The sealing shimmer faded to nothing, leaving the ragged survivors standing on the cracked plain outside the Forbidden Realm's boundary. Cold wind rushed in, clearing the dust from their lungs — and then the shouting began.
From every direction, sect elders streamed toward the returning disciples, their robes snapping in the wind. Voices overlapped, questions fired like arrows:
"What happened in there?"
"Where is Elder Chao's group?"
"Did anyone see the inner sanctum?"
"Why are we missing so many?"
The survivors were still catching their breath, their qi ragged, but the inquiries did not slow. Some disciples blurted half-formed answers; others shook their heads, eyes still fixed on the place where the seal had been. The chaos swelled until it was a wall of noise — grief, anger, and disbelief mixing in the open air.
It became painfully clear that not everyone had made it. Names were shouted, then repeated louder when no answer came. Pairs of elders began pulling survivors aside, questioning them in urgent tones. Some of the missing had been last seen deep in the temple's corridors. Others had been taken by the crimson-gold veins in the abyss. For those, there was no hope of recovery.
Through it all, the elders of the Burning Sun Sect cut a direct path toward Haotian's group. Their eyes scanned him quickly — not for injury, but for danger in the crowd. When they reached him, the lead elder leaned close, voice low but sharp:
"Stay quiet. Follow us."
No argument was needed. Haotian gave a brief nod, and the group fell in behind them. The elders didn't pause to answer questions from the others, guiding their disciples away from the crowd until the noise dimmed and only the wind over stone remained.
The high elder of the Burning Sun Sect stood waiting at a rise in the ground, arms folded, gaze sweeping the plains with the practiced caution of a man expecting trouble. "We hold here," he said simply. "The tallying will start soon. We'll be ready if any sect tries something."
Haotian could see the logic. The other sects had lost heavily, and the measure of monster cores retrieved inside the realm would determine more than just points — it would decide prestige, resources, and even future claims. When stakes were that high, desperation often turned into rashness.
And yet, as the first tally tables were being prepared in the distance, something unexpected began to happen.
The majority of surviving disciples from other sects — some still pale from the escape, some bandaged hastily — crossed the open ground toward the Burning Sun Sect's position. They bowed, some deeply, others with only a respectful nod, but their voices carried the same tone: gratitude.
"If not for your group… we wouldn't have made it out."
"Your path-clearing gave us the only way through."
"We owe you our lives."
The acknowledgments spread like ripples. Even elders from other sects, their faces tight with the weight of their losses, approached. One by one, they offered words that were formal but sincere, their nods directed to both Haotian and the rest of the Burning Sun disciples.
The high elder accepted the thanks with a measured expression, neither basking in it nor deflecting it. His eyes, however, never stopped scanning the gathering — vigilant for any shift in the mood that might signal a turn toward hostility when the tally began.
The sun hung low, casting long shadows across the plain. Soon, the call would come for every sect to present what they had claimed. For now, the Burning Sun Sect stood together, their formation unbroken, the respect of their peers hard-won and on full display.
The air above the central square was tight enough to hum.Every sect had gathered around the stone dais where the tally tables stood, heavy with bags of monster cores. The senior recorders moved methodically, weighing, counting, and marking each sect's haul with an ink brush against a massive parchment scroll.
When the Burning Sun Sect's turn came, their elders stepped forward, presenting their cores without fanfare. The murmurs began immediately — some incredulous, some bitter, some tinged with open suspicion. The total was not only high, it eclipsed every other sect's by a crushing margin.
It didn't take long for voices to harden.
"Convenient, isn't it? The sect that emerges with the fewest losses also brings back the largest haul.""We've all heard the rumors of the forbidden realm… Who's to say they didn't find a way to bypass the danger entirely?"
Two figures moved before the murmurs could turn into open accusations. Ru Mei of the Cloudveil Spirit Sect, eyes like sharpened glass, stepped forward with a measured calm that made the crowd lean in. Beside her was her senior sister, Yue Lan. She was furious, her voice cutting through the clamor like a whip:
"Without the Burning Sun Sect, half of you wouldn't have left that realm alive. Question their numbers, but don't question the fact you're breathing to do it."
