Chapter 8: Shadowbone Duel

The duel grounds were quiet.Too quiet.

It wasn't the silence of respect — it was anticipation. Bloodthirst. The kind that seeps into stone and breathes from the crowd.

Yuan Zhi stepped into the circle alone.

Above him, dozens of inner disciples watched from their seats on the outer ledges. Most came for blood. Some came for confirmation. A few… came out of fear.

None of them truly knew what they were about to witness.

Feng Lian entered without ceremony.

Same cropped hair. Same towering spear. Same expression — amused, predatory, like a tiger watching a cub bare its teeth.

She gave him a nod.

"I told them you wouldn't last two minutes."

Yuan Zhi cracked his neck.

"Then let's not disappoint."

The elder judge — faceless behind a bone mask — raised one hand.

"Duel begins upon the drop."

He let a copper ring fall from his fingers.

The moment it hit stone—

Feng Lian moved.

Fast.

Her spear blurred — not a jab, but a sweep, wide and low, forcing Yuan Zhi back. She followed instantly with a spin, bringing the haft up toward his chin.

He ducked.

Barely.

Then lunged in, trying to close the distance.

Her knee met his ribs mid-charge.

Bone cracked.

He gritted his teeth, reversed momentum, slid past her leg, and went low — slicing at her ankle with the shadow-dagger hidden in his boot.

She jumped.

High.Too high.

He grabbed her spear shaft mid-air.

Big mistake.

A blast of qi surged through the weapon and into his bones — shattering his right forearm on contact.

He fell back, rolling.

"You're sloppy," Feng Lian said. "Fast. But unfocused."

Blood dripped from his lips.

She advanced again, slowly this time.

"Don't be sad. You're not weak. Just outclassed."

She raised her spear to finish it—

But Yuan Zhi was laughing.

Low. Cold. Controlled.

Feng Lian's eyes narrowed.

"What's so funny?"

"I was just wondering," Yuan Zhi said, voice flat, "which of your tendons I should remove first."

Then he moved.

Not away.Toward.

Feng Lian thrust, and Yuan Zhi sidestepped into the arc — letting the blade scrape past his ribs, deep, splitting flesh.

But his broken arm snapped up — catching the shaft.

He screamed through the pain and twisted.

The spear bent unnaturally.

Then snapped.

Feng Lian's eyes widened.

He drove his head into her nose.Crunch.

Blood sprayed.

She stumbled.

He followed — slammed his elbow into her throat, then swept her leg.

She fell hard.

Before she could roll, he was on her.

One knee on her shoulder. One foot on her thigh.

"Let's test a theory," he muttered.

Then he drew his bone dagger.

And carved.

The first tendon — behind the ankle.

She shrieked as her foot spasmed uncontrollably.

The second — beneath the arm, slicing through the bicep's anchor.

Her spear arm went limp.

"You arrogant bitch," he whispered.

Third — across the back of her hand.

She wept.

The crowd watched in silence.

Yuan Zhi didn't stop.

"Pain," he said, loud enough for them all to hear, "is the only teacher this sect respects."

He drove the dagger into her thigh and twisted.

Flesh tore.

Feng Lian spat blood.

"You're… a monster…"

Yuan Zhi leaned in.

"You offered me this duel."

He smiled.

"Now wear it."

Then he stood.

Blood dripped from his hands.

Feng Lian lay twitching on the stone — not dead, but ruined. Her spear lay shattered. Her limbs flailed weakly, unable to rise.

Yuan Zhi turned to the elder judge.

"Well?"

A long silence.

Then the elder raised one hand.

"Victory — Yuan Zhi. Initiate Rank, provisional promotion recommended. Technique library access… granted."

Still no applause. Just watching.

No one clapped when predators killed.

They just marked the territory and moved on.

Feng Lian was taken away by healers. Silent. Pale.

Yuan Zhi didn't watch her go.

He just walked out.

Later, in the stone corridor leading to the upper archives, an inner disciple stepped into his path.

Slim. Robed in gold-trim. A fan tucked in his sleeve.

"Impressive," the boy said. "Cruelty with rhythm. I like it."

Yuan Zhi didn't stop walking.

"You're not going to ask who I am?"

"No."

"I'm Jian Yao. Elder Mo's nephew."

Yuan Zhi stopped.

Turned.

"Tell him his bloodline's weak."

Jian Yao's smile froze.

Then twisted.

"We'll see how far you climb, dog."

Yuan Zhi leaned in.

"I'm not climbing."

"I'm carving."

Back in his private chamber, Yuan Zhi stood before the mirror.

The dagger was still stained.

So were his hands.

But the feeling in his chest wasn't guilt.

It was control.

Dominance.

Proof.

Not that he had power.

But that he could take it.

He opened the new scroll.

Shadowbone Scripture — Tier II: To shape your shadow into a weapon, you must first become your own nightmare.

He smiled.

No hesitation.

Just the next step into hell.