Fight in the Dark

A Punishment of Night and Senses

Master Daokan sighed, standing effortlessly as if the weight of the sect rested on his shoulders yet burdened him none. In mere seconds, with a single, commanding movement, made everyone running around sat down and with a glance, he silenced the entire room. A force of authority radiated from him, so absolute that even Atlas and Bao, usually the biggest instigators of chaos, straightened like scolded children. The room froze.

"Enough," Daokan's voice was soft, yet it carried an unmistakable edge. "You will all be silent."

And just like that, they were.

Even Atlas, always prepared with a snarky remark, found himself instinctively lowering his head. Bao, who had been halfway to a nervous chuckle, swallowed it immediately.

Then, as if his instincts were impossible to suppress, Atlas performed an immediate dogeza—but, in true Atlas fashion, his form was completely wrong. His face pressed to the floor, but his rear was comically high in the air.

The reaction was immediate.

Master Daokan twitched. His smirk disappeared, replaced with sheer irritation.

The ladies in the room, however, found the sight quite amusing. Shen Xue smirked, Meyu snorted softly, and Layla, despite her deep frustration, barely held back a chuckle. Even Yuxe Wuye raised an eyebrow, hiding the smallest hint of amusement behind her sleeve.

Daokan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Atlas, lower your ass."

Atlas, still face-down, wiggled slightly in confusion. "Lower it more, Master? I am already expressing my utmost humility—"

"NOW."

Atlas flinched and flattened immediately.

Master Daokan exhaled slowly before sweeping his gaze across the entire group. "This disaster was not caused by Atlas alone. Each and every one of you contributed to this absurdity." His eyes gleamed with amusement and authority alike. "So, you all will face punishment."

As if on cue, the entire room turned and glared at Atlas.

Atlas, whose face was still pressed to the floor, could feel the heat of their stares.

"Why do I feel like I am being singled out?" he muttered, his voice muffled against the ground.

"Because you are." Layla deadpanned.

All eyes were glaring daggers at Atlas.

Atlas, ever the shameless survivor, casually ducked behind Bao, peeking over his shoulder like a child hiding behind a guardian. Bao, the ever-loyal, instinctively stepped forward, crossing his arms in a protective stance.

"We all know who's at fault here," Layla said, voice dangerously low, her hands clenched into fists.

Atlas, feigning complete innocence, peeked out. "Fault? My dear Meilin, I am but a humble merchant caught in a series of unfortunate events!"

"You incited a coup in Master's sect within hours of arriving," she deadpanned, eyes burning with anger.

Before Bao could even attempt a defense, Meyu stepped in, her maternal instincts triggered beyond reason. Without hesitation, she placed both hands on Atlas' shoulders and shoved him forward.

It was almost cartoonish, his feet skidding across the floor as he tried to resist. "Meyu! My most trusted companion! Betrayal!"

"Accept your punishment like a man." Meyu huffed, dusting off her hands, looking completely unbothered.

Atlas barely caught his balance before turning back to Bao for support. "Brother Bao, surely you—"

Bao scooted a single step away.

Atlas blinked. "Et tu, Bao?"

"Sorry, brother, but..." Bao glanced at Layla, whose face now radiated pure murderous intent. "I value my life."

Layla exhaled sharply, cracking her knuckles. "I was supposed to leave for Silver Lotus today. Now, thanks to you, I am stuck here playing along with your stupidity!"

"Oh come now," Atlas grinned, recovering swiftly, "think of it as an extended diplomatic mission!"

"I think of it as a prolonged nightmare."

"Tomato, tomahto."

Before Layla could launch herself at him, Master Daokan chuckled.

"That's enough." His voice was calm, but the weight behind it silenced the room immediately. "Since you all have such boundless energy, I've decided on your punishment."

The disciples straightened, wariness creeping into their stances.

Daokan leaned forward, his smirk widening. "The sun has set. We will train until the middle of the night."

Atlas blinked, tilting his head like a confused puppy. "I'm sorry, I must have misheard. You said—no, surely not. My ears must be playing tricks on me. Did you say a delightful evening feast? Perhaps a restful meditation session?"

"Until the middle of the night, yes." Master Daokan's smirk widened ever so slightly, clearly enjoying the suffering about to unfold.

Before Atlas could properly process his impending doom, Meyu smacked the back of his head with a sharp thwap, her expression exasperated. "Stop looking for an escape, you brought this on yourself."

"Ow!" Atlas rubbed his head, pouting. "I'm just a humble merchant caught in a terrible injustice!"

Layla ignored his whining, arms crossed. "Fine. What exactly are we doing, Master?"