It drew a ripple of support from the crowd — but also sharpened the glares from certain elders. The Cloudveil Spirit Sect's own elder lifted a hand, his voice low but firm.
"Enough. Both of you. Fall back."
They obeyed, but the weight in the air only grew.
From the far side of the dais, an elder in slate-grey robes stepped forward. The crimson-trimmed insignia on his chest marked him as Bloodshade Moon Sect — and the empty space where his disciples should have stood was a wound for all to see. His face was carved into lines of grief and fury.
"My sect lost every one of our young disciples in that cursed place," he said, voice carrying without effort. "And now you stand here with your ranks intact, heavy with cores, speaking as if the rest of us should bow in gratitude. If they are truly as strong as they claim, then one of you should be able to humble them."
His gaze swept over the gathered disciples of every other sect, lingering on their weapons, their stances, the shadows under their eyes.
"Step forward," he called. "Show us whether the Burning Sun Sect's reputation is truth or theater."
No one moved.Some shifted uncomfortably; others avoided his eyes entirely. Too many had seen Haotian fight, and even those who hadn't could read the truth in the survivors' expressions. Facing the Burning Sun disciples — especially the one who had led them out — was a risk no one was willing to take.
The Bloodshade Moon elder's lips thinned in displeasure.
That was when Haotian moved.
He stepped out from the Burning Sun formation, boots striking the stone with unhurried weight. His gaze locked on the grieving elder, and when he spoke, his tone was level — carrying no mockery, only certainty.
"If you want proof of our strength, then you'll have to come and get it yourself."
The shift in the square was instant — the murmurs breaking into a sharp intake of collective breath. The Bloodshade Moon elder's eyes narrowed, his grief-hard gaze meeting Haotian's steady one.
The high elder of the Burning Sun Sect said nothing, only folding his arms and watching.
It was no longer about the disciples. The challenge was now a direct duel between the man defending his sect's honor and the elder who demanded their legitimacy be tested in blood.
The Bloodshade Moon Sect elder stepped forward without a word, his slate-grey robes snapping once in the wind as he mounted the stone dais. The insignia over his heart glinted — a blood-red crescent moon crossed with a black blade. His aura rose like a silent tide, washing over the square until the weaker disciples staggered back.
The murmurs began almost instantly.
"Late stage Soul Transformation Realm…""This isn't even a contest.""That Burning Sun brat won't last three breaths."
Even some elders traded glances, their expressions grim. A challenge between cultivation realms this far apart was no duel — it was execution.
Haotian walked forward without hesitation. He stepped onto the dais and stopped five paces from the elder, his expression calm, his hands empty. No visible weapon. No qi flare. Just that steady golden gaze.
The Bloodshade Moon elder's voice was cold.
"You've chosen to humiliate yourself. I will oblige you."
His sword came free in a single, ringing motion — black steel rippling with a faint crimson edge. The moment it cleared the sheath, the elder vanished.
Gasps cut through the crowd as the blade appeared in a downward arc toward Haotian's shoulder — so fast that even some mid-stage Nascent Soul elders lost track of the movement.
Haotian leaned. Just enough. The edge cut nothing but air.
The crowd erupted in startled cries. A Core Condensation disciple had evaded the first strike of a late stage Soul Transformation expert.
The elder didn't pause. His sword blurred into a chain of flickering cuts, each one carving a black arc into the stone dais. Haotian moved through them in a storm of golden light, his body flickering like a phantom, each sidestep and twist just outside the sword's reach. Lightning sparks licked off his skin, the golden arcs growing brighter with every evasive motion.
"Impossible…" one sect elder muttered, eyes narrowing."He's reading him," another whispered. "By movement alone…"
Haotian's palm snapped up, catching the flat of the blade just enough to deflect its angle. His other hand clenched — lightning pooling between his fingers before shooting down his arm. It hardened into the shape of a spear, the haft burning gold, the tip a blinding flare of condensed thunder.
The elder's eyes narrowed, his sword rising into a high guard.
