The crimson glow of the fading sunset gradually surrendered to the pitch-black veil of night over the lofty, razor-sharp peaks surrounding the Sun-Moon Academy. Cold mountain winds whipped through the tall stone archways of the Outer District, carrying the scent of damp pine, old copper, and the lingering, metallic tang of blood from the day's brutal arena battles.
Despite the late hour, the vast central plaza was illuminated by hundreds of floating spirit-oil lanterns suspended high above the cobblestone walkways. Thousands of outer disciples remained gathered in excited clusters near the central announcement pillars, eagerly analyzing the official ranking ledgers posted by the administrative deacons. The first stage of the Outer Academy Competition had concluded, leaving behind shattered reputations, broken bones, and a handful of dark horses whose sudden rise had shocked the entire sect.
At the very top of the newly updated Ring Four victor ledger, a single name shone in fresh crimson ink: Disciple Lin.
Inside the lavish, gated courtyard of the Outer Enforcement Hall's private quarters, a subtle yet suffocating tension filled the quiet air.
Senior Disciple Feng sat motionless in a massive, high-backed armchair crafted from polished dark ironwood. He was clad in his pristine, gold-trimmed purple robes, a heavy tea cup made of translucent jade resting between his long, slender fingers. The liquid inside the cup had long gone cold, yet Feng had not taken a single sip.
Beside him, two high-ranking enforcement disciples stood with their heads bowed low, their forearms trembling slightly under the icy, silent pressure emanating from their master.
"Two hours," Senior Disciple Feng spoke, his voice dangerously low, like the quiet scraping of a rusty blade against stone. "Captain Han took four elite Seventh Level guards to arrest a lone, unnamed Fifth Level rat in an isolated transit corridor. It has been two full hours. Why is there no signal? Why has no report reached my desk?"
"S-Senior Brother Feng..." one of the disciples stammered, swallowing hard as cold sweat dripped from his chin onto the polished floor. "We sent two runner boys to the back transit corridor twenty minutes ago to check on Captain Han's progress. They... they found the purple isolation barrier shattered from the inside. The corridor was completely empty."
Feng's sharp eyes narrowed into two lethal slits. "Empty?"
"Yes, Senior Brother! There was no sign of Captain Han, no sign of the four guards, and no sign of Disciple Lin. The entire passage smelled faintly of burnt copper and ash. Furthermore... when we tried to track Captain Han's communication talisman, the spiritual soul-connection was completely dead."
CLACK!
The translucent jade tea cup in Feng's grip exploded into fine, sparkling dust. Golden tea spilled over his knuckles, but Feng didn't even flinch. His face turned dark as a storm cloud, his aura fluctuating wildly as his powerful Ninth Level Spirit Refining base surged outward, causing the heavy wooden doors of the hall to rattle violently on their iron hinges.
"Captain Han was at the Peak of the Eighth Level," Feng growled, his voice trembling with suppressed fury. "Four Seventh Level guards accompanied him with a full spatial suppression barrier. Even a Ninth Level expert could not have wiped them out without creating a massive commotion that would alert the entire grand arena!"
"Could... could that imposter Disciple Lin be hiding an Inner Sect elder behind his back?" the second disciple whispered fearfully. "Or perhaps a master from an opposing demon sect?"
"It matters not who or what stands behind him!" Feng spat coldly, standing up from his dark ironwood chair. His purple robes billowed as a terrifying, murderous intent swept through the room. "The Outer Academy Grand Competition reaches its climax tomorrow morning. The top sixteen fighters will clash on the Central Grand Stage in front of the Inner Sect Elders and the Grand Council. If this rat dares to step onto the main stage tomorrow, I will personally see to it that his dantian is ripped out and his soul burned in the Enforcement Hall's furnace!"
Feng turned his stern gaze toward the corner of the dim hall, where a tall, broad-shouldered man sat silently in the shadows, leaning against a massive dark-steel broadsword.
