It was the day of the Choosing, when the Order’s apprentices were paired with their Soul-Blades. And just as he had in that other life, Kaelen sent me sprawling with a deliberate trip, snatching Winter's Grace into his arms before I could recover. That blade was meant for me. It was Winter's Grace, the most renowned Soul-Blade in the Nine Realms, and its spirit, Grace, was a being of ethereal, chilling beauty. My brothers and sisters in the Order rushed to my side, their voices sharp with reproach. "Kaelen! That blade was a gift for Asher from Archon Valerius, a ward to protect him! What do you think you're doing, clinging to it like that?" A Soul-Blade and its wielder are meant to empower each other. To bond with a potent sword-spirit is the ultimate dream of any Blademaster. My father, the Grandmaster’s own sworn brother, had been a hero who gave his life for the realm. He was revered, and as his orphaned son, I was showered with sympathy from the elders and looked after by my peers. Kaelen, despite his raw talent, was a new arrival. By rights, he wasn't even on the list for this Choosing. Let alone for a blade like Winter's Grace, a treasure Archon Valerius had spent years searching for, entrusted to the Grandmaster to bestow upon me. And now, Kaelen had stolen it. 1 The Grandmaster, my uncle, suppressed his anger, his voice a low growl. "Return the blade to your senior, Kaelen. There will be other Choosings. The Order will find a worthy blade for you. Be patient." Kaelen’s lip curled in a pout. "But the Order teaches us to respect the will of the Soul-Blades themselves. Asher possesses a Null-Aether. His potential is nonexistent. Wouldn't leaving such a blade with him be an insult to its power? It would be better with me—" My Null-Aether. A kinder soul might call it a rarity. The truth was, it meant I was a dud, a magical dead end. Everyone avoided the topic to spare my feelings. "Better with you? Don't be absurd!" The Grandmaster's patience finally snapped. "You'll wait for the next Choosing, or you'll take that one." He gestured to the corner, where a single, rusted, broken sword lay discarded and alone. Kaelen shot me a defiant look, his grip on Winter's Grace tightening. As the Grandmaster moved to take the blade by force, Winter's Grace erupted in a blinding flash of glacial light. The spirit, Grace, materialized—a vision in white, ethereal and cold as a winter wraith, her beauty breathtaking. She positioned herself before Kaelen, a human shield of impossible beauty. Her voice was like the chime of ice. "I acknowledge only Kaelen as my master. If anyone tries to force us apart, I will seal my blade." For a sword-spirit to seal its blade was to commit a kind of suicide, to extinguish its own power. The greatest blade in the Nine Realms had a pride to match, preferring oblivion to being commanded. The Grandmaster looked at me, his face a mask of embarrassment. A faint smile touched my lips as I walked over and picked up the rusted, broken sword Kaelen had scorned in my last life. "Our Order has always respected the will of the Soul-Blades. Since Winter's Grace has chosen its master, let it be a gift to Kaelen. A cripple like me can make do with a broken blade." Grace lifted her chin, a flicker of triumph in her eyes, and took Kaelen's arm as they departed. My peers stared at me in disbelief. The Grandmaster, thinking I was acting out of spite, tried to reason with me. "Asher, don't be rash. That thing is scrap metal. Its spirit likely faded to dust centuries ago. It can't protect you. Please, choose another." The other apprentices offered me their own newly chosen blades. I refused them all. To possess a Soul-Blade of one's own was a dream they had all cherished for years. How could I take that from them? One of them muttered angrily, "I don't know what trick Kaelen used to bewitch that spirit into choosing him." But I knew. Grace had always wanted Kaelen. 2 My name is Asher. Unlike my father, a righteous man of immense power, I was born with a Null-Aether—a complete inability to channel magic. My father had adored me. "A Null-Aether is the rarest gift of all," he used to say. "So what if you can't cast spells? Scarcity creates value, don't you see? It might just be the heavens' greatest blessing upon you." I almost asked him if he'd like the blessing for himself. But my father loved the world more than he loved me. He gave his life to destroy the Lord of the Crimson Maw, the leader of a bloodthirsty death cult, and became a legend. After his death, the elders and my peers doted on me even more, treating me less like their senior and more like a fragile younger brother in need of constant protection. I knew their love was real. And so was their pity. In my last life, it had been the same. My father's oldest friend, Archon Valerius, found Winter's Grace for me, hoping its spirit could be my shield. But Grace had no interest in a powerless failure like me. She was drawn to Kaelen, with his prodigious talent and dashing charm. As for me, I was smitten with her. The blade, pure as driven snow, with an edge that shimmered like crystal. The spirit, a vision in white, so transcendent she seemed unreal. She was like the physical