The forest surrounding Natsuki Kengo and Chen Feng was ancient and silent. Centuries-old oaks, entwined with vines, stretched their gnarled branches toward the sky like the crooked fingers of an old sorcerer. The air was thick with the scent of rotting leaves and pine needles, while a carpet of dry twigs and fallen needles crunched underfoot. The sunlight, piercing through the dense canopy, cast trembling patches of light on the ground—like golden coins scattered by an invisible hand.
Chen and Natsuki moved in silence, ears attuned to every rustle. There was no wind, only an occasional gust that stirred the treetops, making them groan like old ship masts. But suddenly, the forest parted, and they stepped into a clearing.
And froze.
Before them, as if risen from the earth itself, stood two figures: Huang Jinlong and Luo Zhien.
The silence was shattered by a whistling wind.
As if the very earth held its breath before the bloody dance.
Luo didn't wait. His bow trembled—and an arrow, slicing through the air, shot toward Chen's chest. It didn't just fly—it prophesied death, leaving behind a faint trail of distorted space.
But Chen didn't flinch.
He raised his hand—and the arrow halted a centimeter from his chest, as if hitting an invisible wall. The force of the impact trembled in the air before dissolving into his palm, leaving only a faint glow around his fingers.
"You're mine," he hissed, lunging at the adept.
At the same moment, Natsuki surged forward. His blade flashed like lightning, cleaving the air with a sharp whistle. Luo loosed a second arrow—but the swordsman vanished, as if dissolving into thin air. The arrow struck empty space, while his sword ignited with a bloody light—the mark of a stolen technique.
Huang Jinlong charged. The earth shook under his weight, the grass beneath his claws bursting into flames and turning to ash. Smoke curled from his half-open maw, and his scales, black as a starless night, gleamed with a crimson sheen.
The adept sensed the threat.
His tail, heavy as a ballista, whipped through the air and crashed down on the swordsman with enough force to splinter an oak. The blow was glancing—but enough to send Natsuki sprawling. Yet the tail also struck Chen—and instead of being thrown back, he absorbed the impact. His body flared for an instant, glowing like molten metal.
"You made a mistake," Chen rasped.
And counterattacked.
His fist, charged with the kinetic fury of the absorbed strike, slammed into the dragon's scales. A dull crunch echoed—and the adept reeled, blood spraying from his jaws.
Luo was already drawing his bow, but Natsuki was too close.
The blade flashed a centimeter from the archer's face—cold steel already tasting the warmth of his skin. But Luo didn't flinch.
He simply closed his eyes.
And in that instant, a wet thud sounded—the arrow he'd loosed a moment earlier was already embedded in the swordsman's liver. Natsuki grimaced, but momentum carried him forward. The blade, weakened, only grazed Luo's arm, leaving a bloody streak.
The adept rushed to help, but Chen was relentless. His fists, charged with stolen power, hammered into the dragon's scales again and again, forcing him back.
"You're not going anywhere!" roared the absorber.
In response, Huang exhaled.
A storm of fire engulfed Chen.
The flames licked his skin but didn't burn—he devoured them, absorbing their power.
Natsuki, even bleeding, refused to yield. His blade flared with stolen technique—a circular strike, swift and precise.
The edge bit into the adept's left leg—his weak spot. Blood splattered the grass, and the sword followed through, slicing upward toward the archer's throat. Luo barely dodged—the blade only tore his clothes, exposing skin.
The battlefield stilled.
The archer, his hand bloodied, nocked another arrow.
The adept, limping, bared his fangs.
The swordsman, an arrow jutting from his gut, breathed heavily.
The absorber, shaking off flames, rose.
The next moment would decide everything.
Natsuki yanked the arrow from his stomach and hurled it at the archer's feet.
"You missed your chance!" he snarled, launching a final assault.
Luo raised his bow, blocking the strike. The wood cracked, the string snapped—and the sword finally shattered.
But the swordsman didn't stop.
His fists, legs, elbows—all became weapons.
The archer parried, but his breath grew ragged. Every block, every dodge—another cut.
Meanwhile, Chen, brimming with the dragonfire's fury, unleashed it upon the adept.
