Chapter 5: Shadows Beneath the Sect
The Tri-Monthly Combat Trials were still days away, yet tension in the Linh Huyen Sect had already reached a boiling point.
Even among the top outer disciples, whispers of a new threat began to circulate.
"Tham Duong?" a muscular youth with iron gauntlets scoffed. "The kid who plays at swordplay in the woods? He's welcome to try."
That youth was Manh Lieu, ranked eighth among the outer disciples. Ruthless, brutal, and known for breaking bones in sparring matches.
And he wasn't the only one watching.
From within the secluded Jade Lightning Pavilion, a pale figure gazed out through half-lidded eyes.
A woman, not yet twenty, with skin like porcelain and eyes as sharp as needles.
Tuyet Thuong — second-ranked outer disciple, and known to have already formed a single spiritual node, a feat unheard of outside the inner sect.
She sipped tea slowly, murmuring to herself, "Interesting. He wears no pride, no fear. A sign of weakness… or absolute confidence?"
A thin smile tugged at her lips.
"Let's see what breaks first."
Meanwhile, Tham Duong trained like a man possessed.
He now spent his nights in the Forgotten Peak, a desolate mountain behind the sect no longer used for cultivation due to its "chaotic spiritual veins."
But Duong knew better.
The chaotic flow made ordinary cultivation difficult, yes—but for someone cultivating the Void Serpent Sutra, which thrived in unpredictability, it was the perfect crucible.
By the second night, the spiritual chaos began bending to his will.
By the fourth, his fifth Qi vein began to open.
Once I reach the sixth, I'll be ready. More than ready.
But power wasn't enough. He needed control. Clarity.
He began practicing sword techniques passed down only in memory—ancient arts from his previous life. Forbidden forms.
One of them, Serpent Fang First Style – Moonpiercer, was a thrust technique that concentrated all his spiritual force into the blade's tip. It was meant to pierce through spiritual shields and tear through techniques.
It required absurd control.
But Duong practiced it over and over until the winds around him curved with every strike.
One night, as he meditated on the edge of the Forgotten Peak, his sword lying across his lap, the air turned cold.
Too cold.
He opened his eyes.
A shadow detached itself from the stone wall, forming into the figure of a man cloaked in black, face hidden behind a porcelain mask.
The intruder didn't speak.
Duong stood slowly.
A chill swept through the mountain.
An assassin?
But the figure didn't radiate killing intent—it radiated suppression.
Like a hand pressing down on the world.
Duong's eyes narrowed. "Inner sect?"
No answer.
But the pressure grew heavier.
The figure finally spoke, voice warped and low. "You train in the Void Serpent Sutra."
Duong didn't deny it. "So?"
"That manual was sealed for a reason. Those who follow it walk a cursed path."
Duong's grip on his blade tightened. "I'll carry the curse if it means surpassing heaven."
The figure paused.
Then extended a scroll from his sleeve.
"Take this. If you survive the tournament, open it. If not… it won't matter."
Without another word, he vanished.
No spiritual fluctuation. No trace.
That was no simple disciple. That… might have been an elder in disguise. Or worse.
Duong tucked the scroll away.
The day of the tournament arrived.
Thousands of disciples gathered in the arena carved into the cliffs behind the sect's main hall.
The crowd roared as combatants were called forth.
Each match was watched by three Outer Sect Elders, with Elder Hac presiding.
The top ten outer disciples had reserved seeds in later brackets. New challengers had to fight through elimination rounds first.
Duong's name was announced in the first set.
His opponent: Le Dinh, ranked thirty-second. Known for flame-based techniques.
As they stepped into the arena, Le Dinh grinned. "You're the ghost in the woods, right? Let's see if you bleed."
Duong didn't reply.
The bell sounded.
Dinh immediately launched Fire Fang Claws, spiritual flames shaped like tiger paws ripping toward Duong.
The crowd leaned forward.
But Duong was already moving.
His blade flickered once.
Moonpiercer.
The flame claws shattered.
In the same breath, his blade stopped a hair's width from Dinh's throat.
Silence.
The elder overseeing the match raised his hand. "Winner: Tham Duong."
No one cheered.
Only shocked murmurs.
His second and third matches followed quickly. Victory came without Duong drawing deeply on his cultivation.
By noon, he'd reached the quarterfinals.
That's when he faced Manh Lieu.
The arena trembled as Lieu stepped in. His spiritual pressure alone sent cracks through the stone floor.
He cracked his knuckles. "You think you're something because you can poke weaklings?"
Duong drew his sword slowly. "No. I think you're the perfect test."
"Arrogant brat."
The bell rang.
Lieu rushed forward like a battering ram, using Iron Rhino Body Art.
Duong didn't retreat. He flowed sideways, barely touching the ground, and slashed.
Lieu blocked with his gauntlet—and winced.
Blood trickled from his arm.
His defense is strong, but slow. I'll bleed him dry.
For two minutes, they exchanged over forty blows.
Each time, Duong left a new cut. A chip. A wound.
By the fifth minute, Lieu's right gauntlet cracked.
He roared and unleashed his full Qi.
Iron Skin Reversal – Third Form!
His body turned black and silver, like metal infused with lightning.
He charged one last time.
Duong closed his eyes.
When they opened, his blade gleamed brighter than before.
Moonpiercer. Full force.
Time slowed.
He stepped into Lieu's charge—and pierced through the iron skin.
His blade stopped at the chest, humming with suppressed force.
Lieu coughed blood and collapsed.
Elder Hac stood, visibly impressed. "Winner: Tham Duong!"
This time, even the crowd clapped.
That night, Duong sat alone beneath a waterfall, body sore but soul quiet.
He unfolded the scroll the masked man had given him.
Inside was a map.
Marked in crimson ink was a hidden chamber beneath the sect. The note read:
"Beneath the Trial Pagoda. Midnight. Come alone. Find the fragment."
Beneath it, a single word:
"Bloodroot."
His hand tightened.
Bloodroot was the name of an ancient demonic sect that had supposedly been wiped out a hundred years ago.
But he knew the truth.
They weren't gone.
And somehow, they were tied to his death in his past life.
Now they were calling to him.
He stood.
This path is darker than I thought. But I have the strength to walk it now. And if I must descend into shadow to cut through fate—then so be it.
The blade on his back vibrated faintly, almost eager.