The Price of Arrogance

The air above the Yunlan Sect crackled with the aftertaste of shattered pride.

"Boy, you will pay the price for your arrogance..."

Yun Shan's roar tore through the battlefield like thunder, his voice trembling not with fear, but with the raw humiliation of a fallen titan. The scent of scorched earth and blood hung thick in the air, a bitter testament to the wreckage Xiao Yan had already carved into the sect's sanctum.

Even as Xiao Yan stood bathed in the golden haze of his Dou Qi—a sun against Yun Shan's dying ember—the elder's resolve hardened. Concessions? Mercy? Those were ashes now, scattered by the same winds that whipped at Yun Shan's robes as he raised his hands. His fingers danced in a flurry of seals, each movement precise, ritualistic, as if summoning a storm from the bones of the earth itself.

Light blue energy coalesced around him, the air humming like a plucked wire, until a searing white light erupted at his fingertips—a star forged for annihilation.

The battlefield stilled.

Yunlan disciples scrambled behind fractured boulders, their faces pale as the sect's elders barked orders drowned by the gathering tempest. Hai Bodong and Jia Xingtian retreated, their earlier bravado crumbling under the weight of primal instinct: this was no longer a duel, but a reckoning.

Xiao Yan's smirk flickered as he turned to Queen Medusa. Her amethyst eyes glinted like frozen lakes, her stillness a sharp contrast to the chaos. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died as her gaze sharpened, a silent blade poised at his throat.

"Watch carefully. Once I take care of Yun Shan, I'll bring you home," he declared, his tone softer than the steel in his eyes.

"Bring me home?"

Her voice could have crystallized the air between them. The Queen's lips parted, not in confusion, but in a slow, dangerous curl. Did the fool truly think her a trinket to claim? A conquest to parade before his clan? Yet beneath the ice, something flickered—a spark of curiosity, or perhaps the ghost of a vow unspoken.

Xiao Yan didn't flinch. To him, she was already his—not by force, but by fire. By the trials they'd survived, the unspoken pact forged in the belly of a desert tomb. His father's face flashed in his mind—not the broken prisoner of his past life, but a man who'd laugh until his beard shook, clapping Xiao Yan's shoulder as he met the Queen's defiant gaze.

This time, there would be no graves. Only glory.

Yun Shan's attack ripped through the silence.

"Extreme Wind Strike—Kill!"

The white beam lanced forward, tearing reality itself—a jagged scar of void-black trailed in its wake, swallowing sound, light, breath. Disciples screamed as the shockwave hit, their cries thin and distant against the roar of collapsing air.

Xiao Yan's grip tightened on the Xuan Heavy Ruler. The weapon shuddered, not with fear, but hunger—a dragon awakening. Energy cascaded around him, a vortex of gold and crimson that painted the sky in wildfire. Queen Medusa's breath caught—not in awe, but recognition. This was no mere Dou Huang's strength. This was… something older.

He swung.

The collision was a god's hammer striking the anvil of the world.

Mountains trembled. Stones vaporized midair. The square erupted into a maelstrom of debris and howling wind, flattening all but the strongest. Jia Xingtian, hurled backward, clawed at the earth as he stared skyward. "So this… is the gap between almost and ascended…" he whispered, his voice raw with longing and dread.

Yun Shan never saw the blow coming.

One heartbeat, Xiao Yan stood amid the storm's eye. The next—he was a shadow, a half-seen blur—and Yun Shan's ribs crumpled under a kick that cracked like thunder. The elder slammed into the earth, blood painting the dirt in a grotesque blossom, as silence swallowed the battlefield.

Not a single Yunlan disciple breathed.

Xiao Yan landed lightly, the Xuan Heavy Riser's tip scraping stone. His gaze swept the crowd—Nalan Jie's ashen face, Hai Bodong's grim triumph, Yun Leng's trembling form—a king surveying his court of ruins.

Nalan Jie's knees buckled. His daughter's sneer echoed in his mind—"A wasted cripple!"—as Xiao Yan's power thrummed in the air. Regret was a knife, twisting.

Hai Bodong, though, grinned. The Miteer family would rise on wings of flame.

Yun Leng scrambled backward, his robes tangling in the dirt. "Xiao Yan, please—!"

The ruler's edge kissed his throat before he finished.

"Begging suits you," Xiao Yan murmured, his voice colder than Medusa's stare. "But mercy died with your first lie."

The Queen watched, her face unreadable. Let the fool play executioner. Let him drown in his vengeance. And yet…

Her fingers twitched, ever so slightly, as the blade fell.

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