Space was a premium luxury within the Liu Clan territory, and private courtyards were reserved for the true elite—the kind of cultivators whose mere presence demanded solitude. Senior Chen, despite his remarkable battle prowess and budding reputation, was not yet among them. He lived among the rank and file, his accommodations utilitarian at best. But if his recent breakthrough to Spirit King meant anything, he wouldn't have to wait much longer. That dream—and the bitterness of its delay—fueled his every waking moment.
In the dim light of his modest quarters, Senior Chen sat cross-legged on a worn mat, his breathing steady, his focus sharp as the blade he longed to wield. The air around him seemed to thrum with barely contained energy as he cycled his Spirit Qi, the faint hum of cultivation filling the silence. It was a routine he'd perfected over the years, a grounding ritual that helped him keep his ambition from spilling over into recklessness.
The door burst open with a sudden crash, shattering the calm like glass underfoot. Two men stumbled inside, their faces flushed and their breaths coming in ragged gasps.
"Senior Chen!" the taller one managed, wiping sweat from his brow. "We saw the Young Master—he's in the training grounds. He's there now with his... uh, with his two beauties. Practicing."
Senior Chen's eyes flicked open, the faint glow of his Spirit Qi dissipating. He regarded the intruders with a cool, calculated expression. These men were hardly more than lackeys, the sort who thrived on gossip and thrived even more on rewards. Still, they served a purpose.
"You're certain?" His voice was calm, almost disinterested, but there was a subtle edge to it, like the gleam of a knife in shadow.
The shorter man nodded eagerly, his hand clutching his side as he tried to catch his breath. "We watched them ourselves, Senior. The Young Master has his sword out—looks like he's showing off for them."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Chen's mouth. "Perfect," he murmured, rising smoothly to his feet. His movements were precise, deliberate, a predator stepping out of the tall grass.
He reached for a small pouch from the low table beside him and tossed it toward the two men. The faint clink of spirit stones as it landed at their feet was like music to their ears.
"Ten stones," he said, his tone dismissive but not unkind. "For your diligence."
The men practically fell over themselves in their gratitude, bowing low. "Thank you, Senior! Truly generous!" They scooped up the pouch and made their exit quickly, not wanting to overstay their welcome.
Chen waited until the sound of their footsteps faded before letting his smile widen. It wasn't a warm smile—it was sharp, cold, and full of intent. The regret of losing the Black Flame Slayer still burned within him, but this opportunity—this little spectacle on the training grounds—could be useful.
"Let's see what you're really made of, Young Master," he said under his breath, striding toward the door.
***
"What Spirit Art did you choose to practice?" Wuying asked as they approached the towering Spirit Puppets scattered across the training grounds. Her voice was casual, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of concern. "I'm not proficient with swords, so Princess Shan will take over your instruction later. You'll need serious battle practice to become a proper swordsman."
The puppets loomed ahead like silent sentinels, their polished surfaces gleaming ominously under the unforgiving midday sun. Each one was a marvel of craftsmanship, designed to endure the relentless assaults of Spirit Arts. Rank 1 to Rank 5, their durability mirrored the toughest Spirit Beasts' hide. Even if sliced clean through, they would regenerate—unyielding and ever-watchful, like patient executioners waiting for their turn.
"Besides the clone art," Xuefeng said with a grin that danced on the edge of cocky, "I created my own sword art. It's insanely powerful."
Wuying froze mid-step, her head tilting slightly as if she'd misheard him. "Created a Spirit Art?" she repeated, her voice edged with disbelief. She shot a glance at Princess Shan, whose furrowed brow mirrored her confusion.
"Wait," Princess Shan interjected, her tone sharper now. "You created a Spirit Art? From scratch?"
Xuefeng's grin widened, his nonchalance almost infuriating. "Yeah, want to see it?"
Without waiting for a response, he unsheathed his rank 3 sword, the blade gleaming like liquid silver as it caught the light. Striding toward the nearest Spirit Puppet, his movements were steady, almost casual, as if he were heading to a practice session and not unveiling something extraordinary.
