The Blood Tempest Awakens

The night air was thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming nightshade as Li Yuan sat cross-legged in his small wooden hut, the black silk-wrapped scroll resting in front of him like a forbidden artifact. The Blood Tempest Art. Even the name sent a faint shiver down his spine. It was clear Lin Xue had taken a risk by giving it to him.

He slowly unwrapped the silk, revealing aged parchment covered in strange, crimson ink. The characters pulsed faintly under the flickering candlelight, as though alive. His fingers hovered over the first page, tracing the ancient strokes.

"To command the tempest, one must first embrace the storm within."

The first line was cryptic, but the deeper he read, the more he realized why this technique was considered dangerous. Unlike the sect's standard cultivation methods, which focused on balance and controlled refinement, the Blood Tempest Art thrived on extremes. It demanded the cultivator push their body to the brink, forcing it to adapt through intense physical strain. It was a path of pain and endurance—one that could either forge an unshakable warrior or destroy the fool who dared to tread it.

Li Yuan took a deep breath. He had no time to hesitate. The outer sect trial was fast approaching, and he could already feel the eyes of senior disciples like Wei Long watching him, waiting for a chance to crush him. If he wanted to stand a chance, he needed power.

Clenching his fists, he closed his eyes and focused inward. The faint traces of Yuan Qi in his body stirred sluggishly, still unrefined, but present. According to the Blood Tempest Art, the first step was to accelerate the flow of Qi through sheer force of will, forcing his body to adapt to the rapid circulation.

He exhaled slowly, then commanded his Qi to move.

The response was immediate—his meridians burned as though molten iron had been poured through them. His muscles spasmed, and sweat poured from his skin, drenching his robes. Every fiber of his being screamed in protest.

His mind wavered. This was insane. Cultivation was supposed to be gradual, refined over years of careful practice. The Blood Tempest Art threw all of that aside, demanding he forcefully temper his body through suffering.

But suffering was something he had known his whole life.

His hands clenched tighter, nails digging into his palms. He would not break.

He gritted his teeth and pushed harder. The burning in his veins intensified, spreading to every corner of his body. His vision blurred, and for a brief moment, the candlelight in the room flickered unnaturally. A sharp pain shot through his chest, and for a split second, he swore he heard something—whispers carried by an unseen wind.

Then, as suddenly as it came, the pain receded.

His breath came in ragged gasps. He could feel it—his Yuan Qi was flowing faster, smoother than before. The Blood Tempest Art was working.

But this was only the first step.

The Next Morning

Li Yuan staggered out of his hut, his muscles aching but filled with newfound strength. The training had left him exhausted, yet his body felt strangely lighter. Stronger.

As he made his way toward the training grounds, he caught sight of Lin Xue leaning against a wooden post, arms crossed. Her sharp gaze swept over him, as if assessing his condition.

"You look like hell," she remarked, a smirk playing on her lips.

He wiped sweat from his brow. "I feel worse."

She chuckled. "Good. That means it's working."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "You've practiced this technique before, haven't you?"

She shrugged. "Something similar. The Blood Tempest Art isn't well-known, but those who study unorthodox paths… we recognize it."

There was something in her tone—an unspoken weight behind her words. Li Yuan wasn't sure what her past entailed, but it was clear she wasn't just some outer disciple.

Before he could press further, a loud voice interrupted them.

"Well, well. Look who's back from the dead."

Wei Long stood at the edge of the training grounds, arms crossed, his ever-present smirk in place. A few other disciples gathered behind him, eager for a show.

Li Yuan tensed. He had known this moment was coming.

Wei Long stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "You got lucky against Zhang Sen, but luck won't save you twice."

Lin Xue exhaled through her nose. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

Wei Long grinned. "What can I say? I enjoy putting arrogant newcomers in their place." His gaze locked onto Li Yuan. "How about a friendly match? A little warm-up before the trial."

Li Yuan could feel the tension in the air. He had two choices—decline and look weak, or accept and risk exposing his new abilities before the trial.

Then again, this could be an opportunity.

He rolled his shoulders, stepping forward. "Fine. But let's not waste time."

A ripple of excitement spread through the crowd as the disciples formed a loose circle around them.

Wei Long cracked his neck. "Try to last more than ten moves, yeah?"

The moment the words left his lips, he moved.

His speed was faster than Li Yuan expected—Wei Long closed the distance in an instant, his fist aiming straight for Li Yuan's ribs.

Li Yuan barely managed to twist his body, the fist grazing past him with enough force to send a sharp pain through his side. He countered with a swift palm strike, but Wei Long dodged easily, his movements refined and precise.

The difference in experience was clear.

But Li Yuan wasn't the same as yesterday.

As Wei Long pressed forward again, Li Yuan focused inward, activating the Blood Tempest Art. The warmth in his veins surged to life, filling his limbs with sudden speed. His movements became sharper, faster. When Wei Long threw his next punch, Li Yuan sidestepped effortlessly, his counterstrike landing against Wei Long's shoulder.

A faint look of surprise flashed in Wei Long's eyes.

Li Yuan smirked. "What was that about lasting ten moves?"

The crowd murmured in interest. Wei Long's expression darkened. "Lucky hit."

But Li Yuan wasn't done. He pressed forward, his strikes becoming more fluid, his reflexes sharper. Wei Long was still stronger, but for the first time, it was clear that Li Yuan wasn't just some weak newcomer.

The fight intensified, but before it could escalate further, a deep voice echoed through the training grounds.

"That's enough."

An elder stood at the entrance, his expression unreadable. The crowd immediately dispersed, murmuring among themselves.

Wei Long glared at Li Yuan but said nothing. With a scoff, he turned and walked away.

Li Yuan exhaled, his heart still pounding.

Lin Xue smirked beside him. "Not bad. You lasted more than ten moves."

He shook his head, watching Wei Long's retreating figure. "This isn't over."

She tilted her head. "No. But it's a start."

The outer sect trial was only a day away.

And Li Yuan had just taken his first step toward proving he belonged.