Yi Dao

"Don't fret, son... Your mother and I... we have no enemies..." That year, Yi Dao was barely ten. Kneeling beside his dying parents in a pool of blood, he and his elder brother trembled, wordless. "We took our own lives willingly for an old promise. Sons... live well. Remember... in life, never break your word..." Buried with his parents that day was Yi Dao's faith in the world's justice. "Brother... are Mother and Father really gone? How can this be...?" The young Yi Dao's voice held no sobs, but tears streamed down his face. His brother gripped his shoulder. "Why? I don't know. They died for their word. We'll live by ours." "This... is their last lesson." Yi Dao stared at his only remaining kin, wiping his face. "No matter how cruel the world is, we'll forge through the bloodshed together, brother." "Yes, brother!" Yi Dao never again asked "how" or "why." The only thing seared into his heart was: In life, never break your word. As for the rest—benevolence, righteousness, ritual, wisdom? All empty lies.

"Brother, what do you make of that kid's spear technique?... Hahaha, the Heartland has no lack of talent!" Drunk on a rooftop, Yi Dao slurred at the gray urn beside him. He had carried his brother's ashes with him since the man's death. With that, he leaped down and stood before a jianghu warrior practicing martial arts. "Hey! I'm sick of watching you drill with that spear. Let's fight. Beat me, and you live." ... To hone his skills, he had come to the Central Plain alone, observing duels between warriors and secretly dissecting their techniques, memorizing and puzzling out ways to counter them. Once he mastered a sect's martial arts, Yi Dao would seek out its practitioners, picking fights regardless of the risk of injury or death. Years passed, his skin crisscrossed with countless scars from blades and swords. At last, his martial arts reached perfection. Now, he lacked only one thing: a weapon that could match him in battle. A blade that would follow him through life and death, capable of murder and pillage, unbreakable after a hundred battles, as obedient as his arm. Finally, using Tianchi meteoric iron, he sprinkled his brother's ashes into the furnace and forged the weapon he had long awaited: the Killerblade. "We'll carve through the bloodshed together, brother." The first drop of blood on the Killerblade was Yi Dao's own. With it, he honored his parents, his brother, and this world of endless slaughter. The second drop, he vowed, would come from Bai Yuntian—to avenge his brother.

At a tavern somewhere beyond the frontier, Yi Dao and Chu Qingquan sat perched upon the eaves. Yi Dao had lost count of his cups, his voice thick and resonant with drink. "Hah! In this one life of ours... what is it that a man should prize above all else?" He turned to Chu Qingquan. "I'm talking to you!" "Some prize honor, others prize profit... and then there are those who forsake all else, prizing only a promise kept." "Spot on! I, the Killerblade, fear nothing in this world, not even death! My only dread is facing my kin in the afterlife and being named a man of broken faith!" "Rest easy. I shall bear witness. You are a scoundrel, to be sure, but when it comes to honoring a promise, no one does it better." "Hahahaha! Come, drink!" "Cease your drinking. If you stir up a storm in your cups, it will be a mess to settle." "Confound it! Stop nagging. What's my drinking to you?" "Let us end it here today. I promise you: one day, I shall personally toast you with a jar of the finest Parting Tears." "One jar?" "Ten." "Fine, it's a deal. I'll take your word for it this once!" Chu Qingquan offered no reply. Slumped against the tiles in a haze of wine, he began to chant something in a low murmur. Yi Dao couldn't catch the words; he found it a nuisance. With the thirst still burning in his chest, he wobbled to his feet, unsheathed his blade, and danced a drunken dance. Long after, Yi Dao would realize that what Chu Qingquan had been reciting was an ancient ballad. "Three cups down, a promise is cast; the Five Great Peaks weigh light at last..." "With blurred eyes and ears aglow, a spirit like the white rainbow begins to grow..." As the final lines of A Warrior's Journey faded, the Killerblade's dance reached its end.