Chapter 15: Betrayal in the Wilds and a Bloody Climb

The wind screamed through the jagged passages of the Whispering Maw, a name earned not only from the eerie acoustics of the twisted caves but from the countless cultivators who had entered seeking glory, only to find death. Li Shen's breath was steady despite the weight of the miasma in the air. He was alone, but not unprepared.

Clad in a simple dark robe reinforced by spiritual thread, his oak staff in hand, Li Shen advanced deeper into the suffocating dark. Qi Condensation Stage 7 pulsed within his meridians. Each step, each breath, each flicker of thought was a blend of instinct and discipline.

He had chosen a solo mission: eliminate a nest of Rank 1 Demon Beasts — monstrous creatures formed from corrupted Qi and spiritual decay. Most Outer Disciples avoided missions like this without a team, preferring lower-risk assignments. But Li Shen needed more than merit points. He needed growth. And most importantly, he needed to avoid attention.

Or so he thought.

The first beast lunged from a crevice, its fangs glinting with wet venom. Four limbs, jagged bone plating, eyes like molten pitch. Li Shen didn't flinch. His staff swung with the grace of a seasoned blade cultivator, channeling the principles of the Flowing Edge Technique. The beast's skull shattered under the impact.

The miasma thickened with each beast slain. Their essence dissipated into the cave air, offering no substantial cultivation benefit, but their deaths marked progress.

He reached a narrow chamber, the heart of the nest. Demon Beasts hissed and emerged from every crevice. Four. No — six. He moved like a phantom, sweeping arcs and brutal thrusts guiding his staff. Blood and ichor sprayed across the stone. He spun, struck, and parried — the staff a blur.

He could feel the grind of fatigue creeping in. Even with his Heaven Asura Destruction Body, the constant output of Qi and physical effort took its toll. Still, victory was close.

Until it wasn't.

A blade shimmered in the air behind a stalagmite — silent, surgical, and laced with killing intent.

A line of agony tore across Li Shen's back as the blade struck true. His cry was strangled, teeth clenching against the sudden, searing pain.

"A lucky handyman, indeed," a cold voice drawled.

Li Shen spun, barely raising his staff in time to deflect another blow. The force sent vibrations down his arms, jarring his bones.

From the shadows stepped Lin Feng — Qi Condensation Stage 9, clad in dark gray, his eyes glinting with disdain. Another disciple stood beside him, lean and wiry, aura pulsing at Stage 8. Li Shen recognized neither the face nor the emblem etched into his blade. But both of them bore the same expression — superiority, disdain, and ruthless intent.

"Elder Guo's patience has worn thin," Lin Feng said, idly rotating his blade. "Your rise… is inconvenient. But don't worry. This little accident? No one will ask too many questions. Especially after we return your token to the beasts."

Li Shen narrowed his eyes. "You think I'll die easily?"

"No," Lin Feng replied, smiling. "But I don't need easy. Just inevitable."

They attacked.

The initial clash was overwhelming. Lin Feng's sword surged with Qi, each strike faster than the last, precise and merciless. His accomplice flanked, his strikes less elegant but no less dangerous. Li Shen's staff whirled, a dance of defensive arcs and quick jabs. But he was forced into retreat, his every motion reactive, desperate.

A gash opened on his thigh. His ribs cracked under a palm strike. Blood spilled down his brow, blurring vision. The gap in cultivation stages wasn't theory anymore — it was survival written in pain.

He struck back when he could. A swing caught Lin Feng's arm, splitting flesh. Another parry deflected a killing blow and returned a stab to the stomach of the second disciple. But they kept coming. Relentless. Coordinated.

Li Shen's breathing turned ragged. His knees buckled.

A vicious kick from Lin Feng landed squarely in his chest, launching him into a cave wall. Stone cracked behind him. He slumped, vision swimming, limbs numb.

"This is what you get for stepping above your place," Lin Feng sneered.

Li Shen tried to rise. Blood flooded his mouth.

A final blow — the pommel of Lin Feng's blade — crashed into his skull. Stars exploded across his vision. Then, only darkness.

---

When he awoke, it was to silence. Cold stone pressed against his cheek. The iron stench of blood clung to the air. His own blood.

Pain roared through him the moment he shifted. Bones ground. Muscles spasmed. His back felt torn open. His right leg wouldn't move. His Qi — what little remained — flickered like a candle in a storm.

His disciple token was gone.

They want it to look like the beasts, he realized. They want me erased.

Fury, cold and precise, surged through his broken form. He gritted his teeth and pressed his hand to the cavern floor.

One movement at a time, he crawled.

The journey out of the Whispering Maw was a slow, nightmarish odyssey. Each breath scraped his throat. Each movement opened wounds anew. His Heaven Asura Destruction Body — the very constitution that had made him so resistant to damage — now became his lifeline. His skin split but refused to tear completely. His organs threatened failure but held. His Qi circulation was broken, yet present.

He clung to life like a starving man clings to bread.

Day turned to night. The sun rose again.

By the time he reached the outskirts of the sect's outer court, his robe was in tatters, blood-caked and torn. His face was pale, eyes sunken. No disciples saw him. He made sure of it. Pride, or perhaps stubbornness, demanded it.

He stumbled into his cultivation cave and collapsed on the stone bed.

Then, in the dim light, he reached for the Spirit Stones.

Dozens of them. His savings from past missions. Too weak to cultivate. Too weak to even properly channel Qi. But he pressed them to his body.

Light pulsed.

The stones' spiritual energy entered him, like a cool stream poured into cracked earth. Bones began to mend. Torn muscle fibers twitched. His Qi pool, fractured and barely functioning, began to stabilize.

Agony flooded him. Healing, he discovered, hurt more than injury. Every inch of him burned as spiritual energy forced his body to repair under duress.

He did not scream.

He didn't have the energy.

Instead, he focused.

Each breath was measured. Each heartbeat a rhythm.

Days passed.

Between healing sessions, he remained conscious, if only barely. No cultivation techniques. No sparring. Just survival. The memory of Lin Feng's smile anchored him. Not as fear — but as fuel.

One morning, as he blinked into the dim gray light filtering through the cave entrance, a rustle reached him. A parchment, stamped with the seal of the Outer Court Pavilion, had been slipped under his door.

He opened it with trembling fingers.

Outer Court Disciple Leaderboard Competition – One Month From Now

His eyes did not move from the paper for a long time.

Li Shen closed his eyes and drew a breath, feeling the Spirit Stones still glowing beside him. Not enough. Nowhere near enough.

He needed Qi Condensation Stage 8.

Without it, he would be humiliated — if not crippled — before the Outer Court. If Lin Feng was present, he'd finish what he started. The competition wasn't just a ranking event. It was war in formal robes. Every disciple with ambition would be there. Every grudge would surface.

And Li Shen would be ready.

He'd been pushed down before. Left to die. Betrayed. But now, he understood the rules of the cultivation world better than ever.

Strength was the only currency.

And vengeance was best paid through triumph.