SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS - Chapter 1005: The Fake Sword

Chapter 1005: The Fake Sword

Phillip stood before the grand white pedestal, the so-called Heavenly Sword of the White Flame resting in his palm.

All eyes were on him—the elders, the disciples, the women of the inner court—watching, expecting a boy humbled by glory, or a man dazzled by acceptance. But Phillip’s fingers gripped the hilt coldly. He neither bowed in gratitude nor showed awe.

The sword sat in his hand like a dead fish.

A thin smile tugged at his lips.

Then—SHHHRAAANG!—he raised the sword high and brought it down in a clean, sharp arc.

CRAAAACK!

A deep, ugly scar tore through one of the main jade pillars of the ancestral hall, carved with generations of inscriptions. The pillar groaned, fractured, as talismans flickered and died. Cries erupted.

Gasps. Panic. A few disciples stumbled back. The spiritual pressure trembled.

Lily White’s face paled.

And then—CLANG!—Phillip let go. The blade clattered against the polished tiles, sliding until it hit the edge of the stairs beneath the matriarch’s throne.

His voice cut through the air, sharper than steel.

“That is not the Heavenly-Sword.”

The crowd buzzed in disbelief.

The elders shifted uncomfortably.

The young cultivators looked at one another.

Phillip turned, standing tall, posture like a drawn bow. His eyes burned—not with fury, but with the cold fire of clarity.

“You thought I would accept anything wrapped in silk and lies.” He looked straight at White Matriarch Shuyu, who sat above the clan with the air of a queen. “But I no longer dance to strings I didn’t tie myself.”

Her expression remained calm, eyes unreadable. “You doubt our sincerity?”

“I question your integrity,” Phillip replied flatly. “You handed me a puppet sword, filled your daughter’s chamber with perfume and temptation, and smiled while trying to dress deception in silk.”

“Watch your tongue!” barked Elder Xuan, slamming his staff on the floor.

Phillip met his gaze. “Should I be silent and bow for a forged sword and a staged show? Am I to be honored by acting in a farce?”

“You dare insult the White Flame Clan?” one of the young disciples shouted.

But Phillip ignored them.

“I once dreamed of being part of your world,” he continued, turning back to Lily, “because I admired your spirit, your poise, your light.”

Lily’s eyes trembled.

“But today, I realize…” He looked around the hall. “That light was a reflection. A trick of mirrors. Painted gold, but hollow.”

Finally, White Matriarch Shuyu exhaled.

“You were not supposed to be this sharp,” she murmured.

The hall fell silent.

She rose from her throne, her silver robes flowing like water, the aura of a Soul-Sea realm cultivator pressing down ever so lightly. She descended the stairs, step by step, and stood before the broken pillar.

“You have a good eye,” she said softly. “That sword was forged by our artisans to mimic the Heavenly-Sword’s form. Its purpose was to test your discernment.”

Phillip narrowed his gaze. “You mean to humiliate me, then measure how quickly I grovel for favor.”

Shuyu smiled—not kindly, not cruelly, just curiously. “That, too.”

“Then you failed,” he replied.

Her gaze lingered, searching the young man’s face. “Do you know why I agreed to the engagement between you and Lily?”

“No,” Phillip said. “But I suspect it wasn’t love.”

“Indeed. You were… harmless.” She chuckled gently, almost motherly. “A quiet, blushing boy from the Salt family. Clever, soft, easy to control. You were never meant to shake things.”

Phillip’s fingers twitched slightly.

“But now,” she said, “you’ve changed.”

He stepped forward. “I am no longer willing to be a puppet.”

“And yet you still want the sword,” she said.

“I do,” Phillip answered, voice hard. “Because it doesn’t belong to your lies. It belongs to the heavens.”

Murmurs rippled again.

“He dares speak so before the Matriarch?”

“He’s courting death…”

But then Lily White stood up.

“Enough!” she said sharply.

Everyone turned.

She looked at her mother, then Phillip. Her expression was… conflicted. “He’s right.”

“Lily,” Shuyu warned.

“No,” Lily stepped forward, lowering her voice. “You told me he was weak. That he’d follow whatever I said. That we could bend him to the clan’s goals. But he rejected me… He did not touch me. He did not waver. And now he stands here, surrounded by swords and judgment, and still dares to speak truth.”

She turned to Phillip.

“I… don’t know who you are anymore.”

He met her eyes. “I don’t either. But I know who I’m becoming.”

A pause. A breath.

Then Shuyu raised her hand—and everyone went still.

She turned to the central altar.

“Open the Seal.”

A rumble echoed.

A formation on the floor glowed—a twelve-ring spiritual array humming to life. Talismans flared and vanished. From beneath the hall, a second platform rose.

Within it—a long obsidian case, bound in chains of moonlight and carved with phoenix talismans.

The real Heavenly Sword of the White Flame.

The room dimmed as the sword’s sealed light pushed outward. It was asleep, yet even in slumber, it made the air heavy and the blood heat.

Shuyu raised her voice. “This is the blade you seek. But it chooses its wielder, not the other way.”

Phillip walked forward, every step echoing.

He raised his hand—and the moment his fingers touched the hilt—

BOOOOOOM!

A wave of heat exploded outward. Spiritual pressure blasted the onlookers. Even the elders fell back three steps. A phoenix cry rang from the sword, ancient and majestic.

And Phillip… stood firm.

His aura surged in response. Lightning flickered behind him. His eyes burned silver.

The blade lifted. Slowly. Willingly.

He raised it to the sky.

The sword sang.

For the first time in a hundred years, the Heavenly Sword acknowledged a master.

Even Shuyu’s breath caught.

“Impossible…”

One of the elder guards fell to his knees. “The sword… has chosen…”

Shuyu’s voice was quiet now, tinged with something softer. “Then the heavens have spoken. Phillip, don’t forget your promise!”

Phillip lowered the blade. “I came for what was promised. Now, I leave with what I earned.”

He turned and walked toward the exit.

No one stopped him.

Not even the matriarch.

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