Once every five years, the four sects held a contest to determine the top ten outstanding disciples, who received a unique scholarship that included one year of training in each sect.
Currently on their third year of the scholarship, the ten disciples were training in Sky Oriels Sect.
A stream of colorful sect robes spilled through the marbled gates of Avidity Premises, lively chatter echoing as the training of the day had wrapped up. Starved for free time, they were rushing to nearby towns for a satisfying dinner.
"Did you know that a disciple from Sky Oriels was disqualified?" Sun Hayden sliced the air with his hand, the yellow robes stirring around his arm. "They say he went back for revenge and chopped the judge's head off like bam!"
"It's been over two years, let the gossip rest already," Lai Rylan muttered, tugging at the collar of his midnight blue robe.
"I can't let it rest when we're in the sect with a murderer on the loose!" Sun Hayden retorted, then sent an apprehensive glance at the only local between the three of them. "No offense, Marsh."
Marshall played into it, lowering his voice to produce an eerie atmosphere. "No, no, you might be right. You know the forest on the north side no one's allowed to enter? It might be because a murderer is hiding there, killing anyone who dares to enter," he joked.
Sun Hayden's eyes lit up. "Should we go check?"
"Are you looking for trouble? We're not in Liangdu, don't even think about it," Lai Rylan warned. "Just focus on your studies."
Ting…
A distant drop of a metallic object echoed through Marshall's ears. He slowed to a stop, his brows furrowing.
"Help— agh!" a faraway scream followed, the sound almost out of this reality.
An aggressive tug on Marshall's arm startled him, "Marsh, hurry up! The diners will close," Sun Hayden whined, dragging him along.
"Hold on. Did you hear that?" Marshall asked, glancing between his friends with furrowed brows.
"Hear what?" Lai Rylan was ready to go check it out, but was stopped by the blond disciple.
Sun Hayden shook his head in frustration. "The only thing I hear is my stomach crying for food! Let's just go!"
Marshall's eyes darted between the alley and the others, at a loss of why only he had heard it. But matter the reason, he wasn't going to ignore the scream.
"I'll check the alley, you can keep going," Marshall said, vanishing behind the corner.
"The curfew—" Lai Rylan tried to remind him, but he was already threading through the alley.
Marshall sprinted through the twists and turns, ending up at a dead end. A boy, no older than fifteen, pinned against a marbled wall by a burly man.
"H… hugh! He—lp!" the choked call for help repeated.
The boy wriggled his legs furiously, but when he noticed Marshall, the kicking stopped, and he began frantically pointing to the ground with his toes.
Marshall looked down. Scattered about were a leather bag, a bunch of books, red oil-paper rolls, and beneath them, a shiny sword sheath.
The metallic noise he heard earlier must have been the sword hitting the ground.
Without hesitation, Marshall grabbed it, and pulled the blade from its sheath with a resounding zing.
However, an icy shock surged up his arm, and his breath caught in his throat.
The boy grimaced, choking out, "Oh, you shouldn't... have... done that..."
"A spiritual sword?!" Marshall exclaimed, struggling to let go of the freezing hilt. If he had known that was the case, he wouldn't have picked it up.
Using spiritual weapons on people was strictly forbidden, as they could shatter one's spiritual flow, leaving them no better than common folk.
The burly man dropped the kid to the ground with a sickening crack, heading straight for the disciple.
"Run—! Run away!" the boy yelled between coughs. "He wants the sword! Don't let him near!"
Marshall's eyes bounced between the kid and the threatening figure. Whose sword exactly was it? The boy was too young to wield a spiritual weapon, but the man looked too menacing for it to be his.
The sight of the man's bulging veins sent a shiver down his spine. Heavy steps thumped on the cobblestone and a heavy fist swung at Marshall.
"Woah, hey!"
Marshall stepped back, his mind spinning for solutions. Then he saw the boy crawling up to the man from behind.
"What are you doing?" he hissed, ducking as the man threw another punch at him.
The boy waited until the man missed, then lunged forward and wrapped his arms around the muscular legs. He pulled them together with full force, and the large guy lost his balance. A painful thud reverberated through the alley as the man hit the ground.
