Smoke still lingered over the ruins of Willow Root Pavilion. What was once a small but cherished herbal sanctuary had been reduced to scorched rubble. The air carried the bitter tang of burned bark and bloodroot, masking the unmistakable scent of poison.
Jayden stood amidst the ashes, fists clenched, heart pounding with rage. Master Yeng was gone—he had been more than an herbalist. He was one of the first to recognize Jayden's spiritual pulse and had helped him understand chi flow before anyone else.
Now all that remained was a dagger, a warning, and a name that dripped venom into his bones.
Venom Shroud Sect.
A martial group whispered about in the darker circles of the underground—experts in poison, silent kills, and forbidden arts. Even the older martial clans avoided them.
Jayden had heard of them. Now he had seen what they were capable of.
He wouldn't forget it.
He wouldn't forgive it.
Old Names, New Wounds
"Your reaction was expected," Damon Locke said as he walked out from the shadows of a half-toppled building. "They're baiting you."
Jayden didn't turn to face him. "Then they'll regret it."
"They always move two steps ahead," Damon continued. "Poisoners don't fight fair. You'll need more than anger and dragon chi to face them."
Jayden finally turned, his eyes colder than Damon had seen before.
"I have fire," he said. "And fire burns poison."
Damon gave a slow nod of approval. "Then it's time we test just how hot your flame really is."
Invitation by Death
Later that night, Jayden received a second message—this time delivered through unusual means. A hawk with emerald eyes crashed into his window, wings damaged and bleeding a dark, unnatural black.
In its talon was a scroll sealed in green wax.
Jayden pried it open. The calligraphy was elegant, yet sharp—each letter like a blade.
To the Dragon's Heir
We extend an invitation to the Poisoned Arena.
One life may be spared if one fight is won.
Bring your fire.
Lose, and we will extinguish every flame that remembers you.
At the bottom was an imprint of a viper wrapped around a lotus.
Jayden rolled the scroll and tossed it into his alchemical flame. "I'm coming," he muttered. "And I'm not coming to talk."
The Poisoned Arena
Located beneath the city in the deepest tunnels of the Wraith Bazaar, the Poisoned Arena was not known to most civilians. It was a place of silence—where applause was replaced with breathless tension, and every fight ended in blood.
Jayden arrived alone. He wore a simple black martial tunic, his hair tied back, god-tier flame sealed in the core of his palm.
He descended into the arena's central pit—a stone circle surrounded by masked spectators. The stench of toxic mists wafted through the air.
Across from him stood a cloaked figure—Seren, the youngest prodigy of the Venom Shroud. Known for her mastery of Whispering Needle Arts, she could paralyze chi flow with a single strike.
"I heard you're dangerous," Seren said, pulling a curved blade from her robe. "I hope the rumors are true. I like breaking things."
Jayden didn't speak. He simply stepped forward.
The gong sounded.
A Fight for the Flame
Seren moved first—faster than Jayden expected. Her steps were ghostlike, nearly silent, and before he could react, three small needles were already flying toward his throat.
He twisted, barely dodging the first. The second sliced across his shoulder. The third—he caught midair between two fingers.
Her eyes widened slightly.
Jayden crushed the needle.
"You'll need more than tricks."
He launched forward using Dragon Ripple Step, his chi surging to his palm. He didn't hold back. The Second Flame Palm ignited, a swirl of golden fire lashing out like a whip.
Seren threw up a mist barrier—a technique meant to disorient—but the flames parted the smoke like sunlight breaking fog.
She leapt back, flipping through the air, and rained a dozen needles downward. Jayden countered with a flame barrier, catching most of them. But one grazed his leg.
Instantly, he felt a burn in his bloodstream.
Poison.
Seren smirked. "Feeling that? It's called Widow's Sigh. You'll lose movement in five minutes."
Jayden didn't panic. He closed his eyes, activated his inner flame, and directed it toward the poisoned area.
He refined the toxin, using the same technique he'd honed with rare herbs—only now it was his own blood being purified.
The poison hissed, burned… and was gone.
Seren's smirk disappeared.
"You… refined it?"
Jayden stepped forward again.
"You forgot one thing," he said. "I'm not just a fighter. I'm an alchemist."
The Crushing Finish
With his chi burning brighter, Jayden unleashed a new technique—Phoenix Dragon Spiral, one of the god-tier moves he had cultivated from Master Quell's scroll. His arms drew a circle, and blazing chi spiraled outward like a wheel of fire.
Seren tried to leap away, but the chi locked onto her.
The attack struck, sending her flying into the arena wall. She crumpled, unconscious but breathing.
The crowd sat silent.
No cheers.
No movement.
Just the hiss of fading poison and the smell of burnt silk.
Jayden stood over her body and spoke to the watching eyes above.
"I'm not done. If you want war—bring the rest."
The Threat Escalates
As Jayden left the arena, another figure stood waiting.
A man dressed in flowing green robes with long silver hair. His skin was pale, eyes like sunken wells. He didn't introduce himself, but Jayden recognized him from an old painting in one of Master Yeng's scrolls.
Elder Zhen—one of the highest-ranking poison masters in the Venom Shroud Sect.
"I underestimated you," Zhen said, voice quiet but sharp. "That was my mistake."
Jayden didn't stop walking.
Zhen continued, matching his pace. "But you've only delayed the inevitable. Do you think your dragon blood will protect you forever?"
Jayden's response was simple.
"I don't need protection. I need targets."
And then he vanished into the smoke.
A Promise in the Wind
Back in his meditation chamber, Jayden crushed herbs with renewed fury. He refined a Second-Grade Chi Restoration Pill, then followed with a Third-Grade Flame Infusion Pill. Both glowed with perfection.
His fingers were steady now. His knowledge of the god-tier refining art had deepened through battle.
The next duels wouldn't be fought with fists alone.
He'd crush his enemies through both flame and formula.
As he sat in silence, the wind shifted outside. Leaves rustled, and the faint scent of sandalwood filled the room.
She had returned.
Lena.
The girl from the alley. The one who had kissed him once after a fight and disappeared without a word.
She stood in the doorway, now wearing the cloak of a Seeker, an elite courier of the lost clans.
"I heard you've been setting fire to old ghosts," she said, smiling.
Jayden stood.
"Not ghosts," he said. "Just people who forgot who I am."
She stepped forward and held up a sealed letter.
"It's time you remembered too," she whispered. "Your father left something behind."
Jayden stared at the seal—Dragon Crest, wrapped in blue fire.
The flame of his legacy… was only just beginning to burn.