The deacon came to an abrupt halt.
The step he had been about to take froze midair, rigid and awkward, as if the ground ahead had suddenly turned into an abyss. Sweat burst across his back, soaking his inner robe within a few heartbeats.
"W-what…?"
No one needed to say anything. The spiritual pressure was crushing.
It wasn't violent or chaotic; on the contrary, it was calm and dense, like an entire sky slowly descending onto his shoulders. Every breath grew heavy, every thought sluggish. His Qi, which had flowed obediently moments ago, now shrank back like a frightened animal.
"T-this is…" He swallowed hard, his mouth going dry. "…an elder…"
His heart lurched.
Why here?
Elders of the outer sect never involved themselves in disputes between disciples. To them, fights like this were nothing more than dust along the path of cultivation. Even deacons rarely saw them outside of ceremonies or important announcements. None of this made sense.
The deacon clenched his fists inside his sleeves, struggling to maintain composure as cold sweat ran down his spine. If that elder decided he had acted improperly, it wouldn't matter how many excuses he had, or whom he had favored. His entire position could vanish with a single sentence.
A few steps away, the senior outer disciple was in even worse shape. All traces of arrogance had drained from his face; the blood had fled his complexion, leaving behind a sickly pallor. His pupils trembled as he stared at the elder descending through the air, his mind completely blank.
An elder at the Golden Core Realm… here? For this?
His legs weakened for an instant. His entire plan—the bribe, shifting the blame onto Jin, controlling the situation—collapsed like wet sand slipping through his fingers. No matter how carefully he had pulled the strings with the deacon, in front of an outer sect elder such tricks were laughable.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
The elder stopped before them, floating just a few centimeters above the ground. He said nothing; he didn't need to. The spiritual pressure increased ever so slightly, and both the deacon and the senior disciple felt the same certainty sink into their chests, heavy and unavoidable: this situation was no longer under their control.
The elder descended the final distance and placed one foot on the stone step. There was no thunderous impact, no grand gesture, yet the air seemed to settle beneath his weight, as if the entire platform acknowledged his presence.
His gaze swept over the disciples one by one. Those carrying the injured man instinctively lowered their heads. The senior disciple felt a chill crawl up his neck as those eyes passed over him—sharp yet indifferent, as though he had already been judged and found irrelevant.
Then the elder's gaze reached Jin.
It paused.
The reaction was nearly imperceptible. He didn't frown or show surprise; there was only the slightest hesitation as he observed Jin's disabled arm, his posture, his breathing—still uneven, yet steady—and above all, the strange silence with which he held the elder's gaze, neither excessively submissive nor openly defiant.
A fleeting thought crossed the elder's mind, and an instant later he looked away.
He turned to the deacon.
"Explain the situation."
His voice wasn't loud and carried no spiritual pressure, yet each word fell with the weight of an order that could not be defied.
The deacon swallowed. Cold sweat ran down his back as he stepped forward, knowing with bitter certainty that from this moment on he controlled nothing.
"Elder," he began, forcing his voice to remain steady, "it was an agreed-upon trial duel between outer disciples. Nothing out of the ordinary. The senior brother acted as a mediator to prevent excesses, but Disciple Jin lost control during the exchange and inflicted a severe injury on a fellow disciple."
He paused briefly, organizing his thoughts, then continued with greater confidence.
"The other disciple merely responded in self-defense. Unfortunately, upon being overwhelmed, Jin resorted to excessive force, ignoring the implicit rules of a trial duel."
As he spoke, the senior disciple nodded rapidly, almost desperately, as though each word were a lifeline.
"It's exactly as the deacon says," he interjected. "I was present the entire time. I even tried to stop the duel when I saw it getting out of hand." He pointed at the unconscious injured disciple. "Elder, that junior brother only followed the rules. He never intended to cause such harm."
His voice trembled slightly at the end—not from respect, but from fear.
The outer sect elder did not react. He listened in silence, hands clasped behind his back, his expression serene, almost carved from stone. His eyes showed neither approval nor disapproval, only distant attention, as though the words were leaves falling before him.
Around them, several disciples exchanged uneasy glances.
