Rain fell gently outside the window, misting the air with that earthy smell only storm-kissed stone and soil could offer. Within the secluded chamber of Elder Sun Jin, the once-proud flame sovereign of the Nail Strom Sect, silence reigned—save for the quiet rustle of silken bed sheets and the occasional hiss of a medicinal lamp burning pale blue at his side.
The elder lay propped on a bed carved from cloudwood, its surface riddled with formations meant to absorb negative qi and reinforce recovery. The once-vibrant warrior was pale now, gaunt even, his breathing shallow. A white-haired doctor stood at his side, face grim, hands glowing with healing intent as a pale spiritual thread wove between his fingertips and Sun Jin's battered chest.
The old cultivator's robes had long been cut away to expose the raw patchwork of bandages and scabbed flesh. Where once there had been a proud, broad chest that had taken on fire beasts, sect enemies, and rogue cultivators with laughter in his lungs and wine on his breath, now there was only skin clinging to bone.
It was the price of pride.
**
The inner disciples who carried him back to the sect had not been able to speak at first. Their lips trembled, words choked by fear and disbelief. Sun Jin, the irascible old flame who always returned home with fire in his eyes and a complaint about the tea being too cold, now lay motionless. His once-boundless spiritual pressure had been reduced to a flickering candlelight.
When the gates of the sect opened to admit their return, a wave of shock swept the Nail Strom Sect. Core disciples gasped. Outer disciples stopped their cultivation sessions mid-spell. The elders dropped their tasks and summoned every available doctor, including those from the Pill Pavilion.
Sect Leader Zaruk had appeared in person.
With eyes bloodshot from rage and disbelief, Zaruk had nearly crossed the boundary between the sect and the Verdant Wilds himself—alone. Only one thing stopped him.
Sun Jin.
The old flame, barely conscious, his breath ragged and blood soaking the corner of his lip, had grasped Zaruk's robe with the strength of a dying man and muttered only one thing:
> "Don't believe everything those kids say. And don't make a move… until I wake."
He had smiled faintly then, teeth bloodstained, and fallen into unconsciousness.
**
The days that followed were bleak.
The boisterous elder's quarters became a place of whispers. Doctors came and went, bringing pills that steamed in jade bottles, powders infused with dragon marrow, and incense sticks made from the roots of spirit trees older than the sect itself. Still, his injuries were severe. His chest bore a gaping hole—stitched closed through sheer desperation—and even a breeze might've been enough to send him to the Yellow Springs.
The sect turned somber.
Zaruk met with the elders in private. Many argued to attack, to avenge the humiliation. Others, surprisingly, hesitated. Sun Jin's warning echoed in all of their minds. If he had warned restraint... there must've been a reason.
Then came the bird.
A bright streak of crimson fire tore through the sky, its arrival louder than any trumpet. The courier beast from the Pill Pavilion landed in the central courtyard, much to the astonishment of all disciples. In its talons it carried a storage ring—refined and locked with a unique flame-seal recognizable to any who had walked the pill path.
The letter within the ring bore no long greetings, only six words written in hurried calligraphy:
> "Keep the flame alive. - J, R, and X."
The ring held three pills.
A 7th-grade Earth-ranked Recovery Pill, infused with phoenix essence. A single breath of its aura could soothe dying lungs.
Two 6th-grade Perfect Meridian Pills, each pulsing with so much qi that it shimmered visibly within the jade casing. Pills that could realign and reinforce even the most shattered of meridians.
The Pavilion had not abandoned their old friend. They could not leave their post—something important was happening there—but they had sent the best they could craft.
**
Weeks passed.
Then, one morning, as the fog of night was slowly chased from the peaks of the Nail Strom Mountains, a whisper began to rise from the servants and stewards near the elder quarters.
He had awakened.
The moment the word reached the elders, they rushed. Seven elders, all Foundation Peak or higher, entered the room like a flood. Their spiritual pressures nearly shattered the floor tiles.
"Sun Jin!"
"Are you alive or faking again?!"
"Speak, damn it! What happened?"
**
Moments later, the group was assembled in the great sect meeting chamber.
The towering room was made of spirit jade, its ceiling enchanted to reflect the sky above. Even during storms, a calming mist glowed gently from its dome. Elder seats were arranged in a circular formation around the central platform. At the far end sat Sect Master Zaruk, his hands folded, face calm—but eyes smoldering.
