The clan courtyard was louder than usual.
Dozens of outer disciples gathered around the sparring platform as the weekly challenge matches began. Victors would earn extra resources and cultivation pills—precious rewards in the Zhen Clan.
And for the first time in years, Zhen Zenin stood on the platform.
He wasn't invited.
He walked up, unannounced, drawing sneers and laughter.
"What's trash doing here?"
"Didn't he barely beat Zhen Bo? Must've gotten lucky."
The elder overseeing the matches frowned. "Zenin… you're not qualified to challenge—"
"I challenge Zhen Feng," Zenin said coldly, eyes sharp.
Gasps echoed.
Zhen Feng was the golden boy of the outer court. Mid-Foundation Establishment. Known for his brutal wind-based sword art.
"Fool," someone muttered.
Zhen Feng stepped forward, amused. "You sure? I don't want to kill you by mistake."
Zenin stared him down. "Try."
---
The match began with a blur of motion.
Zhen Feng unleashed a flurry of wind slashes, tearing into the stone platform. But Zenin didn't dodge—he stepped through it, his footwork tight, calm. His Blazing Vein Technique pulsed under his skin, and the Whispering Flame roared inside.
Feng's sword came down—
Clang!
Zenin caught the blade with his bare hand. Steam rose where metal met flesh.
"What—!?"
Zenin twisted, spun, and drove a flaming fist into Feng's chest. The blow exploded with force, launching Feng off the platform.
He crashed into the wall, coughing blood.
Silence.
Everyone stared, stunned.
The elder stood up. "Victor… Zhen Zenin."
No one cheered. They didn't know whether to fear him or admire him.
Zhen Zenin stepped down without a word.
---
Far above, in a hidden balcony, Elder Zhen Mu, a powerful inner clan figure, watched the scene with narrowed eyes.
"This boy… he was nothing a month ago. Now…"
His fingers tapped the railing.
"Keep an eye on him. He may be more than he appears."
---
As Zenin walked away, his flame stirred.
He was still far from revenge… but for the first time, his name echoed with honor.
---