Daokan's smirk remained as he folded his arms. "We will train in complete darkness. You will rely on your other senses—sound, touch, movement. A warrior who depends only on sight is a warrior who will not survive."

A murmur of excitement rippled through the group. Jiang nodded approvingly, Bao grinned in anticipation, and even Shen Xue's eyes gleamed with interest.

All except Atlas, who groaned dramatically. "Fantastic. My two greatest strengths: running and talking, utterly useless."

A collective groan rose from the Silver Lotus group hearing this.

"Consider this a lesson." Daokan stood, the authority in his posture commanding their silence. "Even when blinded, you must acknowledge your senses. In true battle, sight alone will betray you."

Before anyone could react, Daokan vanished. Or rather, that's what it looked like. A faint blur, an afterimage of where he had been, lingered for the briefest moment before Atlas let out a startled yelp. Daokan's hand was already resting on his shoulder.

Atlas stiffened, eyes wide. "By the heavens—"

Daokan smirked. "Even those with little Qi, if they harness enough strength and awareness, can take down a master." He removed his hand and stepped back just as effortlessly, as if the movement had been no more difficult than a stroll.

"Power alone is meaningless if you don't know how to use it."

"You will each face one of my best." His smirk returned. "Let's see how much you can rely on instinct alone."

Daokan: "Meilin, you will fight Yan Shuren."

Yan Shuren frowned. "Master, this isn't fair—"

Daokan raised a hand. "It's not about fairness. Make her stronger, not shatter her."

Yan sighed, giving Layla a look of mild concern. "Understood."

Daokan: I will fight against Lin Wuye and Jiang. I hope you put up a good fight

Lin Wuye looked at Jiang then look at Daokan: Master with all due respect, isn't it unfair to you?''

Daokan simply answered with a sense of wisdom: ''In war, use whatever tactics to win. You will face me, the both of you.''

Daokan then turned to Shen Xue and Atlas.

Daokan: "As for this match..." He glanced at his daughter, his smirk widening. "Whatever she wants."

Shen Xue cracked her knuckles, her eyes gleaming with dangerous intent.

Atlas took a step back. "Ahaha, Shen Xue, my dearest friend, esteemed warrior of Shrouded Peaks! Before we engage in such unnecessary violence, allow me to offer my sincerest apologies for any perceived slights. In fact, I propose an alternative—how about I gracefully concede this match? Yes! A surrender! Think of the efficiency! We avoid the hassle of bruises, broken bones, and shattered pride—mostly mine, of course."

Shen Xue remained silent, gripping her knuckles with a slow, deliberate motion.

Atlas gulped. "Or perhaps a compromise? I stand still, you lightly tap me, and we call it a day? I swear on my finest silk robes that I—"

Shen Xue's grip tightened around Atlas' shoulder, her fingers digging in just enough to send a clear message.

Atlas stiffened. "Oh, delightful! A firm yet gentle touch! I appreciate the attention, but if we could perhaps—"

His eyes darted toward Meyu, silently pleading for salvation.

Meyu, arms crossed, simply gave him the look of 'Good luck' before turning away.

Atlas gulped. "Meyu, my dearest, most treasured ally, please don't abandon me in my hour of need!"

Shen Xue's grip only grew firmer as she leaned in ever so slightly. "Oh, I'll decide how this goes."

Atlas sighed dramatically, already resigned to his fate. "Very well, but please—go easy on my beautiful face. If it gets ruined, the world loses a piece of art."

The servants guided the group toward the training ground, their lanterns flickering in the night. The air was thick with anticipation, the weight of impending battle settling over them.

As they reached the open clearing, Master Daokan turned to Layla and Yan Shuren. "Step forward. Choose a weapon."

Layla ran her fingers over the selection of wooden weapons, eyes lingering on the spear. It was the easiest choice—not just in this life, but in her past one as well.

Yan Shuren watched her quietly as she picked it up, twirling it in her grip. "A spear?"

She smirked. "Old habits."

Master Daokan gave a nod of approval. "A wise choice. Now, let's begin."

The servants extinguished the lanterns, plunging the training ground into near darkness. The only illumination came from the moon above, casting long shadows over the two warriors.

Layla shifted into position, spear tip hovering just above the ground. Yan Shuren mirrored her stance, his wooden sword held at the ready.

Then, they moved.

Layla lunged first, thrusting her spear forward in a precise motion. Yan twisted at the last moment, sidestepping the attack with fluid grace before retaliating with a downward slash. Layla barely managed to shift her grip, redirecting his strike with the shaft of her spear, the wood vibrating from the force of impact.

Yan advanced, his footwork impeccable as he closed the distance between them. Layla spun her spear, using its extended reach to force him back, each movement flowing effortlessly into the next. Their weapons clashed again, the resounding crack of wood echoing through the clearing.