The man stepped forward into the pale lantern light. He was clad in heavy black dragon-scale armor, his face covered in dark battle scars, and his eyes glowing with an intense, amber spirit flame. He was Senior Disciple Zhao, the top fighter of the Outer Enforcement Hall, a terrifying combat genius standing firmly at the Ninth Level Peak of Spirit Refining.
"Zhao," Feng commanded coldly. "Tomorrow's tournament brackets will be manipulated by Deacon Xu tonight. In the first round of the top sixteen, you will be paired directly against 'Disciple Lin'."
Senior Disciple Zhao let out a deep, guttural laugh, unsheathing his heavy dark-steel broadsword by three inches. The blade emitted a low, sinister hum that made the air in the room vibrate.
"Do not worry, Brother Feng," Zhao said, his voice echoing like rolling thunder. "Whether he is a hidden demon or a lucky rat, once he steps onto the central stage with me, I will shatter every bone in his body before he can even open his mouth to forfeit. I will deliver his bleeding corpse to your feet."
"Good," Feng sneered, a dark, sinister smile breaking across his sharp face. "Let him enjoy his final night of life."
Meanwhile, far away from the aristocratic luxury of the Enforcement Hall, deep within the dark, mist-shrouded mountain forest behind the Outer District, Railin sat cross-legged on the flat surface of a massive black boulder.
The icy mountain wind howled through the tall pine trees around him, but not a single strand of Railin's dark hair moved. A dense, translucent sphere of pitch-black Ashen Devouring Qi hovered around his body, rotating smoothly like a miniature planetary belt.
Inside his body, his lower dantian was undergoing a profound transformation.
The vast, high-density spiritual energy violently extracted from the scar-faced Enforcement Captain and the four Seventh Level guards had been completely refined, purified, and integrated into his core. The violent, turbulent currents of dark energy had settled into a crystal-clear, pitch-black liquid lake at the base of his dantian, radiating a terrifying, ancient pressure.
His cultivation base had firmly established itself at the Sixth Level of Spirit Refining!
Railin slowly opened his eyes. Within his pitch-black pupils, two deep, hypnotic whirlpools spun silently before gradually vanishing into the depths of his eyes.
He lifted his right arm and lightly squeezed his fingers into a fist.
BOOM!
A localized air explosion detonated inside his palm, the sheer physical force creating a small shockwave that swept through the surrounding pine trees, stripping the leaves off the branches within thirty feet. His bone structure was now as dense and resilient as deep-sea dark iron, and his meridians had expanded to three times their original width.
"Sixth Level Spirit Refining..." Railin murmured softly, his smooth, metallic voice echoing through the silent forest. "My physical body can now effortlessly withstand direct hits from Ninth Level spirit weapons. With the spatial shifts of The Seven Void-Severing Steps, no one below the Foundation Establishment Realm can even touch the hem of my robes."
He reached into his sleeve and pulled out the dark steel storage ring he had taken from the slain Enforcement Captain. With a simple sweep of his dark soul sense, he effortlessly shattered the Captain's lingering spirit seal and inspected the contents within.
Inside were over three hundred low-tier spirit stones, fifty mid-tier spirit stones, several high-grade spirit recovery pills, and an official leather-bound ledger containing secretive correspondence between Senior Disciple Feng and several corrupt deacons of the Outer Academy.
Railin scanned the ledger pages with a cold, mocking smile.
"Bribery of ring referees... illegal distribution of resource pills... assassination of talented commoner disciples..." Railin read quietly, his lips curling into a dark smirk. "Senior Disciple Feng has built a quiet little kingdom within the outer sect. He believes he is playing a grand game of chess."
Railin closed the ledger and tossed the spatial ring back into his sleeve. He stood up on the black boulder, looking down at the illuminated grand arena in the distance.
"He thinks he is the player, and I am the pawn," Railin whispered into the cold night air. "He does not realize that I am the abyss that will swallow his entire board whole."
DAWN.
The magnificent morning sun burst through the ocean of white clouds surrounding the mountain peaks, painting the sky in brilliant hues of gold, crimson, and amber.
