Chapter 8: The Battle Begins

The evening sky hung low and heavy, painted in dusk hues as the solemn toll of a long bell echoed from the main hall. Disciples quickly gathered, their instincts correct—this was no ordinary announcement.

At the front of the hall stood one of the elders, flanked by senior instructors.

"Three days from now, Tianhan Sect will receive a formal visit from Baiyuan Sect for a friendly sparring exchange. This is not merely about showing strength, but an opportunity to learn and evaluate yourselves."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"Baiyuan Sect? Aren't they famous for their sword techniques?"

"I heard they have a move so fast it cuts before the opponent even realizes they've been hit."

"Thousand Li Slash, right?"

Yanzhi stood among them, his eyes narrowing at the mention of that technique.

The spirit inside him stirred.

"Oh? Now that's interesting. A legendary sword move. If you're lucky, you'll see it up close—right before you drop to the floor."

"Relax. I'm not signing up to be their practice target," Yanzhi muttered inwardly.

The spirit chuckled. "Oh, but they love testing limits. Especially of those who look too serious for their own good."

Three days wasn't much time, and the sect's atmosphere shifted sharply from that moment on.

Training intensified. Even the usually composed Senior Lu Ming became more exacting. He pushed his students through drills in formation, elemental control, and one-on-one sparring.

"Don't rely too much on brute strength," he told Yanzhi one afternoon. "Out there, technique can tear down walls your fists can't."

Yanzhi nodded, breath ragged, sweat trailing down his jaw. But something in his eyes burned brighter than before.

That was just the beginning.

The night before Baiyuan's arrival, Tianhan buzzed with quiet tension. Torches lit the corridors, instructors paced and checked preparations, and the grounds felt heavier underfoot.

In his dorm, Yanzhi sat cross-legged. The fire within him pulsed more calmly now, less wild, more responsive.

The spirit's voice cut through the stillness.

"Don't embarrass me tomorrow."

Yanzhi sighed. "Since when do you care?"

"Since losing means we both lose."

"You sound... almost concerned."

"Don't flatter yourself. It's survival instinct."

"Then help me."

"Hm. Try asking nicer."

"Forget it."

"Stubborn idiot."

The night passed quietly, holding tightly to whatever tomorrow would bring.

The next morning, the air was chill despite the sun already climbing. Tianhan disciples stood at the main gates in ceremonial robes, sect emblems stitched neatly on their chests. Incense curled through the breeze, mingling with rising anticipation.

Then, from the distance, the visiting sect appeared.

Baiyuan's disciples marched with precision. Their robes were steel blue, stitched with silver lightning trailing from shoulder to sleeve. Their expressions were unreadable—some calm, others smug.

But one figure drew every eye.

A tall young man, hair tied neatly back, a long sword strapped across his back. His gaze was sharp, scanning the crowd like weighing every soul he passed.

Whispers erupted.

"That's Ruo Han. Baiyuan's top disciple."

"I heard he's won five matches without even drawing his sword."

"And they say… he's mastered the Thousand Li Slash."

Yanzhi lingered behind the main group, not eager to join the excitement. But his gaze accidentally locked with Ruo Han's.

Silence. Just a brief moment—but it stretched long.

Ruo Han's eyes swept past the Tianhan students before pausing briefly on Yanzhi. Nothing was said. Only the wind moved.

Yanzhi held the stare, unsure why that gaze felt like a blade brushing his skin.

Inside him, the spirit murmured.

"Ah, so this is the star pupil of Baiyuan? Intense eyes, confident gait, fancy robes… but empty inside."

Yanzhi glanced sideways. "You sure? His pressure's no joke."

"Pressure? Please. If that's pressure, you're more fragile than I thought. That boy walks like a warrior, but he hasn't lived like one."

"He's supposed to wield the Thousand Li Slash."

"And I once shattered seven mountains because I was bored. You think I'm impressed?"

Yanzhi nearly choked at the exaggeration.

"Still, be careful," the spirit added. "Unfortunately, you're not me."

Yanzhi snorted silently. He'd grown used to the spirit's endless self-glorifying tales.

"Yeah, yeah. Seven mountains, one breath, the world trembles. Old news."

The spirit chuckled softly.

"Glad you're memorizing it. Now prove you're worthy of being my vessel."

Yanzhi looked toward the arena being prepared ahead.

"I don't need to be like you," he muttered.

"I just need to be strong enough… as me."

The spirit said nothing. But Yanzhi could tell—it was listening.

Cheers and excited chatter filled the air as the training grounds transformed into a sparring arena. Flagpoles rose on both sides, Tianhan and Baiyuan banners fluttering in the breeze. On the raised platform, elders and instructors watched silently. Lu Ming stood tall on the Tianhan side.