Yan's sword came sweeping low, aiming for her legs. Layla leapt back, landing lightly on the balls of her feet. She took a breath, analyzing his stance—he was holding back.

She narrowed her eyes. "You're going easy on me."

Yan tilted his head. "I was told to make you stronger, not break you."

"Then stop treating me like glass."

The moment the words left her lips, the fight changed.

Yan Shuren vanished. Or at least, that's how it felt. His movements were so fast, it was as if he cast two shadows, each shifting in opposite directions, distorting Layla's senses.

She swung her spear instinctively, but she was already too late.

A single blow struck her midsection—a mere fraction of his true strength, no more than 1/10th of his power.

Yet it felt like a hammer had slammed into her.

Layla's body lifted off the ground, sent hurtling through the air before she crashed into the stone wall behind her with a sickening thud. Dust and debris scattered around her as she slumped to her knees, blood trickling from her forehead.

Pain flared through her body, her vision swimming for a moment. But she refused to fall.

With a trembling arm, she wiped the blood from her brow and forced herself to stand. Her legs screamed in protest, but she planted her feet firmly against the ground, spear still in hand.

Yan Shuren watched her, his expression unreadable. "You're still standing?"

Layla spat to the side, her breath ragged but steady. "Damn right, I am."

Atlas had seen many fights before—bar brawls, street duels, even the occasional tournament matches. But this? This was something else entirely.

Layla looked like a beginner. Her speed is slow, no overwhelming strength—only her intelligence. And intelligence alone wouldn't save her here.

Yan Shuren moved with the efficiency of someone who had done this countless times. His wooden sword wasn't just a training weapon in his hands—it was a tool of precision. Every strike was measured, every movement deliberate. Layla, for all her effort, was barely keeping up.

Lin Wuye stood at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, eyes keenly following the fight. He could see it clearly—the vast gulf between them. Yan wasn't just stronger; he was faster, sharper. Layla could think through strategies, but against an opponent of this calliber, she had no time to apply them. This wasn't about winning. It was about survival.

Layla gritted her teeth and lunged, her wooden spear stabbing forward in a desperate attempt to push Yan back. It was predictable. Yan sidestepped effortlessly and countered with a downward strike. Layla barely raised her spear in time, the impact sending painful vibrations up her arms.

Atlas winced. That was just a wooden sword, yet it looked like she had been struck by a hammer. If Yan had been using even a fraction more force, she would have been on the ground already.

Another exchange. Another devastating impact. Lin Wuye kept his eyes on Yan's form, noting the precision of each movement. Yan was holding back—significantly so. His strikes were just enough to push Layla, to force her body to learn, to make her instincts sharpen. This wasn't a fight. This was a lesson.

Master Daokan's brows furrowed slightly from where he stood, observing. He had seen this before. The tree Layla struck days ago—its inner roots blackened, the decay slow yet inevitable. Now, here it was again. Her spear trembled in her grip, the shift almost imperceptible. He remained silent, watching closely.

Yan swung again, his wooden sword a blur in the darkness. Layla raised her spear to block, expecting the same jarring pain to shoot through her arms.

But something changed.

The moment her spear met his strike, a faint tremor ran along the wood. Yan's eyes narrowed slightly, sensing the shift. The force of his blow seemed to dissipate, the impact duller than before. He stepped back, studying her carefully, something gnawing at the back of his mind. Something was wrong with the wood—but he couldn't tell what.

Layla didn't notice. She was too focused on staying upright, too lost in the battle to realize what had begun to take root. The manifestation of her qi, slow and unseen—like the creeping decay beneath a tree's bark, waiting for the right moment to spread.

Then, she moved.

She knew she should stop. She should listen. Her body was pitiful, her qi reserves even worse. She wasn't strong, she wasn't fast, and she had already overstepped her limits. But that part of her—the part that refused to bow, the part that clawed and bled and fought even when it was hopeless—wouldn't let her yield. She had been a queen once, and even then, she never stopped trying.

Fueled by nothing but adrenaline, Layla threw herself forward, spear striking in rapid succession. Her body was battered, bruised, but she ignored it. The pain was secondary. She had to keep going. Had to try.

Yan deflected her strikes with ease. Every hit she took sent her skidding back, her limbs screaming in protest, but she came back like a ghost—relentless, ceaseless, refusing to stay down.

Layla's breaths grew heavier. Her vision blurred at the edges, a sickening heat rising in her chest. Her Qi was pushing too hard, burning through her reserves at a dangerous rate. Her body wasn't ready for this. She could feel it creeping through her veins, poisoning her from the inside out.

