Chapter 14: Veins of Fire, Roots of Stone
The dawn of the third day arrived like a clenched fist—tense, heavy, and waiting to strike.
Only twenty disciples remained in the tournament now, their names spoken with growing awe and envy throughout the Iron Banner Sect. But among them, silence surrounded one name in particular: "Jiang Wei".
The outcast from a forgotten village. The one who had no clan, no prestige, no legacy—only grit, strange timing, and quiet intensity. And yet, here he was, still standing.
Jiang Wei stood in the small training square behind the dormitory, shadow-boxing with eyes half-closed, searching for that perfect rhythm where breath and blade met. Every motion drew on the energy that now gently rotated within his dantian—it was no longer a spark but a glowing ember. A single spirit stone's worth of qi, cultivated slowly and carefully. Cautious, but real.
The pebble on his wrist fed that energy. Where once it only warmed, now it hummed. And within his mind, a quiet stirring had begun.
Last night, he'd dreamt again.
This time of a scorched world, covered in ash. Black banners fluttered across broken heavens. And at the edge of a bleeding cliff stood a massive figure in tattered robes, face hidden beneath a shattered golden crown. When Jiang Wei reached out to touch the throne beside it, the vision vanished. But the voice remained, a whisper drawn from beyond time:
"You are not ready to wear it… but you have begun to stand."
He shook off the memory. A call to gather sounded across the courtyard. He fastened his robes and stepped into the light.
The final matches before the semifinals were being held on the Inner Sect's eastern dueling platform—an honor in itself. When Jiang Wei arrived, the terrace buzzed with an entirely different kind of tension. No longer was the crowd filled with hopeful peers. Now, inner disciples lined the edges, cloaked in pristine robes, eyes narrowed with interest or indifference. Masters and elders took seats along the covered balcony. Even the Sect Master, an ancient man with hair as white as frost and eyes like frozen lakes, had taken his place in the highest seat.
"See that?" Yao Ping murmured beside him, leaning slightly. "They don't often come this early... Looks like you stirred their interest."
Jiang Wei said nothing, but inside, he felt it too—a coil of pressure curling low in his gut.
Ming Xue approached from the opposite side of the field, nodding once at him. Twelve others remained besides them. Warriors. Geniuses. Survivors.
Wen called down their names, and matchups appeared on a floating jade tablet carried by a formation array. A hush fell as the names glowed, one by one.
Match One: Jiang Wei vs. Lei Kun.
Whispers swept through the crowd.
*Lei Kun*, the steel prodigy of the Thunder Iron Clan. He had crushed his past opponents with brutal swiftness, never giving quarter, never using more force than necessary—but always enough to make them yield.
He was already stepping into the ring, bronze gauntlets gleaming, his aura jagged with thunder chakra.
"You're the quiet one," Lei Kun said as Jiang Wei entered. "No clan. No sect fame. No techniques anyone's ever heard of."
Jiang Wei remained calm, hands at his side. "Had to survive without all of that."
"Mm." Lei Kun raised his fists. "Let's see how long that lasts."
Elder Hui's voice rang clear across the platform. "Begin."
It was like stepping into a storm.
Lei Kun surged forward, fists moving like battering rams, coated in flickering arcs of lightning qi. Jiang Wei barely dodged the first blow; the second grazed his shoulder, burning through his robes.
Pain surged, but not panic. His instincts surged with it, sharpened by countless drills and something more—something ancient.
He shifted low, blade flicking up in a narrow arc. Lei Kun blocked with a clang of metal, but staggered slightly—surprised by the precision.
Jiang Wei knew he couldn't match his opponent's raw strength. So he didn't try.
He danced on the edge of momentum, absorbing impact, redirecting energy, and answering with flows that felt too natural to be rote technique.
Then, without warning, his dantian pulsed—and for an instant, his spirit qi surged like fire through his limbs.
Flames licked the edge of his blade. Not real fire—but *qi*, dense and suffused with power he had never actively drawn.
Lei Kun saw the change, squinted—and came harder.
The crowd roared as steel fists met burning aura. Two strikes. Three. Jiang Wei slipped through the fourth and countered with a palm to the ribs, enhanced by that strange surge.
**Boom.**
Lei Kun slid back five paces and stopped, coughing.
Elder Hui raised his hand. "That's enough. Winner: Jiang Wei!"
Gasps. Silence. Then, thunderous cheer.
Lei Kun stood, grimacing. Then—to the shock of many—he extended a hand. "You're not just lucky, are you?"
Jiang Wei looked him in the eye—and shook it. "Not anymore."
As they left the stage, Jiang Wei felt eyes trailing behind him—elders murmuring, inner disciples suddenly very interested.
And in the sky, dark clouds stirred above the mountains.
Change was coming.
And Jiang Wei was no longer walking in the shadow of fate.
He was beginning to cast his own.