Morning fog curled across the sparring arena as young disciples lined up for the Elder's Weekly Assessment.
Among them, Zhang Hao nursed his bruised pride, determined to reclaim his glory.
His eyes locked onto Han Li, who, as always, swept leaves near the outer wall.
"I challenge the janitor!" Zhang Hao shouted, stepping forward.
Gasps followed. Challenges were sacred. Even to a janitor.
Elder Mu frowned. "He's not a disciple."
"He's still in the sect," Zhang Hao insisted. "He made me fall last week. Let's see if he's brave without tricks."
Han Li paused. "As you wish."
They took positions in the arena. Zhang Hao raised his gleaming spirit blade. Han Li only leaned on his broom.
With a snarl, Zhang Hao lunged. His blade carved through the air like thunder.
Han Li shifted one foot.
Tap.
The broom nudged the ground.
A wave of force burst outward.
Zhang Hao's blade exploded in mid-swing. He flew backward, hitting the arena wall with a groan.
Elder Mu stood abruptly. "What kind of technique—?!"
"Just cleaning," Han Li said, bowing slightly.
A still hush spread across the arena.
Some disciples bowed their heads. Others avoided his gaze.
Zhang Hao lay stunned, his confidence shattered.
Han Li turned back to his sweeping.
Far away, deep beneath an ancient mountain, a demon god's eye cracked open. It glowed red with panic.
"He… he walks again?"
The wind picked up around Han Li, whispering through the trees.
Even the dust feared him now.