She was losing. But she wouldn't stop.

Yan parried another strike, his expression unreadable. He saw it now—the reckless overexertion, the way her movements were becoming erratic. This wasn't just determination. This was desperation.

Then, it happened.

The Qi poison hit her like a truck, her body freezing mid-strike as an unbearable wave of nausea and pain consumed her. Her breath hitched, her vision flickered, and her legs buckled beneath her. But before she could collapse, Yan's final strike landed.

His wooden sword crashed against her, sending her hurtling through the air. She slammed into a stone pillar, the impact cracking it, dust and debris scattering in all directions.

A deafening silence followed.

Before Layla could hit the ground, Shen moved. In a blur of motion, matching Yan's speed, she caught Layla just before impact, cradling her limp form with surprising gentleness. Without hesitation, she rushed toward Master Daokan, her expression unreadable, but the urgency in her movements unmistakable.

Yan's grip on his sword faltered as he turned to watch. He felt it—a slow, creeping sensation. He looked down.

The wood of his sword had begun to blacken.

Eyes widening, he instantly let go, the weapon dropping to the ground with a dull thud. His fingers tingled, a faint numbness creeping through them.

Master Daokan stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "Now, you see it. The decay."

Yan stared at the sword, then at Layla, realization dawning on him. "What… is this?"

Master Daokan's gaze remained on Layla as Shen laid her down before him. Before he could begin, Lin Wuye stepped forward, his face set in a deep frown. "What is happening to her?" His voice was tense, edged with something between concern and demand.

Master Daokan exhaled slowly. "Her Qi doesn't attack instantly. It lingers, spreads, rots from within. And right now—she is completely consumed by it. If I do not intervene now, it will consume her entirely."

Lin Wuye's fists clenched at his sides. "That is my daughter's body. I demand answers, Master Daokan. What is happening to Meilin?"

Within Layla's consciousness, darkness swirled. She could feel it—the strange, foreign qi that wasn't hers. It moved, pulsed, whispered in the void. A voice, vague and distant, called to her, its presence both haunting and familiar.

"You are not from here," it murmured.

Layla hesitated. "Who are you?"

"A presence," it whispered. "A truth hidden beneath your own."

Layla's breath caught. "You… you know who I am?" The figure's fingers trailed along Layla's essence, a figure so dark it is devoid of anything, making her shudder.

"Oh, I know much more than that…"

The voice chuckled. "I know you were a ruler. I know you held power. And I know you thought your Qi was ordinary. But it isn't, is it?"

Layla shivered. "What do you want?"

"Oh, don't worry. I won't reveal you're a fake. You adapted well, for being a fraud. You led a battle to victory when the Silver Lotus should have lost. You defeated Shen Mu—though only by luck, and Master Daokan's intervention. But you did it, Layla. Or should I say… the ruler of Eternal Crescent, Queen Layla al-Zahira."

Layla's breath hitched. The darkness curled around her, the figure's presence suffocating yet eerily intimate.

"Who… what are you?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

The figure chuckled softly, fingers tracing an unseen path along Layla's very essence. "Names are trivial, fleeting. I am what lingers. What festers. What watches. And you… you are far more interesting than I anticipated." Layla shuddered, unable to move, her consciousness seemingly suspended in this abyss.

"What do you want from me?"

The figure tilted its head, considering her. "Want? Oh, Layla, this isn't about what I want. This is about what you are becoming. A queen once more? A warrior? Or just another lost soul grasping for purpose?"

Layla clenched her fists. "I am not lost."

"Aren't you? You wear another's face, live another's life, yet your heart still beats to the rhythm of a fallen throne. How long will you pretend, Layla? How long before they see you for what you are?"

The words cut deep. Layla recoiled, but the figure only drew closer, its touch grazing the edges of her soul, a suffocating weight pressing down.

"Enough!"

Layla forced the word out, her very being shaking. "Leave me be!"

The figure sighed, amused yet indulgent. "Very well. For now. But know this—I am watching. And one day, you will have no choice but to let me in."

As the figure withdrew, its presence dissipating like mist, Layla gasped for air, though none truly existed in this realm. Darkness faded, and slowly, painfully, she felt herself slipping away…

—

Master Daokan exhaled, his palms hovering above Layla's chest as the last of his Qi sealed the raging storm within her. The glow around her flickered before settling into an uneasy stillness.

He pulled away, sweat lining his brow. "She is stable for now."

Lin Wuye watched intently, arms crossed, but there was no mistaking the concern in his gaze.

"She needs proper care. We should send her to the physician immediately."

Master Daokan nodded and motioned to the waiting servants. "Take her to the physician's quarters. See that she is treated well."