The deep, resonant toll of the grand bronze bell rang out nine consecutive times, its powerful sound waves echoing across the entire Sun-Moon Academy.
Today was the final day of the Outer Academy Competition—the day where the top sixteen disciples would fight on the Central Grand Stage for supreme glory, rich resource allocations, and the ultimate reward: direct entry into the Inner Sect.
By the time the third bell rang, the spectator stands surrounding the central stage were completely packed with over ten thousand disciples. The noise was deafening—cheers, bets, and shouts of anticipation created an overwhelming wave of energy that shook the surrounding stone pillars.
High above the arena floor, on an elevated floating stone platform carved with glowing golden runes, sat the true rulers of the academy: five Inner Sect Elders clad in flowing white robes, accompanied by high-grade deacons and core disciples.
Among the elders sat Elder Han, a white-bearded master with razor-sharp eyes, responsible for overseeing the outer sect's talent selection this year.
Near the front edge of the main viewing dais stood Senior Disciple Feng, his golden-trimmed purple robes shining under the morning sun. His expression was cold, dignified, and utterly confident as he looked down at the central combat ring. Behind him stood Senior Disciple Zhao, his heavy dragon-scale armor glinting ominously as his hand rested on his dark-steel broadsword.
"Attention all disciples!" the Chief Arena Referee bellowed from the center of the massive, hundred-yard-wide stone stage. His voice was amplified by a high-tier sonic array, cutting through the roaring crowd like thunder. "The first round of the Top Sixteen Finals shall now commence! The tournament brackets have been drawn by the Council of Deacons!"
The referee raised his hand, gesturing toward a massive, illuminated crystal billboard suspended in the sky above the ring.
Golden runes flared across the crystal surface, displaying the matchup pairs for the first round:
Match 1: Senior Disciple Zhao (Enforcement Hall, 9th Level) VS Disciple Lin (Ring Four Victor, 6th Level)
The moment the matchup appeared, a massive wave of shocked murmurs swept through the ten thousand spectators in the stands!
"What?! Disciple Lin is paired directly against Senior Brother Zhao in the very first match?!" a spectator from the Third House gasped. "Senior Brother Zhao is at the Ninth Level Peak! He is the undisputed heavy hitter of the Enforcement Hall!"
"That Lin kid was incredibly strong yesterday, but Zhao is a true monster! His Dragon-Slayer Broadsword style has killed Fifth-Grade spirit beasts!" another disciple added. "Lin stands no chance! This matchup is practically an execution sentence!"
Up on the floating platform, Senior Disciple Feng looked down with a cold, smug sneer. He caught the eye of Deacon Xu near the registration desk, who gave him a subtle, approving nod. The matchup had been rigged exactly according to plan.
"Match Number One!" the Chief Referee barked, sweeping his arm downward. "Disciple Lin and Disciple Zhao, step onto the Central Grand Stage!"
BOOM!
Senior Disciple Zhao didn't use the stairs. He leapt directly from the elevated viewing dais, his heavy dragon-scale armor cutting through the air like a meteor. He slammed onto the center of the stone stage with a thunderous impact, cracking the ancient granite tiles and sending a shockwave of grey dust into the air!
He unsheathed his massive dark-steel broadsword with a single hand, resting the heavy six-foot blade on his armored shoulder. His glowing amber eyes fixed onto the entrance corridor with pure, predatory bloodlust.
"Come out, rat!" Zhao roared, his booming voice echoing across the arena floor. "Come out and face your execution!"
The crowd leaned forward, every eye locked onto the darkened tunnel entrance.
From the quiet gloom of the corridor, a slender figure stepped out into the brilliant morning sunlight.
Railin walked with calm, effortless grace. His navy-blue robes were spotless, his dark hair tied neatly behind his back, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. He stepped onto the wide stone stage with smooth, measured steps, his pitch-black eyes locking onto Zhao with complete, unbothered indifference.
The aura radiating from Railin's body was no longer that of the Fifth Level—it was the deep, solid, and terrifying pressure of the Sixth Level of Spirit Refining!
