The decree of the Guardian of Xuánlóng still reverberated through every corner of the celestial realm,
> Six moons remain before the Gate of Spirit closes. When the final moon wanes, this world shall fold into silence.
The words were not merely a warning; they were a sentence.
Even now, the sky carried their echo—low, metallic, like the lingering toll of a funeral bell.
--
Above the endless void, mountains of black jade and pale crystal floated like fragments of a shattered heaven.
Each peak trembled as if alive, bleeding streams of liquid starlight that rose instead of fell,
twisting into rivers of blue-white fire that coiled around one another before vanishing into a storm-torn sky.
The air itself hummed with qi so dense it shimmered in visible waves.
Every breath tasted of iron, ozone, and ancient promise—like the air before a thunderstorm where gods once walked.
Disciples from a hundred sects leapt from shard to shard, their robes snapping like banners.
Some shouted the names of their sects, some wept prayers, some fought.
Sparks of sword-light flared like meteors across the abyss,
and every scream or clash of metal fed the rhythm of a realm preparing for its own extinction.
---
Through this maelstrom strode Tiān Lán, cloak of frost-blue silk trailing like a slice of winter across the night.
His steps were light yet absolute, as if each floating stone existed only because he willed it.
Where others stumbled on quaking peaks, his balance was the quiet of moonlit water.
In his eyes lay neither panic nor greed—only a steady, measuring calm.
He had endured betrayal, death, the endless grinding trials of past and present lives.
A gate that would close in six moons was not a threat.
It was a summons.
Beside him, Yao Xiangyi landed in a soft flare of silver qi.
Her sword—an elegant curve of moonlight—rested against her shoulder as she scanned the chaos.
Her breath fogged in the chill rising from the abyss.
"Six moons," she murmured, voice barely louder than the wind.
"Not enough to cross the outer ring, let alone reach the core."
Tiān Lán's mouth curved into the faintest of smiles.
"Those who scramble for scraps will die with empty hands.
Precision and speed are what count.
Stay close."
She inclined her head. Between them, words were almost unnecessary.
---
They leapt.
A thousand feet below, sect disciples clashed in a blizzard of power.
A fire alchemist hurled a tide of vermilion flame across a bridge of crystal,
only to be betrayed mid-stride by his own sworn brother—
a spear of obsidian shadow piercing the firelight and sending him screaming into the void.
Elsewhere a pair of sword sisters carved a path through five rival sects, their blades ringing like temple bells.
The realm smelled of scorched qi and desperation.
Tiān Lán moved as though gravity itself deferred to him.
Each landing scattered a fine mist of frost that crystallized mid-air before drifting into nothing.
Yao Xiangyi followed a heartbeat later, her movements fluid and exact,
like moonlight threading through storm clouds.
Ahead, a pillar of azure radiance speared upward from the realm's hidden heart.
It pulsed like a living artery, calling every cultivator toward it—
the promise of the Spirit Core, the treasure said to rewrite destiny itself.
---
A sudden tremor split the air.
From the highest floating cliff descended a figure wreathed in black and gold qi.
Long hair, pale as molten silver, spilled across his shoulders like moonlit mercury.
The pressure of his aura bent the air until it screamed.
Whispers snapped through the gathered disciples.
> "Zhou Mingyu… the Azure Fang!"
"Frostveil Sect's prodigy—he rivaled the eldest guardians!"
"They say he can carve lightning with a thought…"
Zhou Mingyu hovered above them like a hawk poised over prey.
His eyes—sharp, cold, and almost amused—locked on Tiān Lán.
A slow, predatory smile curved his lips.
"I have been waiting," he said, voice carrying effortlessly through the roar of the realm.
"The crystal will be mine.
The core will bow to Frostveil."
---
Before the last word faded, Zhou Mingyu vanished.
A streak of golden qi carved the storm,
his sword flashing like a comet as it fell toward Tiān Lán.
The impact cracked the very sky.
A shockwave of frost and thunder ripped outward,
shattering lesser peaks and flinging rival cultivators into the abyss.
Tiān Lán met the strike with a single sweeping motion.
Frost-wind coiled around his arm like a living serpent,
forming a translucent shield that rang like crystal struck by a hammer.
The collision birthed a bloom of light so bright it painted the floating mountains in phantom daylight.
Yao Xiangyi darted forward, intercepting a bolt of ice-lightning that sprang from Zhou's counter.
Her sword traced a crescent of pure moonfire,
deflecting the attack and sending a spray of glittering shards across the void.
Her face remained serene, but the muscles of her wrist trembled with the force of the impact.
---
What followed was less a duel than a storm given form.
Zhou Mingyu struck like an unchained tempest—
slashes of lightning-edged frost that split the air with deafening cracks.
Tiān Lán responded not with brute force but with a mathematic elegance:
each movement a precise answer, each counterstrike a lesson in inevitability.
Where Zhou's sword tore reality open, Tiān Lán's frost mended it with razor-edged calm.
Their powers collided in bursts of color that stained the storm:
gold met silver met the ghost-blue of deep winter.
Auroras unfurled across the void like banners of forgotten gods.
