Merchants paused mid-haggle, their eyes darting nervously toward the growing commotion, while frightened children clung tightly to their mothers' gowns, peering cautiously through the dense, chaotic crowd of onlookers. The air crackled with tension, a storm brewing beneath the surface of this bustling trade hub, nestled precariously at the rugged edge of the Eastern Wilderness's untamed expanse.
Song Tong stood boldly at the forefront of his Yuanshi Gate Sect disciples, his broad shoulders squared and his lips twisted into a sneer dripping with contempt. His gray robes rippled in the breeze, embroidered with shimmering golden threads that glinted like a sharpened blade, a faint crimson glow flickering beneath as if fire pulsed within.
"I've waited years for this moment," he spat, his voice a sharp, venomous lash cutting through the crowd's din. "Today, I'll carve your Xuantian pride from your bones and grind it into worthless dust!"
With a swift flick of his wrist, he signaled his followers—a dozen disciplined disciples in matching gray robes, their faces alight with cruel anticipation. They erupted into jeers, a deafening wave of mockery rolling across the square. As one, they surged forward, a relentless tide of black and silver crashing toward their prey.
The air shuddered as waves of spiritual essence unfurled, thick and potent, swirling with murderous intent. It was a ferocious storm born from their profound cultivation, aimed directly at Xu Hao and the handful of Xuantian Sect disciples standing resolutely at his side. The ground trembled faintly, ancient cobblestones groaning under the weight of unleashed power.
These were no ordinary cultivators. Both factions hailed from the Eastern Wilderness's twin pillars of might—the revered Yuanshi Gate Sect and the storied Xuantian Sect—holy lands venerated for millennia, their histories etched in blood and glory. Song Tong's audacity was brazen, a public declaration of supremacy staged in the heart of neutral Backridge City, under the apprehensive eyes of its diverse denizens.
Onlookers gasped, stumbling backward in a frantic scramble to avoid the deadly crossfire. A vendor's cart toppled in the chaos, spilling jade trinkets across the stones, yet no one paused to retrieve them. The clash erupted instantly, a reckless collision of sacred might. Fists slammed against radiant energy shields, blades of incandescent light sliced through the air, and the square became a tempest of frenetic motion and sound.
On paper, the two sides seemed evenly matched—elite disciples honed to near-identical peaks of cultivation, their spiritual foundations forged in the same divine arts. For a fleeting moment, the battle teetered on the edge of a stalemate, neither faction yielding ground.
But the Xuantian Sect had been caught off guard. Xu Hao's mind raced as he parried a crackling bolt of essence, his sweat-soaked hair plastered to his brow. 'They planned this,' he thought bitterly, frustration gnawing at him. 'A coward's strike, masked as boldness.'
The Yuanshi Gate disciples pressed their advantage, their movements synchronized, their assault unrelenting. Xu Hao's companions faltered—Mei Lin's stance wavered as a whip of golden light grazed her shoulder, and Chen Yu grunted as a thunder-wreathed fist sent him skidding across the stones. It was a calculated ambush, and for a perilous moment, the Xuantian Sect seemed on the verge of collapse.
Song Tong's laughter rang out triumphantly as he towered over the fray, his iron fists glowing with thunderous force, each blow shaking the air. He zeroed in on Xu Hao and unleashed a barrage of strikes like a relentless monsoon.
"Haha! Is this the best the Xuantian Sect can muster?" he roared, his voice thick with joy. "Your reputation's nothing but a hollow shell! The Eastern Wilderness bows to us now—the Yuanshi Gate Sect claims its rightful throne!"
Xu Hao's jaw tightened, his storm-gray eyes narrowing as fury ignited within him. He hadn't anticipated this—not here, in a city where the fragile truce between their sects should have held. The Yuanshi Gate's arrogance had festered too long, swelling into this reckless gambit. To strike so openly, to trample Xuantian's honor before the masses—it demanded retribution.
'They think us weak,' he seethed, rage boiling in his chest. 'They'll learn the cost of that mistake.'
"Insolent dog!" Xu Hao bellowed, his voice slicing through the chaos. He drew a deep breath, channeling the full might of his divine arts. The air warped as a radiant aura erupted, a torrent of silver-blue light shimmering with the weight of mountains. He thrust his palms forward, unleashing a roaring counterstrike that met Song Tong's fists with ferocious intensity.
The impact reverberated through the square, a shockwave sending dust and debris spiraling into the air. Song Tong grinned, unfazed, and summoned a blazing lattice of crimson flames that clashed with Xu Hao's assault in a blinding explosion of color and sound. The two forces grappled, locked in a contest of unyielding wills.