As they carefully lifted Layla's unconscious form, Master Daokan lingered, eyes narrowed in thought. He had felt it—something beyond the decay, beyond the poison corrupting her Qi.

Something had touched her soul.

And whatever it was… it had not let go.

Master Daokan exhaled sharply and turned toward Yan, his expression shifting from grave contemplation to mild irritation. With a swift movement, he flicked his knuckles against Yan's forehead.

"Ow!" Yan rubbed the sore spot, scowling. "What was that for?!"

"That," Master Daokan said dryly, "was for going too hard on her. What were you trying to do? Kill her?" His voice carried a hint of amusement despite his serious tone.

Yan huffed, crossing his arms. "She kept getting up. It's not my fault she doesn't know when to quit."

Master Daokan smirked. "And now she doesn't have a choice in the matter, does she?" He shook his head before lowering his voice.

"Take that rotted wooden sword and bring it to my informants. I need to know what this corruption truly is."

Yan blinked at the sudden shift in tone but nodded, picking up the blackened weapon carefully. As he did, Master Daokan leaned in slightly, his voice a near whisper. "And keep your ears open about Meilin. Something about her disturbance does not sit right with me. Not a word of this to anyone else."

Yan's eyes darkened slightly, but he gave a firm nod before stepping away.

Master Daokan straightened, rolling his shoulders before addressing the rest of the gathered warriors.

"Enough stalling! The fight resumes! This time…" His lips curled into a knowing smile.

"It will be me against both Jiang and Lin Wuye. Let's see if either of you are up to the challenge."

He raised a hand before they could prepare. "I will handicap myself—I will not use a weapon." His gaze swept over them as Jiang and Lin Wuye exchanged looks before picking up their wooden weapons of choice.

Without another word, the battle began.

The air cracked with force as Jiang lunged forward, swinging his wooden staff with precision, only for Master Daokan to sidestep effortlessly. Lin Wuye followed, his wooden sword striking at an angle meant to catch the master off guard, but Daokan twisted, ducking beneath the blow with unnerving ease.

Their strikes were precise, fast, deadly even for wooden weapons—but Master Daokan moved as though he had all the time in the world. Not a single wasted motion, not a single step out of place.

Jiang was the first to falter. His breath labored, his form a fraction too slow. A single, open-palmed strike from Daokan sent him reeling, his body launching across the courtyard. The impact against the stone pillar was deafening, and Jiang crumpled to the ground, momentarily stunned.

Lin Wuye gritted his teeth, adjusting his stance. He knew better than to hesitate.

Their exchange resumed, but it was clear to all who watched—Master Daokan's strength was overwhelming. His strikes weren't just powerful, they were precise, aimed at openings that barely existed. He controlled the rhythm, dictating every move, forcing Lin Wuye to react rather than act.

The fight was dazzling. Blows clashed like thunder, their movements a blur, but no one—no matter how skilled—could keep up with Master Daokan.

And it was only a matter of time before Lin Wuye realized it too.

Jiang groaned, shaking his head as he pushed himself up. Unlike Layla, there was no blood dripping from his lips—only the bruising ache spreading across his back. He clenched his fists, exhaling sharply, then darted forward once more, his movements sharper, quicker. If he couldn't match Master Daokan alone, then he would have to match Lin Wuye's pace instead.

"Don't fall behind." Jiang muttered under his breath as he reached Lin Wuye's side, his stance shifting, ready to move in sync.

Lin Wuye spared him a quick glance but gave a small nod. "Then keep up."

From Lin Wuye's perspective, the battle had become a war of survival. Master Daokan wasn't just fast—he was absurdly strong. Each blow Lin Wuye managed to parry sent jarring force through his arms, his bones rattling as if he had just stopped the charge of an enraged war elephant. And this was Master Daokan holding back.

Lin Wuye gritted his teeth, adjusting his footwork. He needed to shift the flow of battle. His mind raced, recalling the techniques drilled into him back at the Silver Lotus Sect. Their style wasn't about brute force—it was about speed, precision, and control over the winds themselves.

He inhaled deeply. The air around him shifted.

Master Daokan's eyes flickered with interest as Lin Wuye's wooden sword became a blur, his movements suddenly weightless, as if carried by the breeze.

"Ah," Daokan mused, dodging a swift strike, "now you're getting serious."

Lin Wuye's steps became sharper, more precise. He activated the Steps of the Gale, a technique of 30 intricate steps. Even a single step placed immense strain on the body, draining Qi at an alarming rate if one's Qi wasn't trained.

Step One: Whispering Breeze. Lin Wuye's movements became elusive, his body gliding like a wisp of air. His first strike came from an angle too difficult to read, but Daokan deflected it effortlessly.

