The Rising Stone Sect was perched atop a series of rugged cliffs, its architecture carved into the very rock as if molded by the mountain itself. Towering stone pillars lined the pathways, their surfaces etched with ancient inscriptions that pulsed faintly with residual energy.
Waterfalls cascaded down the cliffsides, feeding into crystalline pools that reflected the sunlight like scattered gems. Disciples in deep-gray robes moved with disciplined precision, their presence orderly, their conversations hushed.
At the sect's entrance, two guards stood in disciplined stance, their spears crossed to block Kazel's path.
"Halt," one of them commanded. "State your name and purpose."
Kazel didn't stop walking. His hands remained tucked in his pockets as he stepped forward, his posture relaxed yet carrying an unmistakable weight.
One guard's grip on his spear tightened. "I said halt."
Kazel lifted his gaze, his piercing blue eyes locking onto the man's.
"I am Kazel." His voice was steady, his smirk unwavering. "And I've come to see what was thrown away."
"Kazel?" the guards looked at each other before pulling their spears straight.
"So you're Kazel, the fiancé of Salma," one of them said.
"Ex-fiancé," the other guard chuckled. "Better run back, kid, or else you'll experience a broken heart."
Kazel snorted, "Don't be so sure," he smirked as he entered the training ground.
The guards scoffed but didn't move to stop him. They exchanged glances, amused yet curious, before returning to their posts.
Kazel walked through the sect's entrance, his pace unhurried but deliberate. The training ground stretched wide before him, a vast open courtyard of polished stone. Rows of disciples were practicing in disciplined formation, their movements sharp and precise. The rhythmic clash of weapons echoed through the air, accompanied by the occasional bark of an instructor correcting a stance or issuing a command.
Some of the disciples noticed him, their gazes shifting toward the lone figure who strolled in without hesitation. Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"Is that… Kazel?" "The sickly one?" "He doesn't look sick now." "Why is he even here?"
Kazel smirked, his sharp blue eyes scanning the grounds. The Rising Stone Sect had cast him aside without a second thought, and yet, here they were—gawking at him like he was an unexpected storm rolling in.
( Good. ) he thought. ( Let them watch. )
His gaze finally settled on the one person he was here to see.
Salma.
Salma remained unmoved, a picture of serene focus amid the bustling training grounds. The steady rise and fall of her chest mirrored the controlled rhythm of her cultivation, each breath drawing in the essence of the world around her. The very air seemed to respond to her presence, strands of spiritual energy curling toward her skin like invisible threads being woven into her form.
Her beauty was undeniable—not in an ostentatious way, but in the quiet, effortless grace she exuded. Her skin, kissed by the sun yet smooth as jade, held a natural radiance. Her dark lashes rested against her cheeks, concealing the sharp intelligence that lurked beneath. Even in stillness, she commanded the space around her, as if the sect itself revolved in her orbit.
The other disciples stole occasional glances at her, some with admiration, others with envy. She was the Rising Stone Sect's shining gem—their prodigy, their pride. It was no wonder she had discarded a frail, sickly fiancé without hesitation.
Kazel tilted his head slightly, his sharp blue eyes tracing her form.
( She doesn't even acknowledge me. ) he mused, watching the faint ripple of energy around her body.
But there was no anger in his gaze, no bitterness in his smirk. If anything, there was amusement.
( How interesting. )
He took a step forward, his footfall light against the stone courtyard. The murmurs around him grew louder, the whispers now carrying excitement. Some disciples eyed him with curiosity, others with thinly veiled disdain.
"What's he planning?" "He shouldn't disturb her cultivation." "Does he really think he still has a place here?"
Kazel ignored them all. He had never been one for meaningless chatter. Instead, he simply strode toward Salma, the confidence in his steps unshaken.
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd as the manifestation of the one-tailed fox loomed over Kazel, its spectral form shifting like mist yet exuding an undeniable presence. The beast's crimson eyes glowed with an eerie light, locked onto him with predatory intent. Its tail swayed like curling smoke, the air around it thick with spiritual energy.
Most disciples took a step back in reverence, their breaths held in their throats. It was rare to see a spirit beast manifest so clearly during cultivation—proof of Salma's deep connection to it. Yet, as awe and admiration filled the eyes of the onlookers, Kazel's own gaze darkened with something else entirely.