The beast collapsed to his knees, scales dulling, black blood gushing from his maw.
"Now you," the absorber hissed, turning to the archer.
Luo still held on. He weaved, slipped between blows like a shadow.
But he stumbled.
Just for a moment.
But it was enough.
The swordsman and the absorber struck as one.
Chen's fist, charged with stolen might, smashed into Luo's jaw.
The archer was sent flying, blood spraying from his mouth, the world blurring before his eyes.
He hit the ground.
Silence.
Only the heavy breathing of the victors.
Meanwhile, in the dark corridors of the ancient ruins, Kun and Xu pressed onward. The walls, lined with faded frescoes, depicted countless Kitsune with flowing tails. Their eyes seemed to follow the travelers, raising goosebumps on their skin.
Suddenly, a bloodied figure staggered from the shadows. It was Wen Liang—her robes soaked crimson, deep stab wounds gaping on her body. Her fox mask, usually hiding her face, was cracked, revealing pale skin and terrified eyes.
"H-help…" she rasped, barely standing. "We were attacked…"
Xu halted, his cold gaze sliding over her without a trace of pity. Slowly, almost carelessly, he slung his zither over his shoulder.
"And since when is that our problem?" His voice was even, but steel lurked beneath.
Kun, however, stepped forward immediately, reaching for the trembling Wen.
"Hey, Xu, maybe we should help?" Anxiety tinged his voice. "She doesn't look good…"
Xu turned his head, fixing Kun with a heavy stare.
"Since when do you call the shots, Powerless?" he sneered, emphasizing the nickname.
Kun clenched his fists but didn't back down.
"This isn't the time for arguments!" His voice hardened. "If they were attacked, we could be next. Better stick together."
Tension hung in the air for a moment. Then Xu sighed quietly, something in his eyes softening—just for a heartbeat, almost imperceptibly.
"...Fine," he finally muttered, lifting the zither. "But if she screws us over, it's on you."
Kun smiled in relief, while Wen Liang whispered weakly:
"Thank you…"
Xu merely scoffed, but his movements lacked their earlier coldness—only the usual resolve, masked behind indifference.
Kun didn't hesitate, stepping closer to Wen Liang and carefully helping her up. Her body trembled, her fingers clutching his arm as if afraid the ground would vanish beneath her.
"Hold on," he said softly, forcing encouragement into his voice. "It'll be okay."
Meanwhile, Xu took a step back, fingers drifting over the zither's strings. A low, vibrating note rang out—and the space around them seemed to compress, forming a protective dome of thickened air. A fire ignited at its center, flames reflecting in Wen's cracked mask and Xu's icy eyes.
"Well," Xu crossed his arms, staring at Wen. "Who attacked you? Natsuki? Luo? Or did Feilin decide to have some fun?"
His tone was flat, but beneath it—wary. If someone else lurked in these ruins, the game had changed.
Wen shrank back, her breathing quickening.
"N-no…" She shook her head, firelight dancing across her bloodied sleeve. "It was… a man in a green robe. He came from nowhere. And when he stabbed Wei…"—her voice broke—"snakes… poured out from inside him…"
The words hung heavy, like lead. Even Xu stilled for a second, brows lifting slightly.
"Snakes?" Kun paled. "You mean he's…"
"If that toad didn't warn us," Xu cut in sharply, gripping the zither, "they've decided to 'complicate' the trial."
Something dangerous flickered in his voice—quiet but furious. He hated when rules changed without warning.
Kun, feeling Wen tremble again, gently squeezed her shoulder.
"At least you're alive," he said, forcing a smile. "And if you are—we'll figure it out. Together."
Xu shot him a sidelong glance but didn't argue. Instead, he turned sharply to the fire, his silhouette stretching long on the walls, merging with the painted Kitsune.
"Then listen closely," he said, not looking at Wen. "If that green-robed freak is still here, we can't waste time. Describe everything—every detail."
Wen nodded, her fingers instinctively touching the crack in her mask.
"He… said strange things," she whispered. "Something about a 'true sacrifice'…"
Kun and Xu exchanged glances.
The fire crackled, sending up a shower of sparks. Somewhere deep in the ruins, a faint rustle echoed.