Step Two: Rushing Wind. His speed doubled, his sword now a blur of motion. The air howled as his attacks became relentless, each strike hammering down like a windstorm.

Step Three: Gale's Kiss. The pressure of his attacks became suffocating, his strikes forming shockwaves that pushed Daokan back an inch—yet still, the master remained unshaken.

Step Four: Roaring Tempest. Lin Wuye's muscles screamed in protest, his veins burning with exertion as the wind spiralled violently around him. Each slash was no longer just a strike—it was a force of nature.

Step Five: Cyclone's Wrath. His sword no longer just moved through the air—it commanded it. The air pressure twisted violently, forming visible arcs of wind that lashed out at Daokan, forcing him to take his first defensive step.

Step Six: Tornado's Edge. The very ground beneath him cracked from the sheer force of his movements. Each step threatened to break his body apart, yet he pushed forward, his qi burning away at an alarming rate.

Step Seven: Heaven's Howl. The final step Lin Wuye could manage at the time. He had use until step 15th against the fight with Shen Mu. A single strike of Heaven's Howl could tear through anything in its path. The moment he swung, the very air itself seemed to be sliced open, creating a vacuum that threatened to consume everything before it.

Jiang, watching in awe, clenched his fists. He couldn't let Lin Wuye stand alone.

Digging deep into his reserves, he activated the technique as well.

Step One: Whispering Breeze. His stance shifted, his movements becoming light and untouchable.

Step Two: Rushing Wind. He accelerated, syncing with Lin Wuye, his strikes a dance of precision. But Jiang's body lacked Lin's reserves—he had only enough Qi to sustain this. Jiang could go until step seven but it would mean sacrificing his body functionality for one strike.

Atlas, watching from the sidelines, was in full panic mode. "Oh no—NO—NOT AGAIN!" The gust of wind blasted into him with the force of a typhoon. His pants, already suffering from the previous impact, were finally ripped clean off.

"WHY ME?!" Atlas wailed, frantically trying to cover himself as his undergarments fluttered dangerously in the breeze.

Meyu, quick on her feet, lunged forward and held up a cloth, covering him just in time. "For the love of the heavens, Atlas, how do you always end up like this?!"

Atlas, still clutching the remnants of his dignity, groaned. "Why does every fight in this place personally attack me?!"

Master Daokan continued deflecting Lin Wuye's seventh step with minimal effort, his expression calm. "You, when you fought Shen Mu, how many steps did you use?" he asked, his voice steady. "I know this isn't all you're capable of."

Lin Wuye exhaled sharply, keeping his stance firm. "I reached the 25th step," he admitted. "I never used it. That step is meant to sacrifice my entire body for one strike. I almost considered it when Shen Mu became a berserker filled with negative Qi."

Master Daokan gave a small nod, acknowledging his efforts. "Impressive. But technique alone will never be enough. Let me show you why."

He raised his hands slightly, his stance shifting. "This is my own creation—The Shrouded Peaks Technique." He took a deep breath, and the air around him seemed to compress, all oxygen seemingly sucked away. The pressure was suffocating, and the wind techniques Lin and Jiang had conjured dissipated like mist before an oncoming storm. The ground trembled, cracks forming beneath his feet.

First Strike: Sundering Summit. He thrust his palm forward, the force of the strike splitting the air. Even the mountains in the far distance seemed to shudder.

Lin Wuye and Jiang had no time to react. Their bodies instinctively reinforced themselves with Qi, their weapons raised in a desperate defense. The impact was immediate—an overwhelming force that sent them both flying, smashing through the grand hall's solid wooden layers. Beams shattered, debris rained down, and by the time they landed, both were unconscious.

A figure stepped forward—Shen again. Kneeling beside them, she placed her hands on their foreheads, channeling her Qi into their cores. Moments later, Lin Wuye and Jiang stirred, groggy but awake.

Shen studied them, a smirk playing on her lips. "You two are strong. Worthy of learning even more."

Lin Wuye remained silent, staring at the ceiling in contemplation. Had it finally come to this? Was it time to abandon his pacifist nature?

Jiang, noticing his hesitation, turned to him.

"Don't forget," he said firmly.

"Meilin—she stood against Shen Mu. You nearly lost her. If you hesitate again, what will happen next time?"

Master Daokan dusted off his robes and turned to the gathered crowd. "Next fight: Bao versus Ren."

Atlas, now clad in fresh robes from the servants, groaned as he adjusted his clothes. "Great. A fair fight for once." Then, realizing he still had to fight Shen Xue, he gulped and muttered,

"Maybe I can negotiate again..."

