The sect was never silent for long.
In the days following the Heaven's Oath debacle, the Azure Heaven Sect seethed like a cauldron left on high flame. Rumors spread faster than wildfire, disciples whispered in courtyards, elders muttered in hidden chambers, and rival factions sharpened their knives in anticipation.
But at the eye of this storm, Chen Wu sat cross-legged inside his meager quarters, eyes closed, breath steady, the picture of serenity.
Inside, however, Mo Tianxie was already weaving strings of fate.
A knock came at his door. Soft, hesitant.
"Enter."
The door creaked open. Zhang Rulan stepped inside, her gaze sharp yet conflicted. She had kept her distance since the oath—half in awe, half in suspicion—but she could not resist being drawn back to him.
"You caused quite the storm, Chen Wu," she said quietly.
His eyes opened, twin abysses reflecting a depth she could not fathom. "Storms reveal the weak and strengthen the strong. Which do you intend to be?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "The sect is divided. Some say you manipulated Heaven's judgment. Others claim the Heavens truly favor you. Either way, you stand at the center."
"Exactly where I prefer to stand," Chen Wu murmured. He rose, stepping closer until the distance between them was charged with tension. "Tell me, Zhang Rulan—why did you come?"
She hesitated, then exhaled. "Because I've decided. I would rather stand beside the storm than be swept away by it."
A faint smile curved his lips. The first seed of loyalty had sprouted.
"You've chosen wisely."
Unseen by her, Mo Tianxie's mind was already cataloging her strengths, her vulnerabilities, her potential as both weapon and shield.
But she was not the only one drawn to him.
Later that day, as he crossed the sect's training grounds, two outer sect disciples approached cautiously. They were low-ranked, faces pale with nerves, but their eyes burned with hunger.
"Senior Brother Chen," one stammered, "we… we saw what happened in the Grand Hall. We believe the elders are blind! If you would permit us, we wish to follow you."
Chen Wu regarded them with the cold gaze of an immortal warlord hidden beneath mortal skin. "Names."
"Lu Feng. Huang Wei."
"Then know this, Lu Feng, Huang Wei—loyalty is not words. It is tested in blood." His voice was soft, yet the threat coiled within it made them shiver.
And just like that, two pawns were added to his board.
News of Chen Wu's growing following reached the ears of his rivals quickly. Envy and fear stirred among them, particularly in Wang Shi, the senior disciple who had mocked him the day before the Heaven's Oath.
On the third night, Wang Shi arrived at the training ground flanked by half a dozen cronies. He found Chen Wu standing alone, hands clasped behind his back, facing the moonlit arena.
"So this is the new game?" Wang Shi sneered. "Trash disciple turned saint of the Heavens? Don't think we've forgotten what you are, Chen Wu."
Chen Wu turned slowly, eyes glinting. "And what am I?"
"A fraud. A parasite. You dared to bind Heaven with an oath and twist its judgment. Do you think we'll let that stand?"
Laughter rippled through his lackeys.
Chen Wu's expression did not change. He merely stepped forward, the aura around him pressing down like a blade. The laughter choked off into silence.
"You dare question the will of Heaven?" Chen Wu's voice rang like thunder. "If Heaven itself did not strike me down, who are you to raise your voice?"
Wang Shi faltered—but only for a breath. Rage twisted his features. "Enough! I challenge you, here and now. A duel before witnesses. If you truly carry Heaven's blessing, prove it!"
Gasps erupted from the gathering disciples. A duel meant blood. A duel meant humiliation—or ascension.
Chen Wu tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging his lips. Inside, Mo Tianxie laughed. Perfect.
"I accept."
The duel was brutal, swift, and decisive.
Wang Shi came armed with confidence, technique, and numbers at his back. Chen Wu came armed with centuries of immortal battle experience compressed into the frame of a "trash" disciple.
Their blades clashed once. Twice. On the third strike, Chen Wu stepped inside his rival's guard, twisted his wrist with surgical precision, and sent Wang Shi sprawling in the dirt.
Gasps echoed across the grounds.
"Do you yield?" Chen Wu asked coldly, his boot pressing lightly on Lin Yao's throat.
Humiliation burned in the other's eyes, but pride kept his mouth shut.
"Then perish in silence." Chen Wu withdrew, leaving Wang Shi coughing blood, his pride shattered before the watching crowd.
That night, the sect buzzed louder than ever. The "trash" had beaten a senior disciple in public combat. Whispers of fear turned into certainty: Chen Wu was no longer weak.
But power in the sect was never decided by duels alone. Elder eyes now turned toward Chen Wu, each weighing his value, his threat, his potential.
Elder Han, stern and pragmatic, summoned him under the pretense of "discussion." But Chen Wu recognized the veiled test the moment he stepped into the chamber.
"You've stirred no small amount of trouble, disciple," Elder Han said, his gaze piercing. "Some say you're a danger to sect order. Others claim you're Heaven's chosen. Tell me—why should I not confine you to silence this chaos?"
Chen Wu bowed slightly, but his words carried steel. "Because silencing me would admit weakness, Elder. The sect thrives on strength, and I have shown strength where others showed cowardice. Would you punish me for embodying the very principle we are sworn to uphold?"
Elder Han's brows twitched, a faint acknowledgment. "Bold words."
"Truth," Chen Wu corrected softly.
The elder leaned back, studying him. "Very well. I will not move against you—yet. But know this: strength attracts not only respect but enemies. Be prepared."
Chen Wu's lips curved. "Enemies are opportunities, Elder. I welcome them."
And so he left the chamber with Elder Han's wary approval—not loyalty, but recognition. Another step forward.
In the following days, Chen Wu's influence spread like ink in water.
Disciples whispered his name in admiration. Small groups gathered around him, some seeking protection, others seeking to ride his rising star. Zhang Rulan moved closer to his orbit, acting as both ally and subtle confidante. Lu Feng and Huang Wei proved their worth by carrying out menial but vital errands, feeding him whispers of rival movements.
Even Wang Shi, broken and humiliated, became a symbol—proof of what happened to those who defied Chen Wu.
But beneath the surface, darker forces stirred.
On the tenth night, a messenger slipped into Chen Wu's quarters. A hooded figure, silent and tense, bowing low before speaking.
"My master bids you greetings… Demonic Sky Tyrant."
The words cut through the silence like a blade.
Chen Wu's gaze sharpened instantly. No one in the sect should know that name.
The messenger continued, voice trembling. "There are those who remember who you truly are. They watch. They wait. And they offer… alliance."
The chamber grew cold, heavy with the weight of revelation.
Mo Tianxie's laughter thundered in his skull. At last, the hidden game revealed itself.
Chen Wu leaned forward, eyes burning with cruel amusement.
"Then let us see," he whispered, "whether they come as allies… or prey."
The messenger bowed deeper, the candlelight flickering ominously across the walls.
And outside, the sect churned with tension, unaware that the real game had only just begun.