas.’

The technique required a cultivator to destroy their mortal meridians entirely, forging a set of legendary Divine Sword Meridians from the ashes.

"Lu Chen... Seven Orthodox Sects..." Lin Feng muttered softly, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. "You rewrote history, but I have returned."

A light knock rustled against the wooden door.

The heavy shutter creaked open a sliver, and a slender girl slipped inside holding a small paper parcel and a dented bamboo container. Su Qing'er, an Outer Disciple clad in a simple green robe, rushed to his side with pale, trembling lips.

"Brother Lin!" Su Qing'er knelt beside him, her eyes brimming with tears as she saw the blood on his hands. "Zhao Wei came again, didn't he? I managed to get some healing paste from Granny Meng’s shop in town, along with two steamed buns..."

She carefully applied the cool green paste over his broken knuckles.

Lin Feng looked at the young girl. In this corrupt sect, Su Qing'er was the only person who had consistently shared her meager rations to keep him alive.

"Qing'er," Lin Feng spoke softly. "You shouldn't come here at night. If Elder Liu’s men catch an Outer Disciple helping a servant, they will punish you."

"I don't care," Su Qing'er said firmly, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "You saved me from that wild beast in the rear mountains last year. I won't just stand by and watch them beat you to death."

Lin Feng accepted the steamed buns, feeling a rare warmth touch his reawakened heart. "Thank you. But starting tomorrow, no one in this sect will ever put a hand on either of us again."

Su Qing'er blinked, startled by the quiet conviction in his tone.

Before she could ask further, Lin Feng motioned toward the door. "Go back to the Outer Disciple dorms before the night patrol passes."

Nodding reluctantly, Su Qing'er slipped back out into the darkness.

Once the door was secured, Lin Feng sat cross-legged on the earth floor. He placed a small piece of low-grade spirit root left by Su Qing'er into his mouth, chewing it to extract its raw medicinal Qi.

He closed his eyes, activating the ancient incantation of the Nirvana Sword Sutra.

‘Nirvana through destruction... Rebirth through the Blade!’

The moment the technique circulated, his broken veins convulsed violently. A searing, needle-like pain tore through his chest. Blood oozed from his pores, but Lin Feng did not utter a sound. He forced the raw energy directly into his shattered chest node, forging the foundation of his first Divine Sword Meridian.

First Layer... Second Layer of the Sword Meridian Realm!

A razor-sharp aura radiated from his skin, carving fine slits into the wooden floorboards beneath him.

Just as his first thread of pure Sword Qi solidified, the window shutter rustled slightly in the midnight wind.

Lin Feng’s spiritual perception instantly snapped outward. Through the crack in the timber, his cold eyes locked onto a dark, cloaked silhouette perched silently atop the roof of the adjacent blacksmith shop, staring directly down at his window.