The Mid-Autumn Festival's epic clash had faded into the night, but its echoes rippled far beyond the World Alliance's mountaintop. Word of Xiongba and the Sword Saint's draw, coupled with their vow to duel again, spread like wildfire across the martial world, igniting whispers in every tavern and training hall.
The Sword Saint was a legend, a towering figure whose name alone commanded awe. Yet the World Alliance, under Xiongba's iron grip, was a rising force, its influence swelling like a storm cloud. The tie only amplified Xiongba's stature. Though he hadn't claimed victory, his ability to stand equal with the Sword Saint sent his reputation soaring.
In the days that followed, Xiongba's ambition burned brighter. Seated in his grand hall, maps and scrolls strewn before him, he plotted the World Alliance's next moves. The boost to his fame was a spark, and he intended to fan it into a blaze, forging his gang into the unrivaled titan of the martial world.
But his thoughts weren't solely on conquest. A shadow lingered in his mind—Di Shitian and Luo Xian. Two masters of unfathomable power, hidden within his own ranks, were a threat he couldn't ignore. Like a blade poised at his throat, their presence kept him restless, his plans tempered by caution.
Di Shitian, however, had little interest in Xiongba's schemes. His focus had shifted. Originally, he'd planned to hasten the bond between Alex and Luo Xian after the festival's duel, cementing their union to secure Alex's supposed gift of foresight. But doubts now gnawed at him. Alex's prediction of the Sword Saint's victory had been wrong—a tie, not a win. Was his foresight a sham? Di Shitian resolved to test him, putting marriage plans on hold.
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The moon hung high in the velvet sky, its silver light spilling through the open window of Luo Xian's chamber. She leaned against the sill, her silhouette soft against the glow, her eyes distant. On the table before her stood a small clay pot, cradling a single, vibrant flower—its petals a cascade of vivid hues, untouched by time.
This was the bloom Alex had risked his life to pluck from the cliff's edge, a reckless act that had stirred her heart. By now, any ordinary flower would have wilted, its beauty faded to dust. Yet this one remained pristine, encased in a delicate sheen of frost. Luo Xian had poured her own Sacred Heart Technique energy into it, weaving a chill that preserved its eternal bloom, a frozen testament to that fleeting moment.
But as she gazed at it, a quiet sigh escaped her lips, heavy with unspoken thoughts.
Before that day, Alex's warmth had been undeniable. He'd sought her out constantly, his invitations to wander the hills or linger by the lake filled with eager sincerity. Each smile, each glance, had felt like a promise. Yet since the flower—since that tumble he'd taken—something had shifted. His warmth had cooled, like a fire left untended.
Even when she set aside her pride, seeking him out with bowls of steaming soup or offers of boat rides under the stars, she sensed a distance. His responses were polite, his smiles fleeting, as if his mind were elsewhere. To Luo Xian, Alex's feelings seemed shrouded in mist—close enough to touch, yet impossible to grasp.
The uncertainty gnawed at her. These past days, her heart had been a tangle of hope and worry, each thought of him pulling her deeper into doubt.
"What troubles you, Xian'er?" a voice asked, slicing through the silence.
The air shimmered, twisting like heat above a flame, and Di Shitian appeared before her, his presence as sudden as a thunderclap. His brocade robe gleamed faintly, but his eyes held a sharpness that belied his gentle smile.
Luo Xian straightened, her expression sobering. "Master, what brings you here?" she asked, her voice steady despite the weight of his arrival.
"I've come to speak of your future with Alex," Di Shitian said, his tone direct. With no outsiders present, he shed his usual pretense, his words cutting straight to the heart.
At the mention of Alex, Luo Xian's cheeks warmed, a flush creeping across her face. She assumed he'd come to set a wedding date, to finalize the bond he'd long pushed for. Lowering her gaze, she murmured, "I trust your judgment, Master."
But Di Shitian's next words froze her heart. "For now, let's set aside your marriage to Alex. I need to test his abilities myself first. There's no rush."
He fixed her with a long, searching look, then turned and vanished into the night, leaving only the echo of his steps.
Luo Xian's head snapped up, her eyes wide with shock. The weight of his words settled like a stone in her chest. She understood instantly—Di Shitian wasn't just delaying the marriage. His doubt in Alex's foresight had hardened into something darker. The test he spoke of wasn't mere curiosity.
It was a judgment. And if Alex failed, Di Shitian's intent was clear: he would not let him live.