Then, something shifted. The Xuantian disciples found their rhythm, their movements growing sharper and more confident. Lessons from their grueling sojourn at the Auric Celestial Skyspire—hours spent refining their techniques under Zhou Pingyue's scrutiny—now bore fruit.
Mei Lin's footwork steadied, her blade surging with lethal accuracy, while Chen Yu's stance solidified, deflecting blows that would have felled him moments before. The tide turned subtly, tilting in their favor.
Song Tong's grin faltered, confusion creeping into his gaze. "How… how is this possible?" he muttered, his voice trembling with disbelief.
He had counted on surprise to crush the Xuantian Sect before they could rally. A swift victory here would have reverberated across the Eastern Wilderness, a wound to their rival's prestige. Now, that dream was slipping away. If they faltered after striking first, the shame would be theirs alone.
The Yuanshi disciples buckled, their formation fraying under the Xuantian Sect's counteroffensive. One clutched a bloodied arm; another staggered as Mei Lin's sword seared his chest. Song Tong's fists slowed, his breaths ragged as Xu Hao pressed forward, his smirk cold and unyielding.
"You mocked our reputation as hollow," Xu Hao said, his voice low and cutting, "yet here you crumble before us. The Yuanshi Gate Sect—ten millennia young, a flickering candle daring to challenge Xuantian's eternal flame. Who's hollow now, Song Tong?"
Song Tong's pride withered, his face twisting with shame and rage. Moments ago, he'd crowed like a conqueror; now, the sting of reversal silenced him. His chest heaved, fists trembling. The crowd murmured, their whispers swelling—some awed, others mocking the Yuanshi's fall. The Yuanshi Gate's gambit was unraveling, and Backridge City bore witness.
"What is this?" A voice sliced through the tumult, calm yet resonant, like a distant bell.
The air stilled as a lone figure stepped onto the avenue, his presence a quiet storm seizing attention. He was young, barely past his twenties, his deep gray robes shimmering with gold. His dark hair swayed gently, and his eyes held an icy serenity.
"Are my fellow Yuanshi Gate disciples truly so unworthy of our name?"
Song Tong and his cohort erupted in elation, dropping to their knees. "Greetings, Senior Brother Yan!" they cried, their voices a chorus of relief.
Xu Hao's blood ran cold. Yan Han—a True Disciple of the Yuanshi Gate, a prodigy at twenty-nine, his Divine Spirit Realm cultivation a legend across the Eastern Wilderness. His rivalry with the sect's Holy Son was tavern lore, their clashes said to shake the heavens. To equal that titan spoke of Yan Han's terrifying power.
Song Tong was a foe Xu Hao could match, but Yan Han? The name drained the fire from his veins, leaving dread.
Yan Han's gaze swept over the Xuantian disciples, cool and piercing. "Did I hear you claim the Yuanshi Gate Sect's name is hollow?" His voice was soft, yet it pressed against Xu Hao's chest.
He clenched his jaw, forcing defiance past the dread. "That's right," he snapped. "Your Song Tong struck first, unprovoked, like a coward. Your sect attacked us, yet you faltered. Strength rules all—why shouldn't I call your reputation a sham?"
Yan Han's lips curled into a faint smile, a flicker of amusement frosting the air. "Fair enough," he murmured, his voice smooth as jade, yet laced with deceptive calm. "Strength rules all—there's no dishonor in falling to a fair blow. But to tarnish the Yuanshi Gate Sect's honor? That, I will not tolerate."
"Kneel and apologize!" His command erupted like a sonic boom, shaking the cobblestones and sending cracks spider-webbing across them.
An invisible force crashed down—a suffocating pressure bearing down with merciless intent. Xu Hao's knees buckled, his cultivation stuttering, his divine arts slipping away. Mei Lin's breath hitched, her sword clattering to the stone. Chen Yu groaned, his arms quaking as he fought to remain upright.
The weight grew heavier, pressing them toward the earth. The onlookers froze, their eyes wide with reverence and dread.
Yet, a voice sliced through from the horizon—deep, resonant, and forged with unyielding authority. "Who do you presume to be, mongrel, to so brazenly demand penance from the disciples of Xuantian?"
The words struck like a hammer, shattering Yan Han's aura into fleeting shards. The crushing weight vanished, and relief surged through Xu Hao and his companions. Their spirits flared back to life, invigorated, as if the sun had pierced a storm-wracked sky.
Xu Hao rose, his chest heaving, heart hammering. A single thought blazed through his mind: 'He's here.'
The air hummed with expectancy. Because… that figure… had finally arrived.