The Sword That Devours Identity

Chapter 2: The Back Mountain Has No Mercy

“Throw him in.”

The command echoed like a verdict carved in stone. Jason Ford barely had time to look up before rough hands shoved him forward.

His knees slammed into the cold ground. Chains rattled as iron cuffs snapped shut around his wrists. “Father!” Jason shouted. “Listen to me, I didn’t do it!”

Harold stood behind their father, his injured hand wrapped in cloth. His face was pale, eyes red, trembling like a victim who had barely escaped death.

“I tried to stop him,” Harold said weakly. “I swear… I didn’t know my brother hated the ancestors so much.”

Jason’s head snapped toward him. “You liar!”

A slap rang out. Jason’s face jerked to the side as pain exploded across his cheek. “Enough,” their father said coldly. “You dare shout in front of the ancestral tablets?”

Jason tasted blood. “Father, please. I would never”

“You would never?” their father interrupted. “Then explain the fire. Explain your brother’s injuries.”

“I was the one who shouted for help!” Jason said desperately. “If I wanted to burn the hall, why would I”

“Silence.”

Their father turned away. “Take him to the back mountain,” he said. “No food. No visitors. Let him reflect.”

Jason’s heart sank. The back mountain. “Father…!” Jason struggled forward, chains digging into his wrists. “Mother !”

His mother stood a few steps away, hands clenched tightly in her sleeves. She did not look at him. “Mother,” Jason whispered. “You know me.”

Her lips trembled. Then she shook her head. “I raised you for seventeen years,” she said softly. “I don’t recognize you anymore.”

Something inside Jason shattered. The guards dragged him away. The path to the back mountain was steep and narrow, winding upward through dead trees and jagged stone.

By the time they arrived, Jason’s legs were trembling. The cell was not really a cell. It was a pit carved into the mountainside, sealed with iron bars and formation seals etched deep into the rock.

One of the guards laughed. “Enjoy your stay, young master.”

The iron gate slammed shut. Darkness swallowed Jason whole. “Hey!” Jason shouted. “Let me out! You can’t just !”

A sharp pain exploded in his chest. Jason gasped and collapsed. The formation had activated. Every breath felt like knives scraping against his lungs.

His limbs grew heavy, as if the air itself was crushing him. “What… is this…?” he whispered.

Outside the cell, a guard spoke casually. “Back Mountain Suppression Formation. Designed for criminals and traitors.”

Another added, “Even cultivators beg for death in there.”

Their footsteps faded. Jason lay on the cold stone floor, chest heaving. Traitor…?

Hours passed. Or days. He wasn’t sure. Hunger gnawed at his stomach. Thirst burned his throat. Every time he tried to stand, the formation pressed him back down.

“Father wouldn’t really leave me here,” Jason muttered. “He’ll come tomorrow. He has to.”

No one came. On the third day, the pain changed. It seeped deeper, into his bones, his veins, his thoughts. Jason screamed.

The sound echoed uselessly off stone. “Stop!” he cried. “I’ll reflect! I’ll admit guilt! Just make it stop!”

The formation did not respond. At some point, Jason stopped screaming. He lay curled on the floor, lips cracked, eyes unfocused. Is this… punishment?

His thoughts drifted. He remembered Harold’s grin. He remembered the sword energy tearing through stone. He remembered the jade pendant, warm in his palm.

Jason laughed weakly. “So this is what family means.”

A month passed. Then another. Food was thrown in once every few days, dry, tasteless rations barely enough to survive. Water dripped slowly from the stone ceiling.

Jason grew thinner. Stronger, too, though he didn’t realize it. One night, as pain wracked his body, Jason felt something shift.

A strange heat bloomed deep in his chest. He gasped. “What… is this?”

The formation pressed harder in response, as if offended. The heat intensified. Jason screamed again, not in pain this time, but in shock.

The pressure that once crushed him now felt… familiar.

Like a weight he could push against. Jason clenched his fists. “No,” he whispered. “Not now. Not like this.”

But the heat didn’t listen. It spread through his limbs, threading itself into muscle and bone. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Jason slammed his fist against the ground. —CRACK.

The stone beneath his hand fractured. Jason froze. “…Did I do that?”

He stared at his trembling fingers. The formation flared violently. Agony tore through his body, far worse than before. Jason screamed as invisible force slammed him into the wall.

Blood spilled from his mouth. “So,” a voice echoed faintly from outside the cell. “You’re still alive.”

Jason looked up weakly. Harold stood beyond the bars, lantern in hand. “You,” Jason rasped.

Harold smiled. “Brother. I was worried you might die too quickly.”

Jason dragged himself forward. “Why?”

Harold crouched. “Why what?”

“Why frame me?” Jason demanded. “I never fought you. I never competed with you.”

Harold’s smile faded. “Because you exist,” he said quietly.

Jason’s eyes widened. “You think Father doesn’t notice?” Harold continued. “You think Mother doesn’t compare us? Every time you looked at me with that pitiful gaze”

“I admired you,” Jason said hoarsely.

Harold laughed. “Exactly.”

He stood. “Don’t worry. I’ll inherit everything. You can rot here.”

Jason’s vision blurred with rage. “Harold,” he whispered. “One day”

“One day?” Harold interrupted. “There is no one day for you.”

He turned to leave. “By the way,” Harold added casually, “Father says those without martial talent aren’t worthy of the Ford name.”

The lantern light vanished. Jason collapsed. Days later, or year jason no longer knew. He stopped counting time. Pain became routine. Silence became normal.

Hatred burned quietly, dangerously. And deep within his chest, the heat grew steadier. Stronger. Uncontrollable. One night, the formation seals trembled.

Jason opened his eyes. “…What?”

Cracks spread along the etched symbols. The pressure vanished, just for a heartbeat. Jason sucked in air desperately.  Then—BOOM.

The formation reactivated with ten times the force. Jason screamed as blood vessels ruptured, bones screaming under invisible weight.

His consciousness flickered. I’m going to die, he realized calmly.

In that fading moment, his fingers brushed something cold against his chest. The jade pendant. Jason laughed weakly. “So… this is it.”

He tightened his grip. High above the mountain, an old man’s eyes snapped open. “Impossible,” the Martial Saint muttered. “The formation is rejecting him?”

Jason’s fingers closed around the jade. And crushed it.