( I'm not seeing things, am I? A fox? )
He frowned, his expression unreadable, but the lack of fear in his body language was undeniable. In front of the fog-like beast, he remained utterly still, utterly unimpressed.
"That's the spirit beast, the one-tailed fox!" someone whispered in amazement. "Damn, I heard the rumors, but to actually witness it is something else."
The fox let out a guttural growl, its vaporous form pressing forward as if to test Kazel's resolve. Its fangs shimmered, its presence alone enough to make weaker cultivators tremble. Yet, Kazel merely sighed.
"You are… Kazel?" a middle-aged voice called out from the side.
A senior disciple? An elder? Kazel didn't care. His gaze never left Salma. The fox was just a distraction, an empty threat trying to establish dominance.
Without a word, he walked closer and dropped into a cross-legged position right in front of Salma, meeting the beast's glare with absolute indifference. The fox bared its fangs, but not even a single twitch crossed Kazel's face.
The crowd watched in stunned silence.
Was he insane? Or was he simply… that confident?
"Kazel, you need to stop disturbing her cultivation," the man repeated, his voice firmer this time. "Your history with her is over."
A murmur spread among the watching disciples, some nodding in agreement while others simply observed, curious to see how this confrontation would unfold.
Kazel tilted his head slightly, as if considering the words. Then, without warning, he stood, turning his back on the fox without a second thought. His blue eyes, sharp as a blade's edge, locked onto the middle-aged man.
"Perhaps," he said, his voice calm, unreadable. Then, his expression shifted into something colder, more commanding. "However, who are you to meddle with my business?"
The crowd collectively held their breath. The man before Kazel stiffened, clearly taken aback. No one spoke to him like that—especially not someone of Kazel's former standing.
Some disciples exchanged glances.
"Did he just—" "He did." "But that's Elder Faiz…"
Elder Faiz narrowed his eyes, recovering from the initial shock. His brows furrowed in both irritation and confusion. "I am an elder of this sect. Watch your tone, boy."
Kazel smirked, taking a step forward. "Then act like one."
The crowd gasped. Some disciples instinctively took a step back, sensing the shift in atmosphere.
Elder Faiz's expression darkened. "You—"
But before he could finish, Kazel turned away, already losing interest in the conversation. His gaze flickered back to Salma, still deep in cultivation, completely unaffected by the commotion.
( Not even a single twitch. Hah, interesting. )
The fox's crimson eyes followed him, still baring its fangs.
But Kazel? He simply walked past it as if it were nothing but mist.
The fox's form dissipated into a wisp of fog with a long exhale from Salma, vanishing as if it had never existed. The moment lingered in the air before she opened her eyes, their sharp clarity settling on Kazel as though his presence was nothing more than a passing breeze.
"I've heard that you've been cured, Kazel." Her voice was calm, detached. "It seems the news is true."
Kazel smirked. "And yet, you didn't even spare a second to visit."
Salma's brows lifted slightly—a reaction so small, yet telling. This was not the Kazel she had known. The Kazel of before was timid, soft-spoken, resigned to the fate his illness had given him. But now…
She studied him for a brief moment before responding, "I'm sorry. I was too busy cultivating." Without another word, she stood, turned away, and made her way toward the sect's inner grounds.
"Just like that?" Kazel's voice carried across the murmuring disciples.
Salma paused for a second but did not look back. Then, with the same cold indifference, she continued walking.
A sharp scoff came from Elder Faiz. "Don't get ahead of yourself, boy! She is already arranged to another—a much more powerful cultivator than you! A man of influence!"
At the mention of a name, the murmurs among the students grew louder.
"Yuanggai? That Yuanggai?" "The prodigy from the Jade Lotus Sect?!" "He's leagues above someone like Kazel." "How pitiful…"
Kazel's expression remained unreadable, but his fingers twitched at his side. His gaze flickered toward Salma one last time, but she made no effort to acknowledge him.
( I see. So that's how it is. )
Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, his posture straight, his head held high.
Behind him, laughter and whispers followed.
"What a joke." "Did he really think she'd wait for him?" "Pathetic."
But then Kazel stopped.
He slowly glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes like ice.
"Listen, Faiz," his voice was quiet, yet it sliced through the air like a blade. "I don't tolerate humiliation."
The training grounds fell silent.
Even Elder Faiz hesitated, his breath hitching. The weight of those words, the way Kazel carried himself—there was something unsettling about it.
Kazel turned back around and walked away, leaving them all frozen in place, stunned.