"Then you will use a weapon. Good. Die holding one."
The two clashed.
Spear met sword with a sound like a thunderclap trapped in steel. The first impact sent a shockwave bursting outward, cracks spiderwebbing across the dais. A second clash followed — faster, sharper — a rippling boom that knocked nearby disciples off their feet.
Each exchange was brutal. The elder's sword arts were a storm of precise, cutting arcs, weaving feints and reversals into every step. Haotian's spear was a constant surge forward, every thrust laced with explosive bursts of lightning that bent the elder's footing.
The terrain began to suffer. Chunks of stone tore free with every shockwave, the square's edges fracturing as golden lightning and black steel carved lines into the ground. Dust swirled in violent eddies, driven by the heat of their qi.
On the third dozen exchange, Haotian twisted his spear along the elder's sword in a deflecting spiral. Lightning roared up the length of the weapon, detonating at the point of contact with a flash so bright the crowd shielded their eyes. The blast tore the sword from the elder's grip, sending it spinning end over end into the air before it clattered into the fractured stone.
Gasps rippled through the gathering.
The elder staggered back a step, eyes wide. Haotian didn't give him time to recover. The spear leveled, its point sparking wildly as the air cracked from the pressure.
He thrust.
The spear's tip stopped just short of the elder's neck — so close that a single spark leapt to his skin and hissed out. The gathered qi made the man's hair whip back, his breath catching in his throat.
The square was silent except for the low rumble of lightning fading along Haotian's weapon.
From the elders' pavilion, the murmurs began again — not in disbelief this time, but in something closer to unease.
"A Core Condensation… against Soul Transformation?""No… this is something else entirely."
Even among the Bloodshade Moon Sect's own ranks, faces had turned pale.
Haotian's eyes never left the elder's. The spear slowly dissolved into threads of golden light, dissipating into the air before touching the ground. Without another word, he stepped back to the Burning Sun Sect's formation, leaving the defeated elder standing alone on the broken dais.
The silence clung to the square like a held breath, broken only when the Bloodshade Moon Sect elder finally lowered his gaze. He bent down, retrieved his sword from the shattered stone, and sheathed it with a sharp click. Without a word, he stepped down from the dais and returned to his sect's side, the weight of defeat settling over his shoulders.
No one cheered. No one dared. The reality of what they had witnessed had sunk deep into the bones of every onlooker — a Core Condensation realm youth trading blows with, and ultimately disarming, a late-stage Soul Transformation expert.
The murmurs started low and spread like wind through dry grass.
"He shouldn't have even been able to react…""That wasn't just speed. He matched him.""Lightning qi that pure… I've never seen it."
From the Burning Sun Sect's formation, the high elder's lips curved in the faintest shadow of a smile, though his eyes remained sharp. His presence was like an unspoken barrier between Haotian and any lingering hostility.
On the other side of the square, the Cloudveil Spirit Sect's Ru Mei crossed her arms, a slight smirk tugging at her mouth. Beside her, Yue Lan looked like she might openly laugh if not for her own elder's stern glance.
The head recorder cleared his throat loudly, his brush poised over the parchment scroll. "The tally will continue," he announced, the words trembling just enough to betray that he was still rattled.
One by one, the remaining sects brought forward their monster cores, though the mood had shifted entirely. None tried to bait or undermine the Burning Sun Sect now. The show of force had been public, undeniable, and… unsettling for some.
When the final counts were complete, the results were impossible to argue:The Burning Sun Sect stood at the top by a wide margin.
As the gathering began to break apart, several sect elders — some who had been skeptical only an hour before — approached the Burning Sun group. Their thanks were brief but sincere, and their gazes toward Haotian held a new weight, as though they were recalculating his place in the world's hierarchy.
The high elder waited until the square had thinned before speaking quietly to his people.
"We've made enough of a mark here. It's time to leave before that mark turns into a target."
Haotian fell in with the group, the weight of the duel already fading from his expression. Yet as they turned away, he caught the stares of several figures lingering at the square's edge — cultivators from sects he did not recognize. Their eyes tracked him until the crowd swallowed them from view.