Senior Disciple Feng's smile instantly froze on his face. His eyes widened in disbelief as he felt the clear Sixth Level cultivation base emanating from Railin.
How is that possible?! Feng thought, his heart cold with a sudden, sharp pang of alarm. Yesterday he was at the Fifth Level Peak! How could he break through overnight after being hunted by Captain Han?! Where is Han?!
On the stage, Senior Disciple Zhao also felt the change in Railin's aura, but his expression merely twisted into a wild, sadistic grin.
"Sixth Level?" Zhao laughed mockingly, lifting his massive broadsword off his shoulder and holding it with both hands. "So you hid your true strength yesterday or got lucky with a pill! It doesn't matter! In front of my Ninth Level Peak absolute power, a Sixth Level ant is still nothing more than dust!"
Railin stopped ten paces away from Zhao. He did not draw a weapon, nor did he raise his hands.
"You talk too much," Railin said softly, his voice clear and icy, carrying effortlessly across the entire stadium. "Your master sent four guards and a captain to their deaths yesterday. You are merely the next piece of trash to be swept away."
The entire ten-thousand-man stadium went dead silent!
Every disciple, deacon, and elder stared at Railin in absolute, jaw-dropping shock!
"What did he just say?!" a deacon on the viewing dais gasped, leaning forward in horror. "Did he just accuse the Enforcement Hall of sending assassins?!"
Up on the floating platform, Elder Han's bushy white eyebrows twitched. He turned his sharp, penetrating gaze toward Senior Disciple Feng, whose face had turned completely pale with rage and embarrassment.
"LIES AND BLASPHEMY!" Senior Disciple Zhao roared in fury, his scar-covered face twitching violently. "You dirty imposter! You dare slander the Enforcement Hall in front of the Inner Elders?! I WILL TEAR YOUR TONGUE OUT!"
BOOM!
A blinding wave of crimson, fire-attribute spirit qi exploded from Zhao's body!
The sheer intensity of his Ninth Level Peak energy created a blazing aura of fire around his dragon-scale armor, heating the stone floor beneath his boots until it glowed red-hot. He raised his massive dark-steel broadsword high above his head, the blade erupting into a towering column of roaring red flames!
"Dragon-Splitting Flame Strike!" Zhao screamed, charging forward like an unstoppable infernal juggernaut!
He slammed his foot into the stage, leaping twenty feet into the air, and brought his roaring flame blade down toward Railin's head with terrifying, world-ending force!
The air pressure surrounding the strike was so immense that the stone stage beneath Railin began to sink and crack before the blade even landed!
"Die, you arrogant rat!" Zhao howled from the air!
The ten thousand spectators held their breath, many turning their eyes away from the impending gruesome slaughter.
Yet, facing a strike capable of crushing a Sixth-Grade spirit beast, Railin stood completely still.
He didn't dodge. He didn't use his spatial footwork. He didn't even lift his hands to defend.
He simply looked up at the descending mountain of fire with a cold, mocking smile.
"Is this the absolute power of the Ninth Level?" Railin whispered softly. "How pathetic."
SWISH!
At the absolute last microsecond, as the roaring flame blade was less than two inches from Railin's forehead, Railin simply extended his bare left hand straight upward into the roaring column of fire!
BOOM! BANG!
A violent shockwave of compressed wind and fiery sparks exploded across the central stage, cracking the granite tiles all the way to the outer perimeter! Dust and red smoke enveloped the center of the ring, obscuring both fighters from view!
"He's dead! He took Zhao's full-power strike barehanded!" a disciple shouted from the stands.
"What an idiot! No one can take the Dragon-Splitting Flame Strike without armor!"
High above, Senior Disciple Feng let out a cold sigh of relief, a cruel smirk returning to his lips. "Arrogant fool. He brought this upon himself."
However, as the thick red smoke slowly cleared under the morning breeze, the cruel smirk on Feng's face shattered into absolute, horrifying shock!