Atlas took a deep breath, straightened his freshly donned robes, and approached Shen Xue with what he hoped was a confident stride. He cleared his throat, then placed a hand over his heart, flashing a diplomatic—albeit slightly desperate—smile.

"Shen Xue, my dear, formidable, and incredibly wise opponent," Atlas began, choosing his words carefully. "Surely, in the grand scheme of martial arts, our battle is but a minor skirmish, a tiny ripple in the vast ocean of combat. Would it not be more beneficial for both of us to resolve this with words rather than fists?"

Shen Xue folded her arms, unimpressed. "You tried this last time. It didn't work."

Atlas sighed. "True, but consider this! In a world brimming with conflict, must we always default to violence? Perhaps a gentleman's agreement, a pact of mutual benefit—"

"Atlas."

"Yes?"

"If you don't fight me, I'll fight you anyway."

Atlas's hopeful grin wavered. "Right. Just thought I'd check."

Shen Xue raised an eyebrow. "You're not getting out of this."

Atlas groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, okay, but what if—and hear me out—we stage the fight? You hit me, I dramatically fall over, everyone gasps, and we call it a day?"

Shen Xue stared at him, deadpan.

"No."

Atlas threw his hands up. "What if I bribe you?"

"No."

"An all-expenses-paid meal at the finest restaurant in the city?"

"Still no."

Atlas crossed his arms and pouted. "You drive a hard bargain, Shen."

She smirked. "I don't negotiate."

Before Atlas could attempt another desperate ploy, Master Daokan called out, "Bao versus Ren, step forward."

Atlas nearly collapsed in relief as the attention shifted away from him. He scurried back to the sidelines, whispering to himself,

"Another day, another chance to negotiate."

Bao stepped into the ring, his eyes locked onto Ren. The two warriors faced each other in silence, the tension between them almost tangible.

Bao inhaled deeply, centering himself. Unlike Lin Wuye or Jiang, his body lacked their hardened physique, but his Qi reserves ran deep. If nothing else, he could sustain his techniques longer than most.

With a single step, he launched into the first technique of the Silver Lotus Sect—"Whispering Breeze." His body glided like a wisp of air, his movements elusive and unreadable as his fist cut toward Ren.

Ren didn't move. At the last possible moment, he tilted his head slightly, letting the strike pass by harmlessly.

Bao wasted no time, shifting into "Rushing Wind." His speed doubled, his fists blurring into a near-invisible flurry of strikes. The air howled as his attacks rained down in relentless succession.

Ren finally responded, weaving effortlessly between Bao's strikes. He parried a punch with the back of his hand, then stepped forward, pressing into Bao's space. His movements were frustratingly simple—direct, efficient—but they carried the weight of complete mastery.

Bao grit his teeth and pushed forward. His Qi surged, allowing him to maintain his technique longer than most, but it also made him reckless. He struck out again, but Ren anticipated it, stepping just out of reach before slamming a palm into Bao's chest.

Bao stumbled, his breath hitching from the force. But he refused to fall.

"Again," Bao muttered, resetting his stance.

Ren smirked. "You're persistent."

Bao launched forward, his movements smoother, more refined, as he maintained "Whispering Breeze" and "Rushing Wind" simultaneously. He was fast—faster than he had ever been before. And for the first time, Ren had to block rather than evade.

Bao saw his opening. He twisted, driving his fist toward Ren's ribs.

It landed.

Ren took a single step back, a faint look of approval in his eyes.

But in the next breath, he struck back. His fist drove into Bao's stomach with the force of a collapsing mountain. The air in Bao's lungs vanished instantly. He barely registered the pain before his vision blurred, his body sent flying across the arena.

He crashed hard, coughing violently as his limbs refused to obey him. Ren exhaled, stepping back calmly.

Shen watched intently. "Ren isn't just strong. He's terrifying."

Bao groaned, pushing himself up from the ground, his body screaming in protest. His limbs trembled, and his breath came in ragged gasps, but he refused to surrender. His Qi was still surging within him, and that meant he could still fight.

Master Daokan watched from the sidelines, his sharp eyes analyzing every movement. "He's pushing his body past the limits," he murmured, his voice unreadable.

"His body is weaker than the others, but his qi reserves are immense. If he can maintain control, he might still turn this around."

Beside him, Shen smirked. "He's got heart, I'll give him that. But Ren isn't the kind of opponent who'll let him push forward much longer."

Yue Wuye, standing with her arms crossed, observed quietly. "Even so, he's forcing Ren to work harder than expected. That alone is impressive."

Bao steadied his stance, inhaling deeply. The pain dulled under the sheer force of his will, and he launched forward again, his form shifting back into "Whispering Breeze." His movements became unpredictable, his strikes weaving through the air like the wind itself.