Marshall winced at the sound, then quickly sheathed the sword before pulling the kid up.
"Oh, hey, smart thi—" he started, but the boy swiftly yanked him towards the exit.
"Run before he gets up!"
Marshall stumbled, the sword's hilt digging painfully into his palm. They bolted out of the alley and down the street.
He kept stealing puzzled glances at the speedy kid. Just how had he gotten his hands on such a sword?
"Ack!"
A powerful grip tugged Marshall backwards. His legs would have flown over his head if the burly man's grip hadn't trapped him in place.
Marshall heart rate picked up as he struggled to pull away, keeping the sword out of the man's reach.
"Slit his neck!" the boy shouted, his wild suggestion echoing through the streets.
Shocked, disgusted and confused gazes of the late night pedestrians turned to them.
Marshall's jaw dropped. "Are you trying to get me arrested?!"
The thought of being trapped in a dark cell with no fresh air sent shivers down his spine. Driven by the need to keep his freedom, Marshall spun around and threw his elbow into the man's neck.
The burly man stumbled a few steps back, covering his neck with a scowl while the two bolted off.
"Here, here!" the boy urged, running into the nearby forest.
They ducked behind overgrowth, crouching deep within the bushes. Quiet pants filled the silence as they hid.
Having fallen behind, the man had become enraged, almost foaming at the mouth. The heavy steps thundered down the street, his head turning left and right. In the end, he passed the woods and ran off in the wrong direction.
Marshall exhaled, sitting back in relief.
That walking closet of a man hadn't even uttered a single word, but his presence was indescribably dark. And his strength and speed was unlike anything ordinary.
"Whew! I thought I was done for!" the boy fell back into a starfish pose.
He lifted his head to glance at Marshall, then turned over to see him better. "You look like a disciple, but I don't think I've seen you on Avidity Premises before."
"I was away for two years," Marshall replied, observing the sword, "got back from Liangdu two days ago."
The intricate engravings on the sheath suggested that it was not only a spiritual sword, but an ancient one too, which made it all the more complicated. It had a soul on its own by then. Getting it off was going to be troublesome.
"So you're one of the Four Season Contest winners?" the boy asked. "What place did you take from one to ten?"
Marshall was too occupied trying to pull the sword off his hand to hear the question. He tried to twist it, shake it, but nothing worked.
"Why's this thing...?" a chuckle left him.
The situation was absurd. It wasn't funny at the moment, but it was going to be a hilarious story once it was over, so he put up with it.
"It's not a 'thing', the sword's name is Cheimon. It recognizes only my brother as its master, so..." the boy swatted his hand away.
"...don't pull it. You'll only anger it."
Marshall shook Cheimon with a scoff. "Anger it? I'm the one who should be angry. It's trying to bite my hand off!"
The sword must not have appreciated being shaken because it flashed with blinding light, shooting another frigid wave into Marshall's palm.
He jumped in pain. "Agh! Hey, kid!"
The boy introduced himself, "Muyang."
"Muyang! Where's your brother?"
"In the Northern Snow Forest."
Marshall's eyebrows jumped up to his hairline in bewilderment. "You're kidding. The forbidden forest?"
Before he could even think about it, another attack of intense frost snapped through his veins, forcing him to the ground.
Marshall swallowed a string of curses, kneeling over the damp moss. The dew soaking through his pants felt warm in comparison to the sword's cold.
"No, no, get up!" Muyang latched onto his shirt, trying to pull him up. "The spiritual frost will spread! We have to go now!"
"And what happens if it spreads?" Marshall asked, his breath rolling out in frosty clouds.
"Err... you freeze."
"To death?"
"Well... yes."
"Hah." Marshall pushed himself up with a dry chuckle. "At least if I died, I would make a pretty ice sculpture."
Muyang stared at Marshall for a moment, then hesitantly remarked, "Err, just so you know, my brother's not a friendly guy, so don't joke around him. When he gets mad, it's really bad."
"Why, would he kill a guy?" Marshall quipped.
"Uh… usually not," Muyang murmured, scratching the back of his head.