The wind stills.
The sky hushes.
Two auras hang suspended—like blades drawn, yet not swung.
Dina lifts one hand, palm open, posture relaxed.
"You can begin," she says—not mocking, not arrogant, simply certain.
Silan doesn't take it as an insult.
A Saint suppressing her realm was already mercy.
Realm could be lowered—
But comprehension could never be undone.
And Dina's Dao was old, refined, terrifyingly complete.
Silan breathes once.
Cold breath.
Steady breath.
Then—she moves.
Her qi surges.
Frost condenses along her arms—crystallising into a sharp lattice of formation-tuned runes.
With a sharp twist of her hand—
ICE ARROWS FORM.
Not simple arrows of cold, but attacks made from layered Dao:
Frozen Stillness*
Edge of Winter*
Resentment Fang*
Dozens become hundreds—
then thousands—
a storm of glittering death revolving around her.
She points skyward.
The swarm of arrows erupts forward with a sound like breaking glass.
---
Dina watches with calm eyes.
Not impressed.
Not dismissive.
Simply assessing.
She lifts her fingers and taps twice in the air.
Tap. Tap.
Her energy ripples outward, and—
they appear.
Small at first—barely visible—
insects.
Not ordinary creatures, but constructs of Dao and bloodline—semi-corporal, semi-ethereal, each with a faint demonic-lattice pattern running under their shell.
Some crawl.
Some hover.
Some chitter with anticipation.
A tide.
No—
a hive.
The first wave of ice arrows meets the insects—and instead of exploding—
They are eaten.
Tiny mouths open, devouring the arrows like sugar crystals.
The sky fills with faint cracking sounds—
click click click click click—
As frost becomes fuel.
Dina's lips curve slightly.
"Our clan does not specialise in cold or flame alone," she murmurs.
"We master transformation."
One insect swallows an arrow whole—
then swells—
glowing—
twitching—
until with a sharp pulse—
It detonates.
A chain reaction follows.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Explosions ripple across the battlefield—like firecrackers shattering the air—but instead of flame, each blast releases shockwaves of neutralising Dao, swallowing and erasing energy.
Silan reacts instantly.
She shifts her stance—drawing the cold of the world to her spine.
Her eyes sharpen.
Another wave of arrows forms—
But different now.
Heavier.
Sharper.
Filled with controlled malice.
Resentment gathers like storm clouds.
She thrusts her hand—
And the arrows spiral like a blizzard of despair.
Dina doesn't flinch.
Instead—
She steps forward.
Her shadow splits, widening beneath her feet as if the void itself opens.
From it emerges another swarm—this one larger, faster, feeding on her Dao like it is a living organism.
The insects collide with the arrows midair—
And the sky becomes chaos.
Ice shatters.
Bodies burst.
Energy devours energy.
The shockwaves ripple across the heavens, tearing thin scars in space.
Below, Mengui clenches her fists, whispering through gritted teeth:
"Mother… win."
Up above, the battle escalates—
And neither combatant has yet taken a step back.
Silan's eyes narrow.
Dina's gaze remains calm—steady as a frozen lake, unreadable as a sealed tomb.
The sky trembles under the echoes of their first exchange.
The real battle has only just begun.
She exhales.
Ice crystallises around her ankles, climbing her calves like frost claiming stone.
She has already confirmed it:
Pure elemental techniques won't win.
Not against someone whose Dao sits closer to perfection.
Not against a Saint… even a suppressed one.
Her fingers tighten—then slowly unfold.
Qi spirals into her palm.
Not cold.
Not heat.
A fusion.
Ice and flame twine together—forming a blade of flickering paradox.
A sword born of two contradictions—
a replica of the Icefire Sword.
Not metal.
A Dao construct—forged from insight alone.
The temperature shifts violently.
Wind freezes—then ignites—then freezes again.
Dina's brows lift a fraction.
"Interesting."
Silan moves.
The replica sword becomes a blur, slicing the sky.
Sword qi erupts—
But not like before.
This time:
* The edges burn like molten sunfire.
* The core freezes space like the heart of winter.
* The Dao pattern spirals like the original Supreme script.
Each strike lands with explosive precision, and every wave of sword qi tears through air and insect alike—
Icefire Sword Intent.
Dina reacts—not with fear, but with sharpened attention.
She snaps her fingers—
And the insect swarms change.
No longer mindless devourers—
They morph.
Some harden into crystalline armour, blocking sword qi like shields.
Others melt into liquid ether and slip past attacks unharmed, reforming behind the blast.
A third type sprouts wings streaked with ghostly lines—cutting the sword qi midair.
Silan does not stop.
She swings again—
Twin Crescents Slash.
Two arcs—one ice, one flame—spiral like mirrored moons and crash against Dina's defences.
The insects scatter, bodies cracking and dissolving—
But more pour forth, evolving mid-flight.
Each sword move Silan unleashes is immediately analysed—countered—and neutralised.
Dina steps once across the void.
Her voice is steady.
"You've already begun shaping the first layer of Sword Will. That's rare."
Silan responds with action—not words.
She thrusts the sword forward—
Icefire Spiral Thrust.
A spear-like drill of rotating dual Dao tears directly toward Dina, ripping apart dozens of defensive insects.
For the first time, Dina raises her hand.
Not to block—
But to guide.
She forms a seal—smooth, practised, ancient.