"That's not what happened…"
"The follower used Qi first…"
"The deacon is lying…"
The murmurs were low and uncertain; no one raised their voice. One by one, the comments died before turning into clear accusations. Speaking meant exposure. Doubt was safer.
When the deacon finished, the elder allowed the silence to linger. Not a word, not a gesture—only that indifferent gaze, heavier than any reproach.
He slowly turned his head, his eyes fixing on the deacon. He merely observed him for several seconds, long enough for sweat to slide down the man's temple and soak his collar. The air itself seemed denser, as though each breath required more effort.
Then, unhurriedly, the elder looked away and let his gaze sweep across the platform until it stopped on Jin.
The silence stretched—heavy enough to make more than one disciple lower their head instinctively.
Finally, the elder spoke.
"Disciple, is what the deacon just said true?"
Jin's heart skipped a beat.
Inside, a bitter laugh nearly escaped him. So this is the moment.
He straightened slightly, ignoring the sharp pain coursing through his body, and opened his mouth.
"I—"
"Elder, allow me to add something further," the deacon interrupted quickly, taking half a step forward. "This disciple not only acted with excessive brutality, but also—"
The word died in his throat. His mouth snapped shut, his eyes widened, and his body went rigid as if seized by an invisible hand.
A silent pressure descended upon him. It wasn't violent or ostentatious; it was absolute. The elder's Qi wrapped around him with only a fraction of intent—just enough to crush his voice before he could form the next syllable. The message was clear: do not speak.
The deacon swallowed with difficulty, frozen.
The elder did not look at him again.
His gaze remained fixed on Jin.
"Speak."
The pressure wasn't physically crushing the deacon, but it was enough to make his back burn and his muscles tense as though he had been carrying an invisible weight for hours. Confusion gnawed at him even more than fear. Outer sect elders did not intervene in minor disputes, yet here one stood—and worse still, he had given the floor to that boy.
Since when did an abandoned outer disciple deserve such attention?
He rejected the thought immediately.
While the deacon struggled to maintain composure, Jin took a deep breath and spoke. He didn't raise his voice or exaggerate; he simply told what had happened.
He explained how he and Lian Xuan had been preparing to leave the platform area when they were stopped. He mentioned the group of six, the senior brother who spoke first, and the resentful follower who accused him without reason. He spoke of the trial duel, the condition of not using techniques, and how that condition had been broken.
When he mentioned the follower's use of Qi, murmurs rippled among the watching disciples. The senior disciple's face lost all color. His lips tightened, and for the first time he avoided looking at the elder. One follower swallowed audibly; another clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.
Jin continued. He described the exchange, the Qi-reinforced blows, and how his opponent—driven by rage—ultimately used a single-strike technique, violating the agreement.
He did not justify himself.
"I responded to the attack. I used all the Qi I had in a single strike. I went too far, and I admit that. But I wasn't the one who broke the rules first."
The silence that followed was heavier than before. Fear—not of Jin, but of what would come next—settled over the senior disciple.
Sanctions. Investigation. Discipline.
The elder listened without interrupting, his gaze calm and unreadable, as though arranging the facts in his mind.
At last, he spoke.
"Very well. Now that the matter is clear, this conflict will be transferred to the disciplinary hall. There, responsibilities and punishments will be determined according to the sect's rules."
Some disciples released the breath they had been holding.
"Take the injured. Have them treated immediately. I want no excuses."
The senior disciple nodded stiffly as two companions adjusted their grip on the unconscious man. To most, it sounded like a temporary conclusion.
Then, without warning, the elder stepped forward and grabbed Jin by the back of his robe.
There was no resistance, no time to react. The world tilted. In the blink of an eye, Jin felt the ground vanish beneath his feet and the wind slam against his face. The landscape shrank rapidly below.
"W-what…?" he thought, heart racing.
Below, the group stood petrified. Some disciples opened their mouths without sound; others stared at the sky in disbelief.
The deacon was pale—truly pale—as though every drop of blood had drained from his face.
He took him himself.
The thought froze his soul.
Among the crowd, Lian Xuan stepped forward, eyes wide.
"Jin…?"
But no one answered.
Jin had vanished from their sight, taken away by an outer sect elder.