"Now tell us," he said, voice cold but steady. "How did this happen?"
Sun Jin, swaddled in robes, still pale but sitting tall, laughed bitterly. "You've heard their story, haven't you? The disciples must've narrated every fiery clash, every heroic effort I made?"
A few elders snorted.
Sun Jin's smile twisted. "Let me tell you what they didn't."
"I never had the upper hand. The wolf—he wasn't struggling. He wasn't even fighting. He was studying me. Testing. Every time I thought I had him cornered, he shifted. Adapted."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping.
"You know why I'm alive?"
Silence.
"I entertained him."
Gasps.
"He said, and I quote—when I told him not to hurt our disciples—he looked at me as if I'd insulted his ancestors. Then said, 'We beasts don't scheme like you human insects. We don't need to. Our spit is enough to evaporate you.'"
The silence that followed was thunderous.
Sun Jin straightened his back, wincing slightly. "That being... he is a menace. But not an ambitious one. He doesn't want the world. He wants to crush anything that stands in his path, but he won't chase after it. He's... lazy."
Zaruk narrowed his eyes. "So you're saying we don't move?"
"We don't provoke," Sun Jin corrected. "You make the first move, you will regret it."
The room buzzed with heated discussion for the next hour. Scenarios were debated. Potential retaliations, espionage, indirect methods of probing—all discarded.
In the end, they agreed: no action would be taken against the wolf.
**
Back in his chambers, alone once more, Sun Jin sat cross-legged. Before him, the three pills.
He took the 7th-grade Recovery Pill first.
The moment it touched his tongue, a gentle heat bloomed in his chest. The torn muscles beneath his ribs began to knit. His heartbeat, once staggered, firmed. The great hole in his chest, once crudely stitched with spiritual threads, began to glow softly as muscle regrew, tendons restored themselves, and skin closed as if decades had passed in moments.
The stitches fell away on their own.
A few hours passed. He sat still.
Then came the Meridian Pills.
These he swallowed together—like a man taking a bitter medicine to remind himself that life was meant to be lived fiercely.
The pills struck like lightning.
His entire body tensed. The meridians in his arms throbbed violently, then shivered, then pulsed with a new, greater rhythm. What had once been singed, torn pathways for qi were now reforged tunnels of steel. No—of something smoother. Something better. His control improved. His energy circulated with a hum.
He opened his eyes.
And pulled a dusty book from his spiritual ring.
"One Step, One Kill" was etched in faded ink across the cover. He held it for a long time.
He had found it long ago. In a forgotten cave, amidst the grave of a beast-kin warrior of ancient times. The technique had been incomplete, only fragments of the original remaining. At the time, he had dismissed it. A dream for a younger man.
But after seeing the wolf—that monster—forge techniques in the middle of battle, inspired by instinct and experience... Sun Jin could no longer stand idle.
He locked the door. Placed formation seals across the walls. Closed every window.
And began to write.
> "If his is One Step, One Kill... then mine shall be—One Step, One Grave."
He grinned.
He would not let the wolf have the last word.
He would not challenge the heavens.
But he would ensure that if the wolf came again—he'd pay in blood for every inch he advanced.
A new flame was born that day.
One not of rage.
But resolve.
The Foggy Plains were quiet once more. The Lily Pond was barren of jade lilies, Bronze Kong was sobbing over his lost dignity in a remote glade, the boars were intoxicated beyond measure on their stolen berry wine, and the Steel Jaw Hippo had begun composing haiku about the moon. The chaos had waned, as chaos often does, leaving behind awkward silences and broken tree trunks.
But not everything had returned to normal.
In the Nail Strom Sect, deep within the inner sanctum of the jade hall, the Sect Leader, Zaruk, sat with his eyes closed and brows furrowed. The stone dais beneath him was polished to perfection, and the floating incense spirals filled the air with tranquil aromas of lavender and storm lotus. Yet he felt no peace.
The problem had a name.
Wolf.