The entire ten-thousand-man crowd gasped in unison, a wave of pure, unadulterated terror sweeping through the stadium!
In the center of the cracked, scorched stage, Senior Disciple Zhao was hanging mid-air, his massive, burning dark-steel broadsword frozen solid in the air.
Railin stood completely unmoved. His navy-blue robes were completely unburned, his expression utterly calm.
His bare left hand was casually locked around the thick, white-hot steel blade of Zhao's broadsword, his pale fingers gripping the sharp edge with absolute, effortless iron strength! Not a single drop of blood dripped from his palm, nor did the roaring red flames burn his skin!
"W-WHAT?!" Zhao stammered, his eyes bulging out of his sockets as he pulled back on the hilt with all his Ninth Level strength. The heavy broadsword didn't move a single millimeter—it was as if it were embedded in an ancient, unshakeable mountain! "IMPOSSIBLE! MY FLAMES... MY BLADE... HOW CAN YOUR BARE HAND HOLD MY FULL STRIKE?!"
Railin looked up at Zhao's terrified face, his pitch-black eyes spinning with two sinister, dark vortexes.
"Your flames are too weak," Railin said softly. "Your blade is too dull. And your spirit... is ripe for harvesting."
"Devour."
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT!
A massive, roaring column of pitch-black Ashen Devouring Qi erupted out of Railin's left hand, instantly swallowing the red flames on the broadsword and surging up the dark-steel blade straight into Zhao's armored hands!
"AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Senior Disciple Zhao let out a soul-shattering shriek of pure, unbearable agony that echoed across the entire mountain valley!
The dark energy forced its way through his dragon-scale armor, violently tearing through his major meridians and ravenously draining his Ninth Level Peak spirit qi! The blazing fire Qi inside his body was instantly extinguished, replaced by the ice-cold, dark devouring current that dragged his energy down the sword shaft and funneled it straight into Railin's spinning core!
"SAVE ME! BROTHER FENG! SAVE ME—!" Zhao shrieked desperately, his voice cracking as his muscular body began to shrivel at a visible, terrifying rate! His skin turned dry and grey, his thick veins collapsed, and his proud Ninth Level foundation was violently ripped apart from the inside out!
"STOP! RELEASE HIM THIS INSTANT!" Senior Disciple Feng screamed from the floating platform, completely losing his composure!
Feng leaped off the platform, his Ninth Level aura erupting as he drew his golden spirit sword, descending toward the stage like an enraged lightning bolt to intercept Railin!
"ELDER! HE IS USING DEMONIC ARTS! KILL HIM!" Feng shouted in absolute panic!
Railin did not even turn his head toward the descending Feng.
With a cold, effortless flick of his right wrist, Railin slammed his open palm directly into Zhao's shriveled chest!
BANG! CRACK!
Zhao's Ninth Level dantian shattered into wet powder! His withered, energy-drained body flew backward like a broken doll, crashing straight into the descending Senior Disciple Feng in mid-air!
BOOM!
Feng caught Zhao's body, landing heavily on the edge of the stage. But the moment he looked down at his top lieutenant, Feng's blood ran completely ice-cold.
Senior Disciple Zhao—the top fighter of the Outer Enforcement Hall—was lying in his arms as a withered, hairless old man, his cultivation completely erased, his breath faint, his eyes staring blankly at the sky in broken, permanent terror!
The entire ten-thousand-man stadium was dead silent. Not a single person breathed.
Even the five Inner Sect Elders on the floating platform had stood up from their seats, their faces filled with grave, intense shock as they stared down at the youth in navy-blue robes standing calmly in the center of the ruined stage.
Railin slowly smoothed his navy-blue sleeves. He looked across the stage at Senior Disciple Feng, his pitch-black eyes reflecting the cold morning sun with an ancient, dark arrogance that chilled everyone to the bone.
"Senior Disciple Feng," Railin spoke, his smooth, metallic voice reverberating through the silent arena like a divine decree. "Your lieutenant was far too weak. Why don't you step onto the stage yourself?
See you in next chapter....