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Ashfall's wind no longer smelled of mist alone—it carried the tang of oiled blades, the scent of burned blood, and something deeper still: the rising breath of ambition. Lin Chen stood at the heart of the Rooted Dust Sect, watching disciples gather beneath the altar stone where he had once nearly died. Their numbers had nearly doubled. Word had spread, and so had fear.
This was the price of rising.
The Dust Guard now wore ash-grey armor laced with bone cord. They were not elite in power—not yet—but in loyalty, they were unmatched. Wei Yan led them like a wolf who'd learned patience. Tie Hui, once sloppy and brash, had begun to teach hand-to-hand combat under candlelight. Lan Shu's intelligence network grew roots even Lin Chen could not trace completely.
And amidst it all, Hua Yiran remained his silent blade, moving through the shadows of Ashfall like a ghost of blue silk.
I. A Visitor from the South
One morning, as golden rays pierced the ash leaves, a scout from the western gate rushed forward.
"Sect Master Lin! A visitor approaches! Alone. Unarmed. But... she's strange."
Lin Chen descended the terrace, stepping into the morning sun. At the gate stood a woman cloaked in crimson silk, her hood pulled back to reveal hair like liquid night, and a single long braid coiled with silver thread. Her eyes—unnervingly steady—were red as garnet.
She bowed.
"I come bearing a request and an offer. I am Xie Ruo of the Crimson Oath Sect."
A sharp intake of breath came from Elder Xu. Even Mei Xun, watching from a distance, stiffened.
"Crimson Oath... they vanished ten years ago," Elder Xu murmured. "Everyone thought them dead."
Lin Chen's gaze did not falter. "And what brings the dead to my door?"
Xie Ruo's lips curled faintly. "To warn the living. And perhaps to join them."
II. A Hidden Past
In the Dust Hall, as steam curled from untouched tea, Xie Ruo told her tale. Once a disciple of a powerful sect, she had watched it fall to the Heavensburn Coalition. Her master had died shielding her escape. She wandered, hunted, until she joined the Crimson Oath—a hidden sect of survivors, cultivators whose homes had been shattered by the Coalition.
"We exist in the fractures of the world," she said. "But we cannot hide forever. The Coalition spreads like rot beneath the soil. One day, it will rise all at once."
Lin Chen's voice was quiet. "Then why come here?"
Xie Ruo met his gaze. "Because you lit a fire. We saw your trial at Qinghe. We heard of your spy executions. You are a gathering storm, Lin Chen. And we wish to ride your wind."
Wei Yan scowled. "And why should we trust a sect of shadows?"
Xie Ruo drew a scroll from her robe and laid it on the brazier. It burned blue.
"Because we offer blood oath. All of us."
III. Ash and Crimson
The oath ceremony took place beneath the moon, the night sky clear as glass. Twenty-seven survivors from the Crimson Oath stood in a circle, palms outstretched. Lin Chen stood at the center.
"If you walk among us," he declared, "you walk the path of dust. Not to be scattered—but to endure. Swear it, and your past becomes soil for new roots."
Xie Ruo was the first to kneel.
"By blood and spirit, I swear. My past ends here. My future begins in dust."
One by one, the others followed. As the final vow echoed through the mountains, the ash trees stirred—not from wind, but something deeper. Something watching.
Lan Shu whispered later that night, "I felt it. A pulse in the mountain. Something ancient."
Lin Chen only nodded. He had felt it too.
IV. A Letter in Smoke
Weeks passed. With the Crimson Oath among them, the sect grew stronger, but so too did its enemies. One evening, a message arrived. Not on paper—but in smoke.
From a dying raven, a cloud rose into the air, swirling into shapes: a sigil of flames, and a line of words:
"He who gathers dust shall burn."
Lin Chen crushed the raven's bones in one hand.
That night, he summoned his core disciples.
"We are known. More than that—we are feared. Now, we must be prepared."
He drew out a large scroll—an unfinished map of the continent.
"We are here. The Coalition is based far northeast. But they will not strike directly. They will send puppets. Sects bound by coin or fear."
He pointed to several unmarked points. "These are likely targets. Border sects. Vulnerable. We protect them—they remember who stood beside them."
Lian Mei frowned. "You want to defend others?"
"Yes," Lin Chen said. "We rise together, or we fall alone."
V. Blades on the Wind
The next month saw Lin Chen's forces split. He sent Wei Yan with half the Dust Guard to reinforce the Falling Rock Sect—known for its earth-shaping techniques but weakened by internal strife.
Meanwhile, Lan Shu and Tie Hui traveled west to investigate rumors of a Coalition-sponsored sect buying slaves for cultivation experiments.
At home, Ashfall became a forge of preparation. Hua Yiran taught advanced formations, instructing disciples to carve glyphs into their weapons.
Lin Chen, alone, went deeper into meditation than ever before—trying to sense the edges of his spirit. Each night, the altar called to him. Each night, the voice returned.
"You are seed, Lin Chen. Why do you resist the wind?"
"Because I do not wish to be scattered," he replied. "I wish to bloom."
VI. Betrayer's Echo
Three weeks after Wei Yan's departure, a survivor returned.
A Dust Guard named Zhan Mu—wounded, staggering, armor cracked.
He fell before Lin Chen.
"It... it was a trap. Falling Rock... already gone. Corpses... used as puppets. Wei Yan—captured. Taken east."
Lan Shu returned that same day, fury in her eyes.
"The rumors were true. They're bleeding bloodlines into formations—twisting children into beasts."
Lin Chen stared at the blood-streaked ground.
Then he turned.
"Ready the sect. All of it. We march in seven days."
Hua Yiran stepped beside him. "And if they're waiting for us?"
He met her gaze. "Then they've waited to be broken."
VII. The Path Ahead
On the seventh day, under red banners and the beating drums of oath, the Rooted Dust Sect began its first campaign beyond Ashfall.
Not as refugees.
Not as hopefuls.
But as a force to be reckoned with.
Lin Chen rode at the front, sword across his back, eyes fixed on the horizon.
The 9th realm of cultivation—Body Tempering—was nearly complete for him. The faint glimmers of the 2nd realm stirred in his dantian. He could feel it now: the gathering power, the ancient pull.
But he did not seek glory.
He sought justice. Protection. Growth.
And in the north, as frost winds stirred, a council of black-robed figures watched the dust rise in the distance.
"Lin Chen moves," one whispered.
Another voice, older, colder: "Let him come. We will see if dust can choke fire."
End of Chapter 10