The rune pulsed. Charred lines glowed faint red, like embers coaxed back to life. The air turned foul—smoke mingled with musk, the rank odor of fur, saliva, and hunger.
Bushes trembled. From the treeline poured beasts: smaller than the serpent, but fast, savage. Direwolves with red eyes and skeletal frames. A boar-like brute, tusks dripping with black rot. Chittering monkeys with claws long as daggers.
Disciples froze. Some screamed. The ash-boys who had tried to blame Lin Xuan turned white and clutched their blades as if they might be talismans. Zhou Ren smiled thinly and stepped back into shadow, letting chaos blossom.
Masked assassins slid forward from the flanks, blades catching the blood-red light of dusk.
Three threats. One battlefield. And eyes—unseen but heavy—watching from afar.
"Formation!" Lin Xuan's voice rang—not shouted, but carried, cutting through panic like a chisel.
His circle moved without question. Chen Yu's sword gleamed. Li Mei stepped to his flank, calm as still water. Wu Ming whimpered, but his staff found the dirt and steadied.
Beasts lunged. Lin Xuan's spear flicked—one thrust skewered a wolf's eye, twist, withdraw. Another sweep knocked claws off course. He shifted step by step, feet tracing arcs that drew unseen circles into the ground.
But the numbers kept coming. Blood slicked dirt. Screams tore air. A disciple's head vanished in a wolf's jaws; another was trampled beneath the tusked boar.
The assassins moved closer, shadows threading between beasts, waiting for the chaos to bury their strike.
Lin Xuan saw it all. But his face stayed still, his breath steady.
Hold. Anchor. Let the world break itself first.
Wu Ming swung his staff wildly, managing—by sheer terror-fueled accident—to knock a monkey off another disciple's back. He blinked, then squeaked, "Senior Brother, I—I invented a new martial art! Flail of Absolute Terror!"
Li Mei snorted despite herself, her blade carving a wolf's throat. "Save your naming sense for later."
Wu Ming panted, eyes darting everywhere. "Later doesn't look like it's on the schedule!"
Lin Xuan didn't smile. But the corner of his lips tilted as he turned aside a tusk aimed for Wu Ming's ribs. "Hold the staff. Breathe. You'll live."
Steel whispered. From the shadows came the masked men, blades like snakes' tongues.
One lunged for Lin Xuan's back—parried with a half-turn, spear deflecting. Another swept low at Chen Yu—blocked with a boot. A third came for Wu Ming—Li Mei intercepted, her sword sparking off theirs.
But the assassins were skilled. Their movements precise, professional—not disciples, but hired blades. The sect's enemies, working under Zhou Ren's convenient shadow.
Lin Xuan's spear cut arcs, not to kill all, but to redirect, to buy space. But then—one assassin flicked a talisman. Chains of qi erupted, wrapping his spear, yanking it down.
A wolf lunged at that exact moment, fangs aimed for his throat.
Silver light split the dusk.
The wolf froze mid-air, eyes glazing. It dropped lifeless before its teeth closed.
At the edge of the battlefield stood a girl in pale robes, untouched by ash or blood. Her hair shimmered black-blue in moonlight. Her gaze, cool and clear, cut sharper than blades.
Yue Shuang.
Her hand traced a lazy arc in the air, and frost spread across the dirt. Wolves froze mid-step, their paws locked to earth by rime. The assassins faltered, their blades trembling as the very qi around them stiffened.
"Enough," she said softly.
The word carried more weight than a hundred orders. The beasts stilled. The assassins hesitated, eyes darting between quarry and her.
Even Zhou Ren's smile faltered.
Lin Xuan turned, spear still chained but grip unbroken. His eyes met Yue Shuang's across chaos.
She looked at him—not at his circle, not at the blood, not at Zhou Ren—but directly, steadily.
"You hold," she said, voice low enough only he seemed to hear. "Even in storms."
Her lips curved faintly, not quite a smile. "Interesting."
Then her gaze cut to the assassins. "Leave, or stay forever."
They knew the weight of bloodlines. They retreated, vanishing back into shadow.
The beasts, frozen and trembling, whined as frost gripped deeper. Yue Shuang released her hand, and they turned tail, scattering back into the forest.
The rune's glow died.
Silence hung heavy. Survivors panted, their fear now mixed with awe.
"She—who is—?" one disciple whispered.
"Core—she must be—"
"No. She's beyond—"
Zhou Ren forced a laugh. "A Core disciple playing hero? How convenient. How perfectly timed."
But no one laughed with him.
Lin Xuan finally wrenched his spear free of the broken chain. He inclined his head slightly—not submission, not thanks exactly, but acknowledgment.
Yue Shuang tilted hers in return, her eyes unreadable.
Then she stepped back into shadow, vanishing as if she had never been there.
Wu Ming collapsed onto the dirt, gasping. "Senior Brother… tell me that girl is joining our circle, because I think I just fell in love, terror included."
Li Mei smacked him on the head with the flat of her blade. "Idiot."
Chen Yu, pale but steady, said quietly, "That wasn't just a Core disciple. She… she carried weight beyond sect walls."
Lin Xuan stood silent, spear in hand. His breath was calm. But his heart marked the words Yue Shuang had left him.
You hold, even in storms.
Above, the unseen weight of the elders' scrying eyes lingered still. And deeper still, Meng Zhao's schemes wound tighter.
This was no longer just survival. This was the first step into the sect's true battlefield.