Chapter 40 - Wang Jiran part 2
The air between them vibrated.
Jin Ye's fingers gripped his blade, his stance low, knees slightly bent—not out of fear, but calculated readiness. Across from him stood the Foundation Establishment cultivator, clad in muted robes bearing the faint insignia of the Wang Clan. His expression remained impassive, yet the oppressive pressure rolling off him was unmistakable.
This was a different battlefield.
The remaining allies that had fought beside the cultivator lay broken on the stone floor, some groaning, others silent. The Ren Clan formation disciple bled from the head, unconscious. The twin saber user lay unmoving. Jin Ye's war robe was singed and nicked in places, but he still stood, blade in hand.
The Foundation cultivator finally moved, stepping forward.
No words.
Only the sharp ring of steel as he drew his saber, a narrow-bladed weapon that thrummed with power as it cleaved the air.
Jin Ye stepped forward too, his own Qi pulsing outward like a soft tide.
Flowing Phantom Blade—Fourth Movement: Whispering Cut.
Shadow Phantom Step.
Both techniques buzzed in his meridians, ready—hungry.
Then the Foundation cultivator vanished.
Stone Vein Stance—Crushing Stream Blade!
The man appeared at Jin Ye's side in a flash, his saber descending in a heavy vertical slash that shook the ground beneath their feet. Jin Ye pivoted with Moonlit Phantom Steps, just barely avoiding the strike.
The impact crushed the ground where he had been, a crater blooming outward like a flower of shattered stone.
Jin Ye countered immediately—Flowing Phantom Blade slashed forward in a curved arc meant to hook beneath the man's guard.
But the cultivator raised his arm and blocked it—not with his blade, but with Qi-hardened skin. A subtle technique from Stone Vein Body Tempering.
Sparks flew. Jin Ye's blade skidded across the man's forearm, drawing only a faint red line.
Not enough.
The Foundation cultivator twisted his body with unnatural speed, elbowing Jin Ye mid-spin.
The blow landed like a hammer. Jin Ye's body flew back, slamming into the wall, cracking the stone.
Pain lanced through his chest. His robe had absorbed the brunt of it, but the impact still left him breathless.
Still not enough.
He rose, exhaling through his nose. The cultivator didn't charge—he was patient, watching. Judging.
Jin Ye straightened, rolled his shoulder once, then launched forward.
Shadow Phantom Step!
He reappeared mid-step beside the man, slashing low—then feinting upward into an overhead arc.
The cultivator responded with a backstep and rippling slash of his own—Crushing Stream Blade—Second Form: Swelling Torrent.
The saber strike came in a wide crescent, fueled by flowing Qi that crushed the air ahead of it like a boulder.
Jin Ye had no time to dodge.
So he met it head-on.
Qi flared from within his core.
Flowing Phantom Blade—Third Movement: Phantom Current!
He stepped inside the strike instead of away from it, letting his own blade trace the inside edge of the saber's arc. The two blades scraped together, the current of their spiritual energies clashing with a roar—until Jin Ye's sword slid beneath the force, redirecting the strike and forcing the man off-balance for a breath.
And that was all Jin Ye needed.
He leaned forward and unleashed a short-range Scorching Fang Palm—his free hand exploding with heat as it slammed into the cultivator's ribs.
Boom!
The Qi pulse sent the man stumbling three steps back, coughing once.
Jin Ye pressed forward, sweat slicking his brow now. Every step forward felt like pushing into a wall of stone. This was Foundation Establishment. The gap wasn't just spiritual—it was physical, structural, elemental.
Still—Jin Ye wasn't the same Qi Refinement cultivator he had been days ago.
He raised his sword again, breath steady.
The Foundation cultivator smiled faintly for the first time.
"You're better than expected," he said.
Jin Ye didn't respond.
The man raised his saber again, the Qi around him tightening into a layered sheath of dense energy.
Jin Ye narrowed his eyes. He could sense it—a decisive technique was coming.
He adjusted his footing, tapped into that growing sense behind his strikes—the hum of Sword Intent lingering at the edge of awareness. Not fully realized, but waiting.
The two swordsmen stared each other down—
And then they both moved.
The fight wasn't over.
It was only just beginning.
The saber came down like a landslide.
Jin Ye met it head-on. His blade rose—not to block, but to redirect. It shimmered faintly now, as if the steel itself vibrated with purpose.
The cultivator's saber slammed into Jin Ye's war robe again, but this time, he didn't budge. The reinforced fabric rippled like liquid metal, the drake-enhanced body beneath absorbing the brunt of the impact. The stone floor beneath him cracked, but he remained rooted.
Then—
It clicked.
In the silence between the clash, Jin Ye felt it. That rhythm. That tension. The weight behind every swing, the intent to kill, buried within each technique.
And like a river breaking through a dam, his own Intent surged forward.
It wasn't just force. It wasn't speed. It was clarity. The will to cut.
The edges of his blade gleamed brighter, not with light, but with focus. The space around him bent slightly, the tip of his sword seeming to exist in multiple places at once.
The cultivator hesitated. His instincts screamed.
But it was already too late.
Flowing Phantom Blade – Final Movement: Mirrorfall Slash.
Jin Ye vanished and reappeared directly in front of him—his body passing through the cultivator's guard like a reflection on rippling water.
