The dueling ground, still scarred and scorched from countless clashes, wore an uneasy calm. Banners flapped listlessly in a wind that felt more like a breath held than a breeze. The day's matches had bled into one another — victories, collapses, the litany of broken bones and shattered reputations — until only two figures remained standing in any meaningful sense: Ling Xuanye and the shadow of the Black Mist, Hei Mu.
When the elders announced the next pairing — Hei Mu versus Tie Yuan — a murmur rippled through the stands. Many expected a savage showdown: earth against mist, brute force against unnatural precision.But what followed was a quiet anticlimax.
The Iron Vow Sect Master stepped forward, face drawn. With a reluctant bow, he spoke for all to hear.
"Tie Yuan cannot continue. His meridians are badly damaged. He is unfit to fight. He withdraws."
Gasps spread through the arena. Tie Yuan's name had been synonymous with brute dominance — now it dissolved into silence. The referee consulted the rulebook, murmured with the council, and finally announced the verdict:
"Tie Yuan is disqualified for failure to meet readiness standards. Hei Mu advances to the final."
The shadow within the mist barely stirred. Hei Mu inclined his head once, indifferent. Around him, whispers grew.Qingling's strength had cut through the field like thunder through fog. Names were crossed off lists — not from surrender, but because their bodies could no longer stand.
When the tally was complete, the chief elder stood again. His voice echoed across the ground:
"By rule and readiness, the final duel of this tournament shall be Ling Xuanye of Qingling Sect versus Hei Mu of Black Mist Academy.The match shall be held in this same arena two days hence."
The declaration rolled across the valley like a thunderclap. The crowd exhaled as one. What remained was no longer a festival — it was a reckoning waiting to happen.
The Sect Master's Summons
Xuanye was summoned to the private chamber of his father, Sect Master Lin Tianyan. The room smelled of sandalwood and ink; old scrolls hung in shadow, lit only by the trembling glow of a spirit lamp. Lin Tianyan stood pacing, robes whispering against the floor. His expression was a map of strain — equal parts anger, fear, and pride.
"Do you not understand what you've done?"His tone was calm, but sharp. "You turn the arena into a butcher's yard, and then you come to me as if nothing happened. You are my son — I will not see you soaked in blood. You are Qingling's heir. You must learn restraint."
Xuanye bowed deeply, saying nothing. His silence was respectful, but unyielding.
"There is danger in that fury," Lin went on. "You think vengeance makes you strong, but vengeance blinds faster than poison. I raised you for wisdom, not wrath."
Finally, Xuanye lifted his gaze. His voice was low, calm as still water.
"Father, I do not fight for bloodlust. I fight to protect what's mine. If I must hold the blade to end their cruelty, I will hold it."
"There are other paths."
"Perhaps," Xuanye murmured. "But the other paths require time… and time is what we no longer have."
Lin Tianyan's shoulders fell. For all his power, he looked like a man defeated by the limits of fatherhood.When Xuanye turned to leave, his mother waited in the outer corridor. Her touch on his arm stopped him, soft but firm.
"You are mine," she said, eyes glistening. "No matter what path you walk, I will do whatever it takes to bring you back — even if it costs everything."
For a moment, the storm inside him softened. He nodded once and left, the echo of her words following him into the night.
The Promise of the Night
In the infirmary, the smell of crushed herbs mingled with the faint glow of healing talismans. Su Feilí lay propped on silken pillows, her bandages still damp from spirit salve. She smiled when he entered, though pain lined her face.
"Rest," Xuanye said simply. "You shouldn't be speaking."
"You don't need to tell me," she rasped, trying to sound teasing. "But you should rest too. Revenge doesn't taste sweet when you're empty."
Xuanye smiled faintly. "I will win — for all of you."
He turned, letting his gaze fall on every friend present — Su Feilí's quiet strength, Huo Shan's wounded pride, Shui Lin's sharp resolve.
"For every wound you've taken, for every drop of our blood spilled — I'll answer it in kind."
No more words were needed. Their silence was an oath shared among those too tired to hope but too proud to surrender.