Zaruk opened his eyes slowly. No matter how many scrolls he read or how many hours he sat in meditation, his thoughts always returned to that singular creature. A wolf of many mouths, many eyes, and far too many antics. A beast who had humiliated Elder Sun Jin so thoroughly that the old man had given up on society altogether and retreated into seclusion, citing a bizarre excuse involving 'flame edge resonance alignment' and 'spiritual trauma detoxification.'
Zaruk had not pressed the issue.
Instead, he had waited. Watched. Thought.
Then he cracked.
"Why... would he protect that thing?" Zaruk muttered, pacing in his private chamber. "Why suffer the shame, the humiliation, the indignity... and yet, protect the very cause of it all?"
He didn't understand.
He was Peak Core Emergence. His cultivation was the highest in the sect. And while not invincible, he certainly wasn't weak. If he wanted, he could strike down the wolf, rend the beast in half, turn it into a robe, a feast, a campfire story to terrify outer disciples.
But he couldn't.
Because of two things.
First, Elder Sun Jin had requested he not harm the wolf.
Second, Zaruk was curious.
Very curious.
Like a child told not to open a certain box, his mind scratched against the unknown. What was so special about this wolf? Why had Elder Sun Jin come back changed? What had happened in that scorched forest?
He couldn't let it go.
So he lied.
He told the elders he was going into seclusion again. Another attempt at a breakthrough. Another hopeful dream of transcending Core Emergence. They accepted it without question. It had happened before. He'd failed before.
Only this time, he didn't remain behind.
He left.
Silently. Secretly.
His robes were plain. His aura was tightly sealed. He used no artifact, no flying sword, no beast companion. He simply flew. Like a shadow cast across the sky, swift and invisible, riding the winds alone.
In days, he reached the border.
And then the Verdant Wilds.
---
The forest greeted him with chaos and indifference.
The bamboo grove was the first anomaly. Once a dense, towering labyrinth of pale green and rustling calm, it had been reduced to cinders. Blackened stalks, the faint scent of burnt qi, and ash so fine it shimmered like glass dust. Zaruk walked through the remains, his hand brushing the scorched soil.
"Beast flame," he murmured. "Violently unstable. Could this be... his doing?"
There were no footprints. No lingering presence. Whatever had happened here was weeks old. The energy signatures had long faded, leaving only puzzles behind.
Zaruk moved on.
He ventured into the muddy glades where boars made their homes, and was nearly trampled by two drunken tusked lunatics singing about berry wine and 'moon butts.' He escaped without revealing himself, though he was forced to dive headfirst into a pile of swamp kelp.
He scouted the mossy highlands where the Steel Jaw Hippo resided, but found only a boulder carved with terrible poetry. Something about "jade lilies and longing stares."
The territory of the Skyrazor Hawk was worse. He barely dodged a fresh dropping that sizzled through a treetop like acid. He swore he saw the hawk wink.
Even the Bronze Kong's zone yielded nothing useful. The great ape was sulking in his cave, hugging a broken wine jug and muttering about betrayal and boar conspiracies. Zaruk opted not to investigate.
For weeks, he searched.
He scoured hills, swamps, cliffs, waterfalls, burrows, nests, and glades. He sensed every ripple of qi. Measured every broken twig. Questioned every beetle.
Still, no sign of the wolf.
---
But the story didn't end there.
While Zaruk searched high and low, the very wolf he sought was somewhere else entirely. Not in a cave. Not near a tree. Not even lounging on a sunny rock while chewing on a peach.
No.
He was... elsewhere.
---
A shift.
A ripple in perspective.
---
The air shimmered with heat, not from fire, but from pressure. The space seemed warped, bent at odd angles, where sunlight hit stone and bounced back in strange hues. Strange flora bloomed in the cracks of purple rock. Odd symbols hovered in the air like drifting runes. The breeze whistled like distant voices.
A paw stepped forward.
Then another.
From the shadows emerged the wolf.
His many eyes blinked slowly as he tilted his head. From a satchel made of tattered robes, he pulled out a pair of sunglasses, slipped them on with a sigh, and chewed on a piece of dried meat with unsettling calm.
He looked around.
The landscape was unlike anything in the Verdant Wilds.
Floating stones hovered like lazy clouds. Waterfalls spilled upward into the sky. A tree with silver leaves sang a lullaby in a language known only to ghosts.
The wolf squinted behind his sunglasses.
"What... is this place?" he murmured.