"For the first match," the voice of the spiritual announcer rang clear,

"Baiyuan Sect's core disciple, Ruo Han, will face Tianhan Sect's Wu Jintang."

A hush fell.

"Wu Jintang? He's decent… but against Ruo Han?"

"Ruo Han's already mastered the Thousand Li Slash. This is insane."

Yanzhi narrowed his eyes as both students stepped into the arena.

The spirit commented dryly, "They're feeding him an appetizer. This match is just a show."

Wu Jintang entered with a serious face, followed by Ruo Han in his flowing robe, sword gleaming in the light.

They faced off.

"Begin," called the referee.

Ruo Han unsheathed his sword in a slow, graceful motion.

The pressure shifted instantly. Wind split with the sound of a blade that hadn't moved.

"He hasn't struck yet, but the weight in the air…" someone whispered.

Yanzhi clenched his fists. Even without a move, the aura was cutting through the space.

"He can shape the field with his presence alone," he muttered.

The spirit scoffed. "Aura? Flashy trick. A good move, yes, but don't let yourself be blinded by shine. Focus on the result."

---

Wu Jintang raised both hands, forming a simple seal. From the ground beneath his feet, earthen energy surged upward, creating a solid shield that wrapped protectively around his body. He chose to hold his ground, waiting for his opponent's move.

Rou Han gave a faint smile.

"Very well, I'll start us off."

His steps were light, yet in the blink of an eye, he was already airborne. His sword swung back, and suddenly the air around him shifted. Wind howled. Leaves scattered. Energy swirled along the length of his blade, gathering like a storm.

"Thousand Li Slash!"

The name rang out in sync with his strike. A razor-sharp arc tore through the air, stretching forward as if it could cut through the very world itself. A brilliant blue glow marked its path, crashing toward Wu Jintang's barrier with unstoppable force.

Boom!

Dust erupted. The shockwave lingered, the echo of the slash still buzzing seconds after the impact. The arena trembled beneath the force.

As the dust finally settled, Wu Jintang could be seen slumped just outside the boundary. His shield shattered, his robes torn, one shoulder bleeding—but he was conscious, though clearly defeated.

"The first match goes to Baiyuan Sect."

Applause erupted across the field.

From where he stood, Yanzhi narrowed his eyes. He wasn't impressed. Something deeper had caught his instinct.

"He held back," he muttered under his breath.

The spirit inside him scoffed.

"Half his strength, just enough to show off. The boy hasn't bared his fangs yet. But it's enough to make half your sect quake in their boots."

Yanzhi kept his gaze fixed forward.

"You once said you leveled seven mountains out of boredom… I just hope I can stay on my feet when it's my turn."

"Stop talking like some pitiful underdog. You're my vessel now—don't embarrass me."

Yanzhi let out a slow breath, clenching his fists. A faint flame flickered at the tip of his finger. Unsteady… but still burning.

"If he can strike across a thousand li… then I'll stand, even if I have to burn through a thousand wounds."

The spirit paused.

"…That almost sounded cool. Shame it came from you."

---

Up on the stone platform, the elders of both sects watched with unreadable expressions. But when Rou Han unleashed the Thousand Li Slash, subtle glimmers flickered in a few of their eyes.

Xu Zhen, Baiyuan's head of sword arts, narrowed his gaze. "That wasn't even the full form," he murmured to the silver-haired woman beside him.

Qin Shuyu, Baiyuan's senior advisor, sat composed, hands folded in her lap.

"Of course not," she replied calmly. "If Rou Han went all out, it wouldn't just be the shield that broke. The ground might've cracked all the way to the southern gates."

Meanwhile, on the Tianhan side, tension ran thicker.

Luo Jian, head of disciple training, stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"That boy from Baiyuan… more dangerous than expected."

"His form isn't fully refined yet," Mei Ronghua added coolly. The stern woman, supervisor of energy techniques, kept her voice soft but cutting. "But even a half-finished slash is enough to suppress one of ours."

Lu Ming sat at the end of the row, silent. His gaze never wavered from the arena. He didn't reply to any of the murmured comments.

"Do you think he can match that?" Elder Luo asked softly.

Lu Ming said nothing.

But his fingers slowly curled into a fist against his knee.

Down at the arena's edge, Yanzhi stood still. The morning breeze brushed against his face, carrying the scent of earth and battle dust.

He stared at the stone stage ahead.

The place where his next steps would define everything.

The flame within him hadn't gone out.

And he had no intention of backing down.