Ren exhaled, mildly irritated now. "You don't know when to stay down, do you?"

Bao ignored him, pouring his energy into "Rushing Wind." His speed spiked again, his strikes blurring into a tempest. He weaved and lashed out, forcing Ren onto the defensive for the first time in the match.

Master Daokan's eyes flickered with interest. "He's adapting. His instincts are getting sharper.''

Ren clicked his tongue, stepping back, dodging each strike with ease—but there was a subtle shift in his stance, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes.

Bao saw it.

Seizing the moment, Bao pivoted and twisted his entire body into a single, explosive punch. His fist connected squarely with Ren's jaw, sending a shockwave rippling through the air.

Master Daokan's brows lifted ever so slightly. "He landed a clean hit.''

Ren staggered back a step, touching his chin. He blinked once, then frowned. "That... actually hurt."

Bao exhaled sharply, his entire body burning with exhaustion, but he stood firm.

"I'm not done yet."

Ren rolled his shoulders, his irritation now palpable. "Alright. I've humoured you enough."

Master Daokan's gaze darkened. "Now comes the real test."

Ren shifted his weight, his posture subtly changing. Before Bao could react, Ren moved—too fast for the eye to follow. One instant he was standing still, the next, his fist buried deep into Bao's abdomen.

Bao's breath caught, his vision flashing white as pain exploded through his body. But something instinctive took over. His hand shot out, grabbing Ren's wrist just as the force sent him staggering back.

A surge of power ignited in his core.

Master Daokan's eyes widened slightly. "Oh...?"

Bao felt it—the third step.

"Gale's Kiss."The air around them howled as Bao's qi flared wildly, reinforcing his battered body. Pain flooded his limbs, his muscles screaming in protest, but his qi absorbed the damage, allowing him to move again.

Ren's expression darkened. "You're still standing?"

Bao didn't answer. His fists clenched, the wind roaring around him. He dashed forward, faster than before, his strikes sharper, deadlier.

Master Daokan nodded approvingly. "He's enduring it... but for how long?"

Ren let out a slow breath, his stance shifting. Then, with no hesitation, he surged forward, intercepting Bao's next strike. The impact sent a gust of wind through the arena, but this time, Ren didn't give an inch. He countered immediately, twisting Bao's arm and slamming a knee into his ribs. Bao gasped, but instead of collapsing, he forced himself through the pain, retaliating with a wild, sweeping kick. Ren sidestepped cleanly, bringing his elbow down on Bao's shoulder with brutal precision.

Shen clicked her tongue. "He's done."

Yue Wuye sighed. "He lasted longer than I expected. But Ren is still the better fighter."

Bao's vision swam. His body, already battered, finally betrayed him. He dropped to one knee, struggling to stay upright, but Ren was already preparing the finishing blow.

A final strike landed cleanly against Bao's chest, sending him sprawling across the floor.

Master Daokan exhaled. "It's over."

Ren stepped back, rolling his shoulders. "You put up a good fight," he admitted. 

Bao lay on the ground, chest heaving, his Qi finally spent.

Shen smirked. "Not bad, kid. Maybe next time."

Yan Shuren, returning from sending Layla to the physician, frowned as he saw another battered-up child. He turned to Master Daokan.

"Why didn't you punish Ren for making a kid pass out?"

Master Daokan remained calm, his gaze unwavering. "Because the lesson wasn't just for Bao. Strength isn't just about enduring—it's about understanding limits. If Ren had held back, Bao would never know how far he still has to go. A true warrior must experience hardship to grow."

He glanced toward the ring where the remnants of the battle still lingered. "Unlike your fight with Meilin, which was frankly one-sided and you making Meilin like a bouncing ball leaving many holes in the main compound, Bao and Ren were almost equals. Their battle was a true test, not just of power but of adaptation and endurance. If I punished Ren for this, I would be undermining the very lesson Bao needed to learn." 

He turned toward a nearby servant and spoke in a low but firm voice. "Take Bao to the physician. Make sure he's well cared for."

The servant nodded, swiftly carrying out the order. Meanwhile, the rest of the fighters—Lin Wuye, Jiang, Layla all bandaged up and Yan Shuren—returned, taking their places among the spectators. The air was thick with anticipation, but no one was more confused than Atlas, who had been subtly edging his way toward the exit.

Then, with a slight smirk—something rare for him—Master Daokan clapped his hands together, drawing everyone's attention. "And now, the final match of the day."

Atlas froze mid-step. "Wait, what? That was the last fight, right?"

Master Daokan turned toward him, his tone far too eager.

"No, Atlas. This is the last fight. You, against Shen Xue."