It was clear the duel had not just ended a challenge.It had begun something else entirely.
The head recorder's brush struck the final mark on the parchment scroll, and the results were announced aloud for all to hear.
"First place… Burning Sun Sect."
The words carried over the square like a hammer blow. There was no applause, no roar of celebration — only a ripple of murmurs as the outcome sank in.
Protocol dictated that the rewards be distributed immediately. The central dais was cleared of debris from the duel, and attendants from the hosting sect brought forth a large lacquered chest, sealed with heavy clasps. Its weight was so great that four men carried it to the high elder of the Burning Sun Sect, setting it down before him with formal bows.
When the clasps were opened, the crowd leaned forward. Inside were stacked pouches of spirit stones, rows of neatly arranged pill bottles, defensive talismans marked with protective sigils, carefully wrapped sets of high-quality equipment, and several cases containing rare crafting materials harvested from deep danger zones.
The high elder stepped forward, voice carrying clearly across the square:
"By right of your effort, and by the record of the tally, each disciple of the Burning Sun Sect will receive two thousand spirit stones."
Gasps rippled from some of the onlookers — it was a staggering sum for a competition prize, especially distributed per disciple rather than as a single lump sum. Attendants began handing out pouches heavy with the weight of the stones, one to each member of the squad, the coins clinking with a satisfying heft.
The high elder continued:
"In addition, each disciple will select one reward according to their need — a choice between: cultivation pills, including a single rare pill capable of ensuring a breakthrough to the next minor realm… defensive talismans inscribed for survival in lethal combat… equipment of superior grade… or rare crafting materials worthy of the finest artisans."
One by one, the Burning Sun disciples stepped forward to claim their choice. Some went straight for the defensive talismans, others to the pill bottles, their eyes lingering on the rare breakthrough pill. A few reached for the gleaming weapons and armor laid out with care, while the more craft-minded took wrapped bundles of materials that shimmered faintly with spiritual energy.
When Haotian's turn came, the high elder regarded him for a moment before gesturing toward the selection.
"Choose as you will."
Haotian's gaze swept over the offerings before settling on a defensive talisman — a smooth piece of jade inscribed with a swirling formation pattern, its qi signature promising a barrier that could deflect even lethal blows if activated in time. The high elder placed it in his hand personally.
"Yours by right, for defending the sect's name."
The formality of the distribution, the wealth of the rewards, and the even-handedness with which they were shared drew mixed reactions from the other sects. Some elders exchanged grudging nods of respect. Others averted their eyes, unwilling to acknowledge the outcome openly.
When the final pouch and last chosen reward were secured, the high elder gave a single command:
"Form up. We leave."
The Burning Sun formation reassembled, their prizes secured and their ranks unbroken. They moved in disciplined silence, boots striking a steady rhythm against the stone path that wound away from the central square. The noise of the tally and the scattered conversations behind them grew faint, replaced by the whisper of wind through the mountain passes.
Haotian walked near the front beside the high elder, his senses tuned outward. Though his expression was calm, he was counting the shadows that lingered at the edges of the path, the faint fluctuations of qi that came and went like fish under still water. Someone was watching.
The high elder seemed to notice as well. Without turning his head, he spoke low enough for only Haotian to hear.
"Three groups. One to the east ridge, one trailing us, and one circling ahead. None of them are locals."
Haotian didn't respond, only let a small spark of golden lightning arc between his fingers in silent acknowledgment.
Behind them, the rest of the Burning Sun disciples — dusty, tired, but holding themselves with the quiet pride of survival — kept formation. A few exchanged brief looks, sensing the same tension in the air. Ru Mei and Yue Lan of the Cloudveil Spirit Sect trailed close, their expressions unreadable but their eyes sharp, as if ready to step in should things turn hostile.
When the group reached a narrow defile between two cliff faces, the high elder raised a hand and halted. The air here was still, too still — even the wind seemed to pause.
From the shadows ahead, three figures emerged. Their robes bore no sect insignia, only muted black and grey cloth, their hoods drawn low. The leader's voice was smooth, almost polite.