Around them, rival sects faltered.
Those who moments ago had been locked in blood feud now froze,
captivated by the spectacle of two prodigies rewriting the laws of combat.
---
The clash of frost and lightning tore through the void like the roar of a newborn world.
Every collision of sword and shield birthed waves of qi that rolled across the floating mountains,
making entire peaks shudder and bleed starlight into the endless black.
Zhou Mingyu's laughter cut through the din—low, confident, edged with madness.
"Is this all, Tiān Lán?
The tales of your resurrection whispered of a man who defied the heavens.
Show me the proof."
Tiān Lán's reply was a breath, calm and cold.
"The heavens need no witness."
His next step cracked the crystal beneath his feet.
From the fissures rose coiling dragons of frost, their translucent bodies bending moonlight into rainbows.
They spiraled around him in silent obedience, each movement a prayer to winter.
Zhou's eyes narrowed. "Good. A worthy dance."
--
They blurred.
To the untrained eye, only streaks of light remained—
a storm of arcs and crescents, each one a death sentence had it landed.
Zhou's sword carved lightning into serpents,
forked tongues of gold that struck from impossible angles.
Tiān Lán met them with wind-forged frost, redirecting each strike with minimal motion,
his every counter a lesson in inevitability.
The sound was unbearable:
metal shrieking against air, thunder folding upon itself,
the hiss of ice boiling against raw electricity.
Yet in the center of it all, Tiān Lán's breathing remained perfectly even—
as if the chaos existed only to reveal the stillness within.
---
Above, Yao Xiangyi became a streak of living moonlight.
She launched herself from a floating shard,
her sword singing a silver arc that cut through Zhou's next strike.
The impact scattered fragments of lightning like falling stars.
"Do not falter," she called to Tiān Lán, her voice a steady thread through the storm.
"Our path lies beyond this fight."
Her words were not plea but declaration.
Together, they formed a rhythm—
Zhou's overwhelming offense answered by Tiān Lán's silent calculations,
their duet strengthened by Yao Xiangyi's precise interludes.
---
Beneath Tiān Lán's feet, the Spirit Crystal pulsed.
Its heartbeat aligned with his own,
each throb releasing a tide of ancient energy that flooded his meridians with cold fire.
His vision sharpened until he could count the grains of frost riding the wind.
Now.
He drew a circle with one hand.
Frost, wind, shadow, and lightning answered like loyal soldiers,
spiraling inward until they became a single point of blinding light.
The air condensed, trembling as if the realm itself feared the coming strike.
Zhou sensed it and roared,
his own qi erupting in a surge of golden flame.
Their auras collided, two storms seeking supremacy.
---
Time slowed.
Tiān Lán stepped forward,
every muscle singing with Spirit Crystal power.
His eyes—two shards of winter sky—locked on Zhou Mingyu.
The world held its breath.
Then he unleashed the Heaven-Splitting Spiral.
Frost and lightning intertwined,
a tornado of blue-white energy that tore upward like the spine of a celestial dragon.
The blast ripped through the mist, shredding the storm clouds above,
exposing for an instant a sky littered with stars older than memory.
Zhou Mingyu met it head-on.
His sword screamed as it cut through layers of reality,
but the spiral devoured everything in its path.
The collision produced a shockwave so violent
that entire mountain-shards disintegrated into glittering dust.
Disciples miles away clutched at their ears as the sound of creation meeting unmaking echoed across the realm.
When the light faded, Zhou was a dark silhouette against the shattered crystal wall.
He dropped to one knee, breath ragged, golden qi flickering like a dying flame.
--
Silence spread across the battlefield.
Tiān Lán lowered his hand.
Frost coiled lazily around his wrist like a satisfied serpent.
His voice carried through the void, clear and merciless.
"Yield.
Or be buried with the fading moons."
Zhou Mingyu's gaze burned with unspent fury.
For a heartbeat, it seemed he might strike again—
but the weight of inevitability pressed down like a mountain.
He exhaled, a single sharp breath, and dipped his head.
"This is not the end," he said, each word a promise and a curse.
With a flick of his sleeve, he vanished into the fractured mist.
---
The floating mountains groaned,
their crystal veins glowing faintly as if acknowledging the duel's conclusion.
The other sect disciples remained frozen,
some trembling, some kneeling in instinctive surrender.
No one dared block Tiān Lán's path.
Yao Xiangyi landed beside him, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm.
For a fleeting moment, their eyes met—
a silent exchange of relief, respect, and something softer that neither dared name.
The azure pillar still pulsed at the realm's heart,
casting ripples of ghost-light across their faces.
Beyond it awaited the Core of Xuánlóng Shénjìng,
the final trial, the treasure that could tilt the heavens.
Tiān Lán tightened his grip on the Spirit Crystal.
Its warmth throbbed against his palm,
a reminder of the worlds he had lost and the oaths he still carried.
"Let's finish this," he said quietly.
Together, they stepped onto the next floating shard.
The corridor of light opened before them,
a path of impossible beauty and silent promise,
leading deeper into a realm where even gods feared to tread.
The race against time had only just begun.