CHAPTER 40: HIGH CLASS TALENT

The courtyard was so silent that even the faint crackle of the torches could be heard. Dust floated in the air, and as it settled, all eyes turned toward Han Zhanjian, who stood still with his hand resting on the sword.

His face looked blank, almost unaware of what he had done. The ground around him shimmered faintly, as if the world itself was reacting to his presence.

Then, the first sound came—not from the crowd, but from the Sword Shandian Sect representatives.

"High Class Talent," one of them whispered, his voice trembling slightly.

The other blinked, unsure he had heard correctly. "Did you just say... High Class?"

The first representative nodded slowly, his expression turning pale. "Yes. Without a doubt. That’s... that’s a High Class talent!"

The words fell like thunder across the courtyard.

Everyone froze. For a moment, no one moved or spoke. Even the members of the Sword Shandian Sect stepped back in disbelief, staring at the young man before them as if they had seen a ghost.

And then, chaos erupted.

"What did he say?" one servant whispered.

"High Class talent? What does that even mean?" another asked, confusion thick in his voice.

"Are we hearing this right? Did they really say every hundred thousand years?"

The crowd burst into waves of murmurs and half-panicked whispers. The Han Family elders exchanged looks of disbelief. The servants whispered among themselves, some clutching their chests, others bowing their heads in confusion.

"I don’t understand," said one of the guards. "What’s a High Class talent? Is that like being a strong cultivator?"

"I don’t know!" another snapped. "But they said every hundred thousand years. Every hundred thousand years! That means none of us have ever even heard of it!"

They began talking over one another, their voices echoing against the stone walls. Some looked at Han Zhanjian as if he was no longer human. Others looked at each other, unsure whether to cheer or kneel.

Even Han Cui, the patriarch of the Han Family, stood frozen. His hands trembled slightly as he tried to grasp what he was seeing.

Too many things had happened in such a short time.

The strange beasts that appeared yesterday—the Demon Kins that destroyed parts of the city. The sudden disappearance of the Five Element Sect representative. His eldest son, Han Ji, displaying a power that defied understanding. The Red Sand Sect incident earlier, where Han Ji killed a demonic cultivator in the Qi Condensation stage. Then, the conflict between his two sons, Han Ji and Han Zukong.

And now, this.

The son he had once ignored. The silent one who never raised his voice, who never spoke unless spoken to. The one he had secretly called useless.

Han Zhanjian.

He was... a cultivator that appeared once every hundred thousand years.

Han Cui’s mind was blank. His lips parted, but no words came out. His whole body shook, as if his own heart could not decide whether to laugh or cry.

Suddenly, a faint hum came from one of the Sword Shandian Sect representatives. The crystal on his robe, small and glowing, began to tremble violently. The man quickly pressed his palm against it, trying to stabilize the energy.

Everyone watched as his expression turned serious. Then, a voice echoed from the crystal—a voice so deep and commanding that it sent shivers down every spine.

"What is happening over there? The energy spike from your location is abnormal. Explain immediately."

The representative bowed his head and replied respectfully, "Honored Elder, forgive the disturbance. A phenomenon just occurred. We have discovered a young man with an exceptionally rare cultivation talent. The readings indicate... High Class."

There was silence from the other end. Then, the voice spoke again, this time softer, but heavier. "High Class? Are you certain?"

"Yes, Elder," the representative said quickly. "The readings are clear. His resonance with the Sword Soul reached beyond the limits of our instruments. The sword’s light even caused the ground to vibrate."

A quiet inhale came from the crystal. "Every hundred thousand years," the voice said slowly. "Could it be... that the one who awakened Sword Eyes—the one we’ve been looking for?"

The moment those words were spoken, everyone around stiffened. Even the hardened representatives paled further.

The term Sword Eyes was almost mythical—something only those of the highest sects whispered about.

But the commoners, servants, and even the elders of the Han Family stood lost.

"What’s Sword Eyes?" a servant whispered.

"I’ve never heard of it," another replied, confused. "Is that some kind of divine ability?"

"Why do they all look so scared?"

"I don’t know... but whatever it is, it’s something terrifying."

Their whispers grew louder, overlapping, feeding the tension that filled the air.

Han Cui turned to the sect representatives. "What is Sword Eyes?" he asked firmly, his voice trembling despite himself.

The representative hesitated, then lowered his gaze. "A divine ability, Patriarch Han. It allows one to see through all sword intents in the world—to perceive the truth of every blade, every cut, every soul. It is said that someone with Sword Eyes could one day ascend as a Sword Saint."

Han Cui’s knees nearly gave out.

Sword Saint?

His silent son might one day become... a Sword Saint?

The crystal on the representative’s robe glowed again. The voice on the other end said sharply, "Do not act without us. We will be there soon. Guard him until our arrival. This is an order."

The connection cut, leaving a heavy silence behind.

Everyone remained still.

The servants whispered quietly. The elders stared blankly at Han Zhanjian, unable to comprehend what they had just witnessed. The atmosphere was filled with awe, fear, and disbelief.

Han Zhanjian stood silently, looking confused. His fingers were still lightly touching the sword, his chest rising and falling slowly. Then, his eyes turned toward Wei Ji, who had been standing silently since the beginning.

Wei Ji’s expression was calm, almost unreadable. He simply met his younger brother’s gaze and nodded once.

Han Zhanjian didn’t understand why, but that one nod filled him with peace. His fear faded. His heartbeat slowed. For some reason, he trusted his older brother completely.

He exhaled softly, then turned to the Sword Shandian Sect representatives. "Should I cancel my older brother Han Zukong’s demand?" he asked politely.

The representatives looked at each other, then their faces softened. "Naturally," one of them said. "Your words hold weight now. But wait here. The elders will arrive soon."

Zhanjian bowed slightly in acknowledgment.

Han Zukong, who had been standing in the background, clenched his fists tightly. His face twisted in anger. He wasn’t used to being overshadowed—first by Han Ji, and now by his quiet, forgotten younger brother. His pride burned. His body trembled.

He gritted his teeth and turned away, too furious to speak.

But then, something strange happened.

Unnoticed by anyone, a small flower had grown beside Wei Ji’s feet. It was small, pale, and pulsing faintly, releasing thin, invisible threads of mist into the air. The mist spread slowly, curling around the ground like smoke.

No one noticed when Han Zukong swayed slightly.

No one noticed when one of the Sword Shandian Sect representatives blinked in confusion and stumbled.

And then—

Thud.

Han Zukong fell to the ground.

Thud.

The two representatives followed, their bodies collapsing beside him.

The courtyard fell silent once more.

Wei Ji’s eyes lowered slightly, and for a brief moment, there was something unreadable in his gaze. The faint glow from the flower dimmed and vanished, leaving no trace of its existence.

Only the wind moved.