"The Burning Sun Sect has drawn much attention today."
The high elder's expression did not change.
"If you've come to congratulate us, speak your words and be on your way."
The man's smile was faint and humorless.
"We've come for something far more valuable than words."
More figures stepped from the cliffs above, their qi flaring just enough to make the air grow heavy. Though none of them spoke it outright, the meaning was clear: they were here for Haotian — or at least for what they thought he carried out of the Forbidden Realm.
Several Burning Sun disciples shifted, readying themselves, but the high elder's hand stopped them. His eyes slid toward Haotian.
"Consider this your second duel of the day. Show them why they shouldn't have come."
The leader's grin widened slightly, his fingers brushing the hilt of a curved blade at his hip. The air between them tightened, the faint crackle of Haotian's lightning answering the threat.
The next moment, the gorge erupted into motion.
The leader of the black-and-grey cloaked group barely had time to draw his curved blade before the air cracked — a sharp, electric snap that signaled Haotian had already moved.
Golden lightning flared across the gorge like a chain of sunlit serpents. Haotian's figure blurred, vanishing from where he stood and reappearing directly in front of one of the cliffside attackers. His hand struck once — open palm, no weapon — and the man's blade went spinning into the air, his body collapsing against the rock face with the force of the blow.
The others reacted instantly, blades, spears, and talismans flashing into play. One hurled a volley of razor-edged qi discs toward Haotian's flank. He stepped once — not a dodge so much as a shift — and the discs passed through empty space, their own momentum carrying them harmlessly into the stone. By the time they hit, Haotian was already in front of the thrower.
A short burst of lightning coiled around his forearm as he chopped downward. The strike landed with a sound like a thunderclap muffled by earth, dropping the attacker flat, their weapon skittering away across the ground.
The leader cursed under his breath and lunged in from Haotian's blind side, his curved blade sweeping in a vicious arc meant to slice through bone and tendon in one motion. Haotian's head turned slightly, golden eyes flashing. His foot pivoted, bringing him just inside the swing, and his hand brushed the flat of the blade — lightning crawling over the metal in a spiderweb of burning veins.
The leader recoiled with a hiss as his grip faltered, pain jerking through his arms. Haotian didn't follow with a killing blow. Instead, he let the man stagger back, golden arcs dancing lazily between his fingers as he turned to face the rest.
The cliff above erupted with movement as two more cloaked figures dropped from their perches, aiming to crush him in a pincer strike. The first landed and swung low; the second stabbed down from above. Haotian's form shimmered — and then split into two afterimages of golden light. Both attackers struck nothing but air.
The real Haotian was already behind them. Two strikes, each to the center of the spine — controlled, precise, just enough force to lock their bodies in a numb collapse without crippling them. They fell together in a heap.
The gorge was filled with the scent of ozone now, every stone carrying the residual hum of his lightning. Dust swirled in the wake of his movements, the echoes of impact still bouncing between the cliffs.
The remaining assailants hesitated. Some tightened their grips on their weapons, others flicked glances toward the leader, waiting for the order to retreat.
The leader's jaw clenched, but pride warred with pragmatism in his eyes. He shifted his stance as though to lunge again — and in that same instant, Haotian vanished. A heartbeat later, the man's curved blade was spinning away, embedding itself in the rock wall a dozen paces off.
Haotian stood in front of him, his lightning-clad hand resting lightly against the man's throat. The arcs of golden energy whispered over the skin without burning, a promise more than a strike.
"You've seen enough," Haotian said quietly.
The leader swallowed hard, eyes locked on his. Then, with a curt motion, he raised a hand to signal the withdrawal. One by one, the cloaked figures melted back into the cliffs, their footfalls vanishing into the winding passes.
When the gorge was empty again, Haotian let the lightning fade from his fingers and returned to the Burning Sun formation without a word.
The high elder's expression didn't change, but his eyes held a faint, knowing glint. Behind them, Ru Mei and Yue Lan exchanged a silent glance — a flicker of realization that Haotian had just dismantled a Soul Transformation–level ambush without revealing even a fraction of what he could truly do.