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That night, under a sky dusted with stars, Alex sat quietly on a rocky outcrop in the back mountains of the Divine Martial Hall. The cool air carried the scent of pine, and the distant murmur of a stream filled the silence. Before him knelt Duanlang, his young face streaked with tears, his eyes wide with reluctance.
"Master, where are you going? Let me follow you!" Duanlang pleaded, his voice cracking as he pressed his forehead to the ground.
The sudden news of Alex's departure had shaken him. In the World Alliance, only Alex had offered the warmth of family, a guiding hand in a world of cold ambition.
"Young eagles must learn to fly alone to conquer the skies," Alex said softly, his gaze steady but kind. "How can you grow if you cling to my shadow?"
He paused, letting the words settle, then continued. "Remember the Armament Haki and Shave I taught you. Practice them diligently. One day, you'll carve your own legend in the martial world."
His tone carried encouragement, a nod to Duanlang's fierce ambition. To Alex, that drive was no flaw—it was the spark of greatness.
"Go now. We're master and apprentice, bound by fate. If destiny wills it, our paths will cross again." Alex waved a hand, his voice gentle but firm. Farewells weren't his strength, and Duanlang's tears tugged at his heart.
He'd prepared a small pouch of coins for the boy, enough to ease his journey. Though young, Duanlang was sharp, his cunning far surpassing Nie Feng's simple heart. Alex trusted him to survive.
Besides, the techniques from the One Piece world, if mastered, could make Duanlang a powerhouse in this realm. That world's raw strength outstripped the martial arts of Storm Riders by a wide margin.
Alex glanced at his palm, where the faint outline of a computer pattern was nearly complete. His time in this world was running out. If he vanished, Duanlang, as his disciple, might face harsher trials than in the original tale. Better to send him off now, to forge his own path, than leave him vulnerable.
"Master, I'll never forget your kindness!" Duanlang's voice trembled as he knelt once more, tears glistening on his cheeks. He kowtowed deeply, each bow a vow, then rose and started down the mountain, glancing back with every few steps until the shadows swallowed him.
May my guidance smooth your road ahead, Alex thought, a quiet sigh escaping him. Duanlang's story was a tragedy, one woven by cruel twists of fate. Ambitious, talented, and tireless, he deserved better than the betrayals that awaited him.
In the original tale, Xiongba had chosen Nie Feng as a disciple, ignoring Duanlang and relegating him to menial chores—a bitter injustice. Yet Duanlang hadn't faltered. As a servant, he'd honed his family's Eclipse Swordsmanship, his skill eventually rivaling Bu Jingyun's. When Xiongba opened the hall master selection, Duanlang's prowess shone, but victory was snatched away with a single command: lose to Bu Jingyun.
Years of toil, crushed in a moment. Another betrayal.
Later, in Peerless City, he'd found purpose, only for the city to fall to the World Alliance—partly because he'd spared Nie Feng, a choice born of loyalty. He'd sought the Sword Saint as a mentor, only to watch him die. He'd reclaimed the Fire Qilin Sword, only for Feng and Yun to claim superior blades. Even Xiongba's daughter, Youruo, saw him as a shadow of Nie Feng, not a man in his own right.
Duanlang's life was a litany of almosts, his dreams ground down until he became a man hardened by desperation. Alex hoped his teachings—Haki, Shave, and a mentor's belief—might shift that destiny.
Lost in thought, Alex didn't notice the figure approaching until a soft rustle broke the silence. Di Shitian emerged from the darkness, his brocade robe shimmering faintly, his smile warm but calculated, like a kindly elder hiding a blade.
"Uncle Xu, what brings you to the back mountains so late?" Alex asked, his heart skipping a beat. He kept his face calm, masking the unease Di Shitian's presence stirred.
"I heard a curious rumor, Alex—that you're skilled in prescience. Is it true?" Di Shitian's tone was light, almost playful, but his eyes gleamed with intent.
Alex's stomach tightened. He sensed the undercurrent of menace, the weight of Di Shitian's doubt. The old master had pinned his dragon-slaying hopes on Alex's supposed foresight, but the tie between Xiongba and the Sword Saint had shaken his trust. This was no casual visit—Di Shitian meant to test him, and failure could mean death.
"I know a bit," Alex replied, his voice even, nodding slightly. His eyes flicked to his palm, where the computer pattern was nearly whole. Almost there…
Di Shitian's smile didn't waver, but his gaze sharpened. He'd made up his mind: tonight, he'd uncover the truth of Alex's abilities. If they proved real, all was well. If not, the back mountains would be Alex's grave.