Shards of Ice

The arena's heat still lingered in the air, yet the next match promised nothing but cold.

Jian Mu stepped forward, his crimson eyes burning with quiet fury. His body still ached from the trial's earlier battles, but his mind churned with restless thoughts. The sight of Wu Sheng lying broken on the ground gnawed at him, reminding him of his own helplessness.

'I'm still weak...'

Across from him stood his next opponent a pale, slender youth draped in light-blue robes embroidered with silver frost patterns. His long silver hair fell neatly past his shoulders, and his eyes glinted like shards of ice.

"Zhang Min of the Frost Veil Clan," the youth announced coolly. His voice carried no arrogance only an air of detached superiority.

The Frost Veil Clan—one of the few third-class clans still lingering in the Heavenly Demon Sect's shadow. Though weaker in name, their Frost Veil Arts were infamous for their chilling precision.

"Jian Mu," he said, his voice low but steady. No clan name. No titles. Just himself.

Elder Bai's gaze swept between them before his hand dropped.

"Begin!"

Jian Mu surged forward. No hesitation. No waiting. If he gave Zhang Min time, that cold qi would become a death sentence.

His fist cut through the air, aiming straight for Zhang Min's chest. But the pale youth barely flinched. With a flick of his wrist, a mist of icy qi swirled around his fingers.

"Ice Veil Step."

He vanished.

Jian Mu's strike pierced through empty air. A chill brushed against his side, and he barely turned in time to see Zhang Min reappear, hand outstretched.

"Frost Fang Palm!"

A jagged spear of ice erupted toward his ribs. Jian Mu twisted, the shard grazing his side and leaving a trail of frostbitten flesh. Pain lanced through him, but he gritted his teeth and swung his elbow toward Zhang Min's face.

Missed.

Zhang Min moved like a ghost, always a step ahead each motion fluid and precise. His calm expression never wavered, even as frost began to creep across the arena floor.

Jian Mu's frustration swelled. His raw power meant nothing without technique. Every time he advanced, Zhang Min slipped past attacking from angles he couldn't predict.

'Damit...'

Another spike of ice sliced across his shoulder. Blood dripped onto the frozen ground, steaming in the chill.

"You're too slow," Zhang Min said quietly. His breath fogged the air. "Without a proper technique, brute strength is meaningless."

Jian Mu snarled. He knew that already but hearing it from someone else burned.

A distant voice stirred at the edge of his mind, dark, cruel, and familiar.

'Why do you hold back... Rip him apart.'

He shook it off. The demon's voice had grown quieter since the trial began but it lingered, always waiting.

Zhang Min pressed forward. With a sweep of his hands, icy blades formed around him in a deadly arc.

"Frozen Crescent!"

The blades shot toward Jian Mu, fast and precise. He barely dodged the first, but the second sliced into his thigh, and the third slammed into his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs.

He hit the ground hard. Cold seeped into his bones as his vision blurred. Blood stained the ice beneath him.

'I'm losing again...'

For a moment, everything seemed distant—the pain, the cold, the jeering whispers of the crowd. But in that darkness, something else stirred.

A memory. His mother's pale face, yet smiling. The warmth of her hand before it slipped away forever.

Rage flared inside him.

He forced himself to stand, legs trembling beneath him. His breathing came ragged, his heart pounding against his ribs. Zhang Min's eyes narrowed in faint surprise.

"You should stay down," the frost wielder murmured. "It would be easier."

Easier? Nothing in his life had ever been easy.

Jian Mu clenched his fists. Something shifted in his core, a flicker of heat beneath the cold.

"I don't care how many times I fall…" His voice trembled with fury. "Im gonna kill you."

Zhang Min's expression darkened. Without a word, he raised both hands, summoning a swirling vortex of frost. The air froze solid around him.

"Glacial Rend."

A massive wave of ice erupted from the ground, jagged spikes aiming to trap and impale him. There was no room to dodge.

But Jian Mu didn't back down.

He roared, his qi flaring with raw, chaotic power. Heat surged through his veins, a wild burning energy that wasn't his own. It didn't matter if he couldn't control it. Right now, he needed it.

He lunged straight into the storm.

The first spike shattered beneath his fist. The second cut into his side—but he didn't stop. Every step burned as he pushed through the freezing winds.

Zhang Min's eyes widened as Jian Mu broke through his technique, bloodied but still moving.

"How!?"

Jian Mu's fist slammed into his stomach. The impact sent Zhang Min flying across the arena, crashing hard against the frozen ground.

Silence fell.

Jian Mu stood over him, breathing hard, his hands trembling with pain and something darker, something growing.

Zhang Min coughed, blood staining his pale lips. He tried to rise but his body refused. His frost armor, once unyielding, cracked like broken glass.

Instructor Mei's voice rang out, sharp and cold.

"Winner is, Jian Mu."

The arena remained quiet for a breath before whispers spread like wildfire. No one had expected a nameless outcast to defeat a clan-trained fighter.

'Move body! His gotta pay! Damit...'

Jian Mu barely registered the noise. His vision blurred, muscles burning as exhaustion crept in. But as he turned to leave the arena, one thought echoed in his mind.

'I...survived...'

And next time he wouldn't just survive.

He would dominate.

End of Chapter 18