Chapter 8: A Gathering Storm
Wen's grotesque form hurtled through the air, his body twisting unnaturally from the force of the strike. His arms flailed for a moment, his claws desperately scraping against the air as if trying to grab hold of something. The momentum carried him backward, and he smashed into the stone wall of the training grounds with an earth-shaking crash. Dust and fragments of stone exploded outward from the impact, and for a moment, Wen's distorted figure lay slumped against the cracked wall, motionless.
Jian gasped for breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The gory battle had taken its toll. His arms felt like lead, trembling as they barely managed to keep his sword aloft. His vision swam, sweat dripping into his eyes, stinging them, but he forced himself to keep his focus on Wen's unmoving form. Was it over?
Liang, too, was panting heavily, his hand clutching the hilt of his sword, ready to strike if necessary. His body was battered and bruised, the blood from earlier wounds seeping through the torn fabric of his robe. The tension in the air was palpable, thick with the weight of uncertainty.
They both staggered to their feet, their eyes locked on the still figure of Wen. The monstrous energy that had surrounded him earlier seemed to have dissipated, leaving behind only the eerie silence of the aftermath. But neither Liang nor Jian dared to relax. They knew better than to trust the stillness of a cursed being.
Slowly, Jian turned his head, his vision narrowing toward the entrance of the training grounds. The faint sound of footsteps, almost imperceptible over the noise of his pounding heart, caught his attention. As he blinked away the sweat clouding his sight, the haze cleared, revealing a figure stepping into the light.
Elder Mu.
The elder's long robes swayed gently in the breeze as he moved with a calm, measured grace. His sharp, dark eyes scanned the scene before him, taking in the destruction of the training grounds, the battered forms of his disciples, and the grotesque creature slumped against the wall. Behind him, a crowd of disciples gathered, their expressions torn between awe and fear as they lingered near the entrance.
The tension in the air remained thick as Elder Mu approached. His expression was unreadable, but there was a palpable power in his every movement, as though he carried the weight of centuries of experience on his shoulders. Without saying a word, he knelt down briefly, his fingers brushing the disturbed earth of the training ground, and his eyes flickered briefly toward the broken body of Wen.
There was no surprise in his gaze, only the calm acceptance of someone who had seen far too much of the world's darkness. Elder Mu finally stood, his face turned to the crumpled remains of Wen's former self. "It seems the Arcane Blight has touched even those within our walls," he murmured, his voice low but cutting through the stillness like a blade.
Jian and Liang both staggered forward, their relief tempered by exhaustion. They exchanged a glance, their thoughts in sync, though neither had the strength to voice them. When Jian's gaze returned to Elder Mu, he swallowed hard, the question forming in his mind before it left his lips. "Elder... will you kill him?" His voice was rough, cracked with fatigue, but filled with the quiet desperation of someone who had to know.
Elder Mu did not turn to face him. Instead, he stood in contemplative silence for a moment longer, staring at the twisted remains of the disciple who had once been Wen. When he finally spoke, his voice was resolute, a cold finality edging each word. "Yes," he said simply. "Wen is no longer human. He has lost everything that made him one of us. Keeping him alive, hoping to turn him back, would only result in more casualties."
The words hit Jian harder than any blade could have. His legs wobbled slightly beneath him as the weight of Elder Mu's statement settled over him like a heavy cloak. He had known the truth, of course, but hearing it spoken aloud felt like an irreversible condemnation. Wen was gone, consumed by the blight, and whatever remained was no longer salvageable.
Liang, too, remained silent, though his clenched fists trembled. He had fought Wen fiercely, knowing this was the inevitable conclusion, but the reality still left a bitter taste in his mouth. The disciples who had rushed forward to tend to them carefully wrapped their wounds in silence, their eyes flickering nervously between the elders and the crumbled remains of Wen.
"Prepare his body for disposal," Elder Mu commanded. "And double the patrols tonight. We cannot risk another incident like this. The Arcane Blight is spreading, faster than we anticipated."
With a sharp nod, the disciples began to move, whispering orders and hurriedly gathering the necessary tools to take Wen away. Jian, now barely able to stand, was led away by a junior disciple. The adrenaline that had kept him upright for so long was finally fading, and with it came the crushing exhaustion of both mind and body. His mind spun with the events that had unfolded, and as he was led away, he couldn't shake the thought that kept pressing into his consciousness.
"It was the Arcane Blight... wasn't it?" he muttered weakly, more to himself than anyone else.
Elder Mu, hearing the question, offered no reply. His gaze remained fixed on Wen's distorted form as if studying the remnants of the man once known as a brother within the sect. Without another word, he turned, his flowing robes swaying with each step as he left the training grounds.
Morning sunlight filtered through the heavy wooden shutters of the meeting hall, casting long rays of light across the polished stone floor. The room was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of robes or the low murmur of voices. Seated in a circle were the elders of the Celestial Blade Sect, their faces set with grim determination. At the center stood Elder Mu, his expression as steely as ever.
Liang, though bandaged and still recovering from the ordeal, was seated beside them, his face pale but resolute. Jian sat to his right, the exhaustion from the previous night still etched into the lines of his face. The air in the room was heavy, laden with unspoken concerns that clung to each word.
"We've encountered the Arcane Blight before," one of the older elders began, his voice gravelly with age. "But never this severe. This time, it reached one of our own."
Elder Mu stood in the center of the gathering, his eyes closed in thought before he finally spoke. "The blight is spreading faster than we anticipated. What happened last night was only the beginning. If we do not take action, it will consume us all."
Liang's voice, though weary, broke through the murmurings of the other elders. "There's something else." All eyes turned to him. "Wen... he didn't just fall to the Blight. He used magic. Runic arts—the kind only Runeseekers are known to use."
The revelation was met with stunned silence. Runeseekers were rare, elusive figures, wielding ancient magics that few understood. That one of their own could wield such power sent a ripple of shock through the gathered elders.
Elder Mu's eyes narrowed. "Runic arts? From Wen? This changes everything."
One of the elder council members leaned forward, his face grim. "If Wen possessed such power, there may be others among us. We must consider our next move carefully."
"We must inform the sect leader," another elder said, his voice tight with urgency. "This is beyond what we can handle."
The room grew still at the mention of the sect leader. The elder was a revered figure, but rarely seen. His time was spent in deep meditation atop the towering peak of the Divine Summit, far removed from the daily affairs of the sect. Yet, the gravity of the situation demanded his presence.
Elder Mu sighed. "The sect leader has chosen to remain in seclusion for years. But I fear the world is changing faster than we anticipated. We may have no choice but to call upon him now."
Far above, atop the Divine Summit, the sect leader sat in meditation, his form still as stone. The summit was a sacred place, its air thick with ancient energies that hummed in the wind. The peak itself was treacherous to reach, carved from jagged cliffs and blanketed by perpetual clouds. It was said that the very air here vibrated with the echoes of the past, the whispers of ancient masters long forgotten.
The sect leader's eyes remained closed, his body as still as the mountain itself. Yet his mind stirred, sensing the ripples in the world far below. The winds had changed. Dark energies moved through the land, and the balance was tipping.
His eyes slowly opened, revealing a deep, contemplative gaze that stared out over the vast horizon. "The winds carry whispers of change," he murmured to himself. "The world is shifting... and soon, the blade that protects us will be tested."
The sect leader rose to his feet, his robe flowing in the cold, thin air. The time for meditation was coming to an end. The world was on the cusp of something greater, and the storm that had been brewing for so long was finally about to break.