embodiment of a Null-Aether—a beautiful, perfect void. What a fool I was. I saw her ethereal form and thought, "Ah, we're the same... this must be fate." So, the moment Kaelen’s hand touched her hilt in that previous life, I scrambled to my feet, knocked him flat, and snatched the sword back. Kaelen, determined to be part of the Choosing, was left with no other option but the discarded, broken sword. As the master of Winter's Grace, I devoted myself to her. I did everything in my power to compensate for the fact that she was bonded to me, unable to join a powerful master in glorious, world-shaking battles. Other spirits would say, "Master, your command is my will." My spirit would say, "Country bumpkin, I require a bath." Bonding a sword-spirit is no less expensive than raising a royal griffin, especially one like Grace, the greatest blade in the Nine Realms. She looked down her nose at everything. The celestial herbs other spirits consumed? She wouldn't touch them. Her bathwater had to be Celestial Dew from the Sky-Peak Sanctuary, her towel, Cloud-spun silk from the Weavers of Iris, and the whetstone for her blade, Adamant ore from the Black-Iron mines. All of it single-use, of course. She had a thing about purity. "This," she would declare, "is the treatment befitting the finest blade in the Nine Realms." The cost was astronomical, but the elders, out of love for me, provided for it. Still, they would gently advise, "Asher, while a Blademaster must respect his spirit, remember the distinction between master and servant. Do not spoil her, lest she forget her place." I was too embarrassed to take their charity, so I would leave payment and flee, leaving their warnings behind me. When my own funds ran out, I took on commissions. My lack of power meant I could only accept the grueling, low-paying, but low-risk jobs no one else wanted. I would return, exhausted and filthy, and Grace would always greet me with a look of disdain before taking the treasures I'd brought for her. Sometimes, when I was alone, I would practice my sword forms. They were empty motions, devoid of any real power, but they brought me joy. They did not, however, bring joy to Grace. One day, I returned from another dirty job, caked in mud but clutching two precious blocks of Adamant ore. I stopped dead. I saw Kaelen in my courtyard, moving with a grace that was breathtaking—a whirlwind of silver and white. And the sword in his hands was Winter's Grace. Beneath a tree, Grace watched him, a smile of pure adoration on her face that I had never seen before. 3 I never took Winter's Grace with me on commissions. The work was just dirty and tiring, not dangerous. A simple wooden rod was all I needed. When I confronted them, Kaelen put on his wounded look. "Asher, I... I've just never seen such a magnificent blade up close. I couldn't resist. I'm so sorry..." His feigned remorse immediately soured Grace's mood. She frowned at me. "You're his senior. Shouldn't you be honored to let your junior practice with your blade? I didn't object, so what right do you have to be upset?" Looking at Kaelen's pathetic, apologetic face, my own resolve softened. I let it go. Kaelen was overjoyed. To repay my kindness, he offered to personally instruct me in swordsmanship. I thought of how Grace would scowl whenever I practiced, muttering about how clumsy and ugly my forms were. I was too embarrassed to bother the other apprentices, who were always busy. I eagerly accepted. And so, Kaelen came to my courtyard every day, ostensibly to teach me. But he wielded Winter’s Grace, while I was left with a training rod. This was Grace's demand. "Your movements are an eyesore," she'd said. "You are not to touch Winter's Grace with such ineptitude. Not until you've learned." My sword skills barely improved, but the bond between Kaelen and Grace deepened. Even when Kaelen didn't visit, Grace would take her sword-form and seek him out herself. This continued until the annual Grand Tournament. Kaelen publicly challenged me to a duel. The winner would become the new master of Winter's Grace. It was only then that I remembered: in all this time, Grace had never agreed to forge a true Bond with me. I hadn't pushed, believing my devotion would one day win her over. My peers were furious. "Kaelen, you know Asher's situation! Are you just picking on the weak? This is shameless!" "He's just trying to steal Asher's blade! He has no honor." Kaelen ignored them, holding a standard-issue iron sword. His expression was one of absolute entitlement. "Asher, I don't want to humiliate you. Grace and I are already one in spirit. Your lack of talent makes you unworthy of her. Surrender now. Let her go." Rage flared in me. I had cared for her day and night, toiled for her, spent my money on her while my own boots fell apart. And just because I was born without power, I was expected to simply hand over the one precious thing I had? No. I stepped onto the dueling platform. I knew I couldn't win. But I refused to surrender. Ignoring the Grandmaster's furious shouts, Kaelen attacked with killing intent. I raised my sword to meet his, but then it happened. Fearing Kaelen might be harmed, Winter's Grace, my own sword, twisted in my