A circle blooms in her palm.
Transformation Dao: Reversal Pattern.
When Silan's attack touches the sigil—
The energy twists.
Flame becomes frost.
Frost becomes flame.
The momentum fractures.
The sword qi collapses into harmless sparks.
Silan's eyes narrow.
Dina lowers her hand.
"You're strong," she says simply. "But you're missing one thing."
Silan doesn't ask what.
Her replica sword trembles—not from instability, but from purpose.
Her killing intent sharpens.
Dina smiles—not cruelly, but with the calm certainty of someone who already sees the ending.
"You are talented. But you've never tasted the true resources of our clan. Surrender now, Silan. I'll give you the right to challenge me again… later."
She doesn't say it as mercy.
She says it as inevitability.
Then her Dao surges.
Behind her, a colossal insect manifests—its chitin shimmering with four elemental lines carved into its body. Fire. Ice. Stone. Wind.
It screeches.
The swarm around her answers.
A tidal wave of sound—raw, vibrating destruction—erupts toward Silan.
Silan's Dao is only in the nascent stage. She cannot manifest a projection like Dina.
But that doesn't mean she is defenceless.
She raises the replica sword.
It dissolves into a white flame—yet icy cold.
The air freezes.
A towering wall of white ice crystallises in front of her—
—just as the sound wave hits.
The ice shatters like exploding glass.
The force reaches her—dampened but still brutal.
Her body doesn't bleed on the outside, but her organs tremble.
A thin line of blood crawls from the corner of her lips.
Above, Dina's Dao projection bursts into countless motes of light.
They scatter like stars—
—then fuse into her insect swarm.
The change is immediate.
The creatures double in size, bodies evolving in grotesque refinement:
* Some ignite into flaming scarabs.
* Some grow ice armour thicker than steel.
* Others turn entirely to living stone.
* Others sprout razor wind-wings capable of slicing space.
Silan watches—expression steady, but her pulse cold.
With her current method, she cannot overpower Dina.
She stands at a crossroads.
One path leads to certain defeat.
The other—
—to something worse.
A silent thought cuts through her mind:
Losing to Merin never broke me.
But losing the Icefire Sword… that would shatter everything.
Resolve sharpens.
She takes the second path.
She activates the Resentment Battle Body.
A violent surge explodes from her core—black, corrosive, ancient.
Resentment—pure and boundless—erupts from her body like a living storm.
Dina halts—not out of fear, but surprise.
Her eyes narrow with interest.
She expected Silan to resist.
Not evolve.
Curious, she extends her spiritual sense to analyse the transformation.
But the moment her spirit touches the black aura—
—She freezes.
Dina's confident expression stiffens—only slightly, but enough to reveal the first crack in her certainty.
Black energy coils around Silan like smoke rising from a corpse.
It isn't merely an aura.
It isn't merely killing intent.
It is emotion made law.
Hatred given shape.
Resentment given voice.
Pain given purpose.
Dina's spirit sense brushes that darkness—and recoils.
Her pupils contract.
Memories she locked away—buried—forgotten—surge like a flood:
A father calling her a failure.
A brother was taking everything meant for her.
A clan praising her only when she bled.
A lifetime of smiling while swallowing poison.
The insects around her twitch.
Some freeze midair.
Some tremble.
Some… crumble.
The perfect formation begins to drift off rhythm.
She snaps her fingers—trying to steady them—
But the corruption spreads deeper.
Her breath grows sharp.
Her jaw tightens—tension rippling through her perfect composure.
Across from her, Silan gathers strength to strike again—
—but suddenly she stops.
A flood of resentment energy surges into her body.
Not vast in quantity—but unbearably pure, dense enough to pierce her marrow and soul.
It does not push her across the final threshold of the technique—
—but it changes everything.
More runes form.
One.
Then another.
Then dozens—each sharper, clearer, heavier with meaning than the last.
They multiply, overlap, and harmonise until the air around her vibrates with invisible pressure.
And then—
A final rune forms.
The moment it appears, all the others tremble.
Every rune converges, rushing toward her spirit sea.
Inside her mind, they collide and orbit—like fragments of a shattered star beginning to reform.
She channels everything she's learned—every scar, every injustice, every buried scream—and applies it to the runes.
Slowly—
Each rune shifts.
Refines.
Interlocks.
They no longer act individually—they become structured.
---
Outside, her physical body begins to change.
Her blood warms—
—then burns.
It transitions from scarlet to molten gold, flowing through her veins like a divine current.
Wherever it moves, glowing lines appear beneath her skin—fine, delicate patterns that resemble ancient scripture.
Knowledge blooms in her mind:
The Law of Blood.
Not taught.
Not inherited.
Instinctively remembered.
---
Her Dao manifests behind her—
An Icefire Lotus.
Petals like sword edges.
Cold flame and burning frost intertwining in impossible harmony.
And now—
Blood Dao.
Resentment Dao.
Icefire Dao.
All three respond to one another—first in conflict, then in resonance.
A deep hum fills the world.
The resentment runes complete their fusion—
—forming a single, radiant sigil.
It shines with a blinding golden brilliance.
And then—
BOOM.
A Saint-level aura erupts from her body, roaring into the sky.
Space trembles.
The clouds tear open.
And every creature in the battlefield feels it—
A new Saint has been born.
END.