When Li Tianyin stepped through the split throat of the Dead Forge Gate, the wind outside did not greet him gently.
It hissed through cracked terraces and root-tangled walls, sweeping up centuries of ruin dust — a cold breath that sliced across his raw palms and hissed ember sparks from the forging fang clutched tight in his grip.
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Behind him, the forge ruin shivered under the hush of the Silent Dao Bell's echo — its hidden veins forever cracked open by a child's flaw that should never have lived.
Before him stretched the Outer Wild — a broken land of half-buried sect bones, drifting spirit storms, and iron-laced beasts that devoured root and ash alike.
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The pact pulsed warm behind his ribs — the forging fang's new marrow runes hissed tiny motes of ember flame through cracked bone.
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No elders here.
No ruin roof to cage the flaw's breath.
Only open dusk. Only prey.
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He limped across broken steps — each footstep striking faint rune hums from ancient forging stones buried under moss and cold vine.
The wind carried old scents — crushed slag flowers, drifting spirit spores, the tang of iron beasts rutting in hidden burrows.
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In the East, black clouds tangled low — spirit storms rolling over the broken peak that once crowned the Wilting Dao Sect's outer wall.
Lightning hissed violet runes through storm veins — echoes of raw Heaven's breath trying to remember old laws.
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Tianyin's breath rattled — cold wind scraped cracked ribs raw, but the forging fang's ember hiss warmed marrow veins before the frost could bite deeper.
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Below the ruin's terraces, the wild split open into stepped root cliffs — spirit wood gnawed at broken stone veins, vines draped cracked forging pillars where old sect banners once fluttered.
Among the roots, prey rustled — iron-tailed burrow wolves, slag furred rabbits, spirit boars with stone tusks carved from ruin ore.
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The forge ghost whispered: Prey.
The wolf's echo bared phantom fangs behind bone: Hunt.
The forging fang pulsed: Bite.
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He stepped down the root cliffs — tiny feet slipping on cold moss, forging fang scraping stone as he braced each step.
A burrow wolf's growl drifted from the shadow hollow below — its slag tail rattled like rusted chain.
Eyes shimmered pale green behind bramble roots — echo veins faint as spirit mist.
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On Earth, a hungry stray dog once cornered him behind the scrap yard's chain-link fence — all ribs, teeth, frost breath.
He'd fed it copper wire scraps and half his bread — a pact of hunger and iron, sealed in bite marks on his palm.
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Here, no bread.
Only flaw.
Only fang.
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The burrow wolf lunged — slag tail whipping roots aside, spirit-tipped claws dragging runes through cold soil.
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Tianyin did not step back.
He braced — ribs cracked wider, forging fang's runes flickering white-hot along its crude edge.
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Tiny palm slammed the blade forward — iron teeth struck fur and scale.
Pain bit his wrist — claws raked bone.
Marrow flame howled — the pact's echo devoured the wolf's hiss before its throat could close.
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The forging fang's jagged edge drove deep — spirit marrow leaking hot across raw fingers.
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A snap. A hiss.
Roots split under the beast's last twitch — its echo slag swallowed by the forging fang's runes, binding new iron grit to its growing edge.
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Breath rattled.
Tiny chest heaved.
The pact purred: Feed.
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He pressed a palm to the beast's ruined throat — marrow flame hissed fresh runes along his forearm veins, fusing the prey's spirit iron into the forging fang's core.
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Above him, dusk clouds roared — the first spirit storm's violet lightning flickered between root spires, runes shivering down ruined cliff faces.
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A child with cracked ribs and a bone-forged blade knelt over fresh prey — dusk wind humming through roots and ruin stones.
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The flaw had crossed its first gate.
Heaven's wild would feed it now.
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End of Chapter 22
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