hand, its point aligning perfectly with Kaelen’s blade. Together, they plunged into me. A perfect, four-holed wound, piercing me through and through. She didn't even glance at me as I collapsed in a pool of my own blood. She rushed to Kaelen's side, fussing over him, asking if he was hurt. Then, right there in front of my dying eyes, she forged a formal Bond with him. It was then I understood. She had loved him all along. This time, I thought with a vicious clarity, I wish you two vipers a blissful eternity together. Late that night, I stared at the rusted, broken sword on my table and let out my two hundred and forty-fifth sigh. "What a mistake..." The Grandmaster was right. This was just a piece of scrap. It was foolish to hope a spirit still resided within. Looking at the rusted edge, I doubted it could even chop pig feed. But as a man of the blade, I couldn't bear to see any sword, even a broken one, left in such a state. I brought out the Celestial Dew, the Cloud-spun silk, and the Adamant ore. Without that high-maintenance princess Grace to provide for, I was suddenly quite rich. Under my care, the layers of grime and rust gave way, revealing the sword's true form. The hilt was a dark crimson, and the blade itself was a deep, fiery red, etched with intricate, swirling patterns. The broken edge was still incredibly sharp; I'd nicked my finger while cleaning it. I made a mental note to get a healing salve from the Fifth Elder tomorrow to avoid infection, and continued my inspection. Unlike the cold, aloof aura of Winter's Grace, this sword felt... dangerous, but not malevolent. It possessed a wild, bewitching beauty, yet also a sense of immense, ancient power. Even broken, I could glimpse the magnificent weapon it must have once been. The work left me exhausted. My eyelids felt like lead. I flicked the blade lightly with my finger. "You're actually quite beautiful," I murmured. "A shame you're just a corpse... a very pretty corpse. Ugh, I should have just swapped with one of my juniors." The wave of sleep was too strong to fight. I slumped over the table and fell into a deep slumber. In my dreams, I thought I heard a voice, a strangely pleasant one, whispering. "Of course I'm beautiful. I am the most beautiful thing in the heavens or on the earth. Hiss... that man has some strength, though. Where exactly did he just flick me...?" The next morning, before I could even process whether the voice had been a dream, Kaelen arrived at my door with Grace on his arm. With me out of the picture, they had forged their Bond the previous night. Once a spirit and master are bonded, they share their lives, their fates, their fortunes. It's not uncommon for a Blademaster and their spirit to become lovers, cultivating their power together. Kaelen held Grace's hand, a smug grin plastered on his face. "Asher! I've been making the rounds, seeing everyone's new sword-spirits. Such a fascinating collection! Now, let me see yours." His eyes gleamed with triumph. And why wouldn't they? What spirit could possibly compare to Winter's Grace, the finest blade in the Nine Realms? Grace looked at him with doting affection, her tone soft but laced with condescension. "Darling, it's a rusted, broken sword. Just a piece of scrap metal. How could it possibly have a spirit?" She shot me a contemptuous glance. "A cripple doesn't deserve a spirit anyway." Kaelen clapped a hand over his mouth in mock horror. "Oh! I completely forgot! I'm so sorry, Asher. Grace is just so refreshingly blunt. But you've always been so carefree, I'm sure you don't mind, right?" He added, "A broken sword might be useless, but it does match your... laid-back nature, doesn't it?" He was still bitter about the Grandmaster and the others taking my side yesterday. This was his petty revenge. Carefree? Yes, I was so carefree in my last life that I let you two murdering hypocrites stab me to death. I was about to let loose a string of curses, but someone beat me to it. A voice, sharp and imperious, echoed from within my small house. "What is all this barking so early in the morning? You're disturbing my rest. Get lost." 4 Kaelen jumped, startled. Grace immediately stepped in front of him, her face hardening. "Coward! Stop hiding in the shadows! Show yourself and fight!" The bamboo door to my cottage slid open. A woman in a flowing crimson robe emerged, her hair as black as ink, her skin paler than the pear blossoms in my courtyard. A single beauty mark, red as a drop of blood, rested beneath one of her phoenix-like eyes, giving her a devastating, bewitching glamour. She was seated in a wheelchair, which she propelled forward with a slow, deliberate grace. Her gaze was languid, yet it held the profound, chilling indifference of someone who has long sat at the pinnacle of power. Compared to her, Grace looked like a naive, country girl. Grace's defensive posture relaxed, replaced by a sneer. "Oh. It's just a cripple." She failed to notice the look of utter astonishment that flashed in Kaelen's eyes as he beheld the newcomer. I stared at the woman, at the familiar patterns on her red robe, at the wheelchair beneath her, and a single, resounding thought screamed through my mind: Oh, hell. She stopped