His blade didn't clash.
It cut.
A single diagonal slash arced across the man's chest. For a moment, nothing happened. Then—his Qi barrier split cleanly, his robes sliced through, and blood burst out in a thin line.
The Foundation cultivator gasped. His saber fell from his fingers, clanging uselessly to the ground.
He collapsed to one knee.
Eyes wide with disbelief, he looked up at Jin Ye.
"You… reached Intent… at Qi Refinement?"
Jin Ye didn't answer. His sword gleamed once, then dimmed, returning to its natural state.
The cultivator tried to speak again, but Jin Ye stepped forward and drove his blade through his chest, ending it cleanly.
There was no room for admiration.
Only silence.
The sound of footsteps scraping against the stone echoed from deeper within the corridor.
Jin Ye turned slowly.
Wang Yiran.
The once-proud young master had backed away during the battle, eyes wide as his trump card—the Foundation guardian—was cut down before him.
He stumbled, turning, trying to flee down the fractured hallway.
Jin Ye didn't rush. He began to walk, one deliberate step at a time.
Wang Yiran's voice cracked from the darkness. "Wait—WAIT! Jin Ye, listen—"
Jin Ye didn't stop.
"I didn't know he'd die! I was told you'd be restrained! It wasn't personal!"
Still walking.
"I'll leave! I'll forfeit the trial! You'll never see me again!"
Jin Ye's sword rose, trailing a soft hum.
Wang Yiran backed against a wall, wild-eyed, trembling. "I was afraid… They told me you were dangerous! I didn't think you'd really—"
Jin Ye stopped three steps away, his blade at his side, coated in the fading sheen of battle. His gaze, cold. Flat. Merciless.
"You had chances," he said quietly. "You used every one to dig your own grave."
Wang Yiran opened his mouth to beg again.
He never finished.
Jin Ye moved once—just once—and the tip of his sword slid across Wang Yiran's throat.
A clean line of red appeared. His eyes widened in mute shock.
Then he fell.
Jin Ye stood still, letting the weight of it settle.
One more tie to his past, severed.
He inhaled once, deeply, and turned away. Behind him, the chamber fell quiet. The walls, the stones, even the lingering Qi—none dared to stir.
He wasn't just a rogue anymore.
He was becoming something else entirely.
The silence returned, but it felt different now—thick, like the air itself had become aware of what had transpired.
Jin Ye sheathed his sword slowly, his muscles sore, his robe torn in several places, streaked with blood that wasn't his. He walked past the corpses without ceremony, stopping only when he reached the far wall of the chamber.
There, behind a broken pillar, was a hidden alcove, barely noticeable to the untrained eye. One of the dead attackers had been reaching toward it before Jin Ye struck him down.
Inside, he found a small satchel lined with formation seals—meant to block spiritual sense. Smart. Dangerous.
Jin Ye cracked it open.
Inside were the spoils:
A mid-tier spatial ring, twenty meters in capacity.
A dozen Qi restoration pills, two of them high-grade.
Several manual scrolls, including a spear technique from the Liu Clan and a defensive movement method.
A personal letter addressed to the Foundation cultivator—likely from Wang Yiran's father.
None of it mattered right now.
He needed time.
Jin Ye walked to the center of the room, dropped to one knee, and drew a small warding circle around himself. He crushed a pill between his fingers, letting the medicinal fragrance swirl into the air.
Then he closed his eyes.
And began to refine.
The Qi of the fallen rose from their corpses, invisible to others, but not to him. Thin strands of fate, essence, and will—tangled with regret and ambition—drifted toward him like moths drawn to a silent fire.
He let them come.
The Foundation cultivator's spirit was particularly dense—layers of condensed insight, forged over decades of disciplined training. Jin Ye absorbed it slowly, parsing each fragment. The man's instincts, his footwork, his saber rhythm… all of it began to settle within Jin Ye's core.
His body pulsed with new understanding.
His senses sharpened.
His reflexes improved.
But more than that—his soul began to compress.
Not like a Foundation Establishment core. No.
Something else.
In his dantian, Qi didn't swirl—it spiraled. The faintest trace of golden filament emerged, wrapping around his central Qi pool like a coiling dragon.
It pulsed once. Then again.
Jin Ye's brow furrowed.
It wasn't just a refinement.
It was a mutation.
A new realm, unseen on any path he'd followed before.
His breathing slowed. And he thought of Shen Mu's words—
"There is a step beyond the ninth."
"When the body, Qi, spirit, and fate align…"
He understood now.
He was walking toward it.
The 10th stage of Qi Refinement.
Something that shouldn't exist—
But now pulsed inside him with every breath.
When Jin Ye finally opened his eyes, his presence had changed. Still quiet, still calm.
But there was a weight to it now.
A depth no Qi Refinement cultivator should possess.
Even Core Formation experts might pause when sensing it.
He rose, rotating his shoulders. The pain had faded. His wounds were gone. His robe was still torn, but his stance was stronger than before.
He turned toward the exit.
Shen Li and Bai Xueqing would be close. He could sense them approaching.
But whatever came next—whether more tests, more trials, more enemies—
He was ready.
And whatever waited in the depths of the ruins—
It would learn his name.