The air thickened around him, the weight of the moment pressing down on the training grounds. With a deliberate motion, Xuefeng channeled his Spirit Qi, his focus narrowing to the point of a blade. The ground trembled faintly beneath his feet, and then came the sound—a sharp, serpentine cry that seemed to slice the air itself as his black blade descended.
The rank 3 puppet didn't stand a chance. The sword cut through it like butter, the strike so precise and lethal that it left the puppet in two clean halves. The severed pieces clattered to the ground with a sound that echoed like a gunshot in the stunned silence that followed.
The training grounds seemed to hold their breath. Heads turned, eyes wide with disbelief, as if trying to process what had just happened.
"Did you see that?" someone finally whispered, their voice breaking the silence. "That's a rank 3 Spirit Puppet. I've been hacking at one for weeks and barely scratched it."
"How the hell is the Young Master this strong already?" another murmured, their tone tinged with a mix of awe and envy. "He only started cultivating a few days ago…"
"Black talent," came the resigned reply from a nearby swordsman. "We can't compete. Better train harder than gripe about it."
Xuefeng turned to face Wuying and Princess Shan, his expression radiating triumph. "Well? Pretty awesome, right?"
Princess Shan blinked, her mouth slightly agape. "Did you just master and create a sword art in less than a day?" she asked, her voice low, as if speaking the words aloud might make them less absurd.
"Yeah," Xuefeng replied, his grin widening, daring them to doubt him. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Freak," Princess Shan muttered, shaking her head.
"I'll take that as a compliment," Xuefeng said, laughing.
Wuying, however, wasn't laughing. Her gaze sharpened like a blade. "Does this Sword Spirit Art of yours have more than one move, or is this it?"
"It has nine moves," Xuefeng admitted, scratching the back of his head. "But I've only practiced the first one. I was planning to work on the second today."
The two women exchanged glances, their disbelief morphing into a mix of exasperation and reluctant admiration. Years of painstaking effort had honed their skills; Xuefeng, it seemed, had waltzed through that labor in mere hours—and still wanted more.
"Young Master, how about a duel?" The voice sliced through the murmurs like a knife.
Xuefeng turned to see Liu Chen approaching, his steps measured, his presence commanding. The tall, broad-shouldered man with dark blue eyes radiated a confidence that made onlookers shuffle back, murmuring among themselves.
"Liu Chen!" someone whispered. "He's challenging the Young Master?"
Wuying stepped forward immediately, her expression hard as steel. "Xuefeng, you don't have to accept this. He's one stage above you. It's not a fair fight."
"Who said anything about a fight?" Liu Chen smirked, his tone dripping with condescension. "This is just a friendly spar. Or are you planning to hide behind your women?"
Xuefeng's jaw tightened, his grip on his sword firm. "Alright," he said, his voice calm but steely. "But let's skip the fighting. How about we compare Spirit Arts instead?"
Liu Chen's smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered. "Fine," he said smoothly. "What are the rules?"
"One strike each," Xuefeng explained, stepping toward the rank 5 Spirit Puppet. "We'll aim for that. Whoever deals more damage wins."
"Deal," Liu Chen said, his confidence unwavering. "But let's make it interesting. How about a wager?"
"A wager?" Xuefeng echoed, his brow arching.
"If I win," Liu Chen said, unsheathing his sleek rank 5 blade, "I take your Black Flames Slayer."
Wuying bristled instantly. "Don't push it, Liu Chen," she snapped. "That sword isn't yours to claim."
"Miss Wuying," Liu Chen replied with a mocking bow, "this is a matter between men. Stay out of it."
Xuefeng raised a hand to calm her. "Fine," he said, his voice even. "But if I win, you'll hand over your sword—and 100,000 Spirit Stones."
Liu Chen hesitated, but the crowd's gaze burned into him. Tossing a storage bracelet to Wuying for verification, he forced a grin. "Deal."
You've got this, Ling's voice chimed in Xuefeng's mind as he prepared. With the second move and your Black Flames Slayer, you have a ninety-nine percent chance of winning.
And the other one percent? Xuefeng asked, smirking despite himself.
That's reserved for freak accidents, Ling quipped. Like, say, a meteor shower crashing into you mid-swing.
Xuefeng's laugh was low and steady, his focus narrowing to a razor's edge as he raised his blade. "Let's see who walks away victorious."