directly in front of me. Then, in full view of Kaelen and Grace, she took my hand, lifted it to her lips, and placed a gentle, reverent kiss upon it. "I am the sword-spirit, Ember," she declared, her voice resonating with devotion. "I pledge my life in service to my master." So this was what a pledge of loyalty felt like. I'd never experienced it in my last life. And that name... My name is Asher. Her name is Ember... Kaelen finally tore his gaze away from Ember and stated his true purpose for coming. "Asher, you know that Winter's Grace, as the finest blade in the Nine Realms, cannot be treated like some common sword. I heard your father left you a great many celestial herbs and spirit stones. Since you have no use for them, it would be better if you gave them to me, to care for Grace." So, he'd discovered how expensive Grace was to maintain, realized his own monthly stipend was a pittance, and come to me to be his sugar daddy? I was baffled. "Grace is your sword-spirit. Why on earth should I pay for her upkeep?" "You can't look at it that way," he said, his tone infuriatingly reasonable. "The sword was originally a gift for you from Archon Valerius. Therefore, you have a responsibility to ensure she is cared for. If her power wanes from neglect, how would you face the Archon, or honor the memory of his friendship with your father?" He made it sound so logical. Ember turned her gaze on Kaelen and asked suddenly, "Did you lose your front teeth?" Kaelen blinked. "No, why?" "Because every time you open your mouth, nothing but shit comes out." Ignoring Kaelen's face, which was rapidly turning a shade of puce, Ember grabbed my hand and began to shake it, her voice taking on a wheedling, coquettish tone. "Master, I need to be taken care of too! And I'm a poor cripple, you know! You formed a Bond with me last night, master. You even... touched me... right there! You have to take responsibility for me!" A Bond? Oh. She meant when I'd cut my finger. But... touched her where? Where was 'there'? Kaelen's face was now crimson, whether from anger or shame, I couldn't tell. He pointed a trembling finger at Ember and spat at me, "Asher, think carefully! A Soul-Blade is not some ordinary weapon. A broken sword can't be reforged. A crippled spirit is completely useless! Pouring resources into her would be a total waste." "If you're willing to give me your inheritance," he pressed on, "Grace and I could offer you our protection in the future. It's a very good deal, isn't it?" So, I would foot the bill for his expensive spirit, and in return, I would receive a crumb of 'protection'? From the very two people who posed the greatest danger to me in the first place? What a bargain. My face went cold. "Ember is my sword-spirit. How I choose to care for her is my business. Even if she is a cripple, it is my wealth, and I am willing to spend it on her. You needn't concern yourself." I fixed him with a hard stare. "As for Grace, I suggest you figure it out yourself, junior." Thwarted, Kaelen shot a venomous glare at both Ember and me before storming off, dragging a sullen Grace behind him. Despite her claims of needing to be "cared for," Ember rarely asked me for anything. She did, however, take every opportunity to get handsy, her fingers constantly finding my own, or tracing the muscles of my stomach. At night, she insisted on being held. If I refused, her eyes would well up, and she'd look like a heartbroken bride. "Does my master despise me because I am a cripple? Fine. Then break our Bond now. Throw me into the Forging Furnace and melt me down. Find yourself a pretty, whole little sword-spirit, so I won't be a burden to you." Kaelen was right about one thing: a broken Soul-Blade was nearly impossible to reforge. That Ember was even alive was a miracle. The only hope was to find the other half of her blade. But whenever I asked her about it, she would just smile and say she couldn't remember. I suspected that was a lie, that the memory was a painful one, and I didn't want to press her. "You don't despise me for being useless," I'd say with a sigh. "How could I possibly despise you? Besides, it's not like any other spirit would have me..." Ember would lean in close, our noses nearly touching, her voice a teasing whisper. "I would have you. So, my master had better work hard... to protect me." I thought she was joking. But the next morning, she dragged me out of bed at dawn, insisting she would train me. Not just in basic forms, but in the Verdant Nine Stances—the legendary, lost art of our Order, a technique no one had mastered in centuries. I thought she was insane. The founder of our Order had left behind a hundred sword arts, but this one, the legendary Nine Stances, remained an enigma. Faced with my skepticism, Ember's lazy eyes showed a flash of pride for the first time. "That is because no one else was worthy." "No one else was worthy, but I, a useless Null-Aether, am?" Ember's gaze sharpened, and she spoke slowly, her words landing with incredible weight. "The founder of the Verdant Order... was also a Null-Aether." I was stunned.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "393334", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel