.
.
The arena was built from stone, old and worn. Grass grew through the cracks, and wind howled through the crevices of the surrounding cliffs. It wasn't glorious like the inner sect stages seen in stories, nor blessed by spirit formation masters.
But it was sacred.
For cultivators, a duel meant truth. Truth of power. Truth of will. Truth of spirit.
And today, Lin Chen would prove all three.
The Challenger: Jin Yao
Jin Yao stood across the ring, arms folded, a smirk playing across his lips. Seventeen, tall, and already at the Eighth Layer of the Dust Vein Realm, he wore Qinghe Pavilion's silver-trimmed uniform, polished and clean. His dark hair was tied with a violet ribbon—the mark of an Elder's disciple.
He didn't bow.
"You're the peasant brat?" he sneered, voice loud enough for the onlookers. "What are you, ten? Shouldn't you be herding goats somewhere?"
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
Lin Chen didn't respond. His expression was calm, but his fingers tapped his leg once.
Then twice.
He was measuring his heartbeat. Calming the dust within.
Zhao Yanyue's Warning
Just before the match, Zhao Yanyue had pulled him aside.
"He's fast. He favors whip-style qi attacks—sharp, coiled, and sudden. If he coils qi into his feet, he can shift his body weight mid-step and mislead your perception."
Lin Chen had nodded.
"But more importantly," she added, her voice low, "he'll try to humiliate you. His pride is a weapon."
"Let him talk," Lin Chen said. "He won't be smiling after."
The Fight Begins
"Begin!"
The signal came from Elder Xu himself. The old man sat on a stone chair, surrounded by other minor elders from smaller sects who had come to watch the drama unfold. Red Crest Peak hadn't seen this much attention in years.
Jin Yao struck first.
A flick of his wrist, and his qi surged in a silver spiral. His technique was Serpent Fang Laceration, an outer sect art known for its speed and cutting precision.
A silver lash of qi arced toward Lin Chen like a whip crack.
Lin Chen didn't dodge.
Instead, he stepped forward.
Dust coiled around his feet—and swallowed the attack whole.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"The Dust Vein devours," Elder Xu murmured. "It doesn't just resist—it erodes other qi."
Jin Yao's eyes narrowed.
"You little rat!"
He surged forward, unleashing a series of high-speed strikes, each faster than the last. The dust around Lin Chen shimmered as it clashed with Jin Yao's qi, absorbing the edges, dulling the blows.
Still, the force was strong. Lin Chen staggered backward, blood leaking from his lip.
"Not so cocky now," Jin Yao growled.
But Lin Chen smiled.
"You're strong," he said. "But you're not used to fighting someone who refuses to play your game."
He moved forward again, slower this time—but deliberate.
Every step kicked up dust.
Every breath turned it into fuel.
The Hidden Technique: Ash Pulse Collapse
Lin Chen raised one hand. Dust swirled into a compact sphere above his palm. It pulsed once. Twice.
Then exploded in a silent burst of grey.
Ash Pulse Collapse—a technique he'd developed using principles from both the Ashfire Vein and the Dust Vein. It didn't cause much damage.
But it blinded.
The dust filled the ring, thick and choking. Jin Yao coughed, waving his hands to clear the air.
Too late.
A blow struck his ribs.
Then his shoulder.
Then the back of his knee.
Lin Chen moved like a ghost in the haze, his blows precise and measured—not meant to kill, but to humiliate.
Just like Jin Yao had planned to do to him.
When the dust finally cleared, Jin Yao was on his knees, bruised and breathless.
Lin Chen stood over him.
"Still think I'm a goat herder?"
Victory… and Silence
No one clapped.
The outer disciples of Qinghe Pavilion were too stunned. The minor sect elders whispered among themselves.
Elder Xu stood.
"Victory goes to Lin Chen of Red Crest Peak."
The duel was over.
But something had begun.
An Audience with the Sect Master
That night, as the stars bloomed above the mountain peaks, a shadow visited Lin Chen's room.
It wasn't Zhao Yanyue.
It was a man clad in crimson and silver, his hair white as bone, his gaze sharp enough to cut qi.
Sect Master Wen Jinhai.
The head of Qinghe Pavilion.
He stood at the edge of the room, arms folded behind his back.
"You did well today," he said.
Lin Chen said nothing.
"You embarrassed one of my Elders' disciples in front of the smaller sects. Made them question Qinghe Pavilion's strength. I should be furious."
"But you're not?" Lin Chen asked.
Wen Jinhai smiled faintly.
"I'm… intrigued."
He stepped forward.
"You've built your own method. You don't rely on the Pavilion's teachings. You've killed, but not blindly. You study, adapt, evolve."
He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a sealed jade scroll.
"Accept this. An offer. If you join Qinghe Pavilion now, I'll place you directly under my personal tutelage."
Lin Chen didn't move.
He looked at the scroll.
Then at Wen Jinhai.
Then down at his hands.
Hands that had chopped firewood. Dug graves. Killed.
And clenched them.
"No."
The Refusal
"You refuse the Pavilion?" Wen Jinhai asked, his voice calm—but laced with steel.
"I refuse chains."
"You think Elder Xu can protect you forever?"
"I don't expect anyone to protect me," Lin Chen said. "But I'll walk my own path."
For a moment, silence stretched.
Then the Sect Master laughed.
A deep, amused laugh.
"Very well," he said. "Refuse me now. Let's see if your flame still burns ten years from now."
And then he vanished—faster than Lin Chen could follow.
Red Crest Rising
Word of the duel spread quickly.
Villagers spoke of Lin Chen in hushed awe. Small sects began sending letters to Red Crest Peak, asking for training exchanges. Even wandering cultivators began to visit the village, drawn by the tales of a boy with the Dust Vein who had bested a favored disciple.
But Lin Chen knew this was only the beginning.
Attention is both a sword and a shackle.
He trained harder. Dug deeper. Pushed further.
He returned to the Broken Fang forests and fought low-tier spirit beasts with nothing but wooden sticks. He meditated under waterfalls to sharpen his breath control. He starved himself for days to test how little he could survive on while maintaining qi circulation.
Zhao Yanyue watched all of it.
"Why push so hard?" she asked one night.
He looked at her.
"Because the higher you build, the more it hurts when it falls."
Seeds of a Sect
Elder Xu one day handed Lin Chen a black stone tablet.
"This," he said, "is a Sect Foundation Permit."
Lin Chen frowned. "Why would you give me this?"
"Because I'm dying."
The words landed like a thunderclap.
Elder Xu smiled. "Don't look so shocked. I've lived over a hundred and ten years. My spirit root is fading. I have perhaps five winters left."
"But Red Crest Peak—"
"Will die with me, unless someone chooses to inherit it."
He placed the tablet in Lin Chen's hands.
"I'm not asking you to take my legacy. I'm offering a chance to build your own—on the bones of mine."
Lin Chen stared at the tablet.
Then nodded.
Name of the Future
That night, Lin Chen walked alone up the peak behind the village. The stars were bright.
He sat and thought.
What would his sect stand for?
Not greed. Not blind loyalty. Not the endless hunger for power.
Endurance. Growth. Rebirth.
Like dust in the wind.
He smiled.
And carved a name into the foundation stone:
"Rooted Dust Sect."
Chapter 6 Ends.