Rain clung stubbornly to the streets of Azure Tempest City, coating the ancient stones with a glossy sheen that reflected the dim morning light like a fractured mirror. A thin, shifting fog slithered between alleyways, curling around lampposts and wooden stalls as though the city itself breathed in slow, restless heaves.
High above it all—upon the northern watchtower—Tiān Lán stood motionless.
His Sprint Realm aura, suppressed yet potent, quietly distorted the surrounding qi.
Every thread of spiritual energy flowing through the city twisted into clear patterns inside his perception. Azure Tempest City was vast, chaotic, and ruthless—but to Tiān Lán, it read like a perfectly structured diagram.
Below, life awakened.
Merchants lifted creaking shutters. Street cooks lit morning fires. Hooded figures slipped through the shadows with calculated caution. Sects' informants exchanged coded glances. Hidden assassins lingered where fog gathered thickest.
Most people beneath his gaze were blind to the invisible battlefield that simmered beneath the city's surface.
But Tiān Lán saw everything.
At his side floated the Guardian, a density of invisible force woven into a shape only he could command. The spirit dragon coiled along the wooden beam behind him, translucent scales reflecting the faint sun like polished shards. The fox spirit prowled restlessly along the rooftop edges, flickering in and out of existence like a glitch in reality.
"Patterns," Tiān Lán murmured, jaw tightening.
"Every city hides them. Every fool who ignores them dies first."
His storm-blue eyes narrowed.
And the city trembled in his silence.
---
The first anomaly cut through the atmosphere sharply—clean, precise, wrong.
A ripple of qi, fast and aggressive, sliced through the fog like a blade cutting silk.
Tiān Lán's head snapped downward.
A flash of crimson light ruptured the shadows of a narrow alley. A cultivator stepped out—masked, posture arrogant, aura compressed. A mid-tier Spirit Severing expert. Dangerous to most. Laughable to Tiān Lán.
The man moved with confidence, convinced his stealth technique rendered him invisible.
Tiān Lán's spirit threads brushed the air—manipulating wind patterns, adjusting the flow of qi around him. To anyone else, the intruder walked perfectly. But to Tiān Lán, every step was subtly pulled off balance.
"Overconfident," he whispered.
A cold smile curved his lips.
"Good. I need a messenger."
Then—he moved.
No sound. No wind.
Just a sudden blur of motion that left afterimages on three different rooftops at once.
The intruder's assassination intent collided directly with Tiān Lán's aura.
The man froze mid-step, instinct screaming—
Too late. The Mountain Phantom is here.
---
The clash that followed was silent but violent.
A flash of steel.
A threaded pulse of qi.
A collision of force meeting absolute precision.
Tiān Lán's Guardian threads surged forward, intercepting the intruder's strike with needle-fine accuracy. The redirected blow slammed into a brick wall with a deafening crack.
The masked assassin staggered.
And Tiān Lán appeared behind him without sound—cold eyes focused, breath steady.
The intruder unleashed a burst of crimson Spirit Severing energy, thick enough to slice rooftop tiles in half. But Tiān Lán's movements flowed like tempered metal—sharp yet fluid, redirecting force, reshaping attacks, using every aggressive motion as his next stepping stone.
The dragon spirit struck its tail against the roof, creating a shockwave that rattled the assassin's stance.
The fox spirit darted past, its flickering flames distorting depth and distance.
Tiān Lán's voice emerged calmly, every word a blade:
"You wasted three openings in seven breaths."
His foot swept sharply.
"And now—"
He pivoted, redirecting another crimson burst.
"You're predictable."
The intruder's eyes widened.
For the first time, genuine fear.
---
The assassin's mask cracked during the exchange.
A thin scar was revealed beneath.
A scar Tiān Lán recognized.
A memory clicked into place—sharp, painful, furious.
The embassy hall.
The betrayal orchestrated by Mu Yiran.
The people who surrounded him then.
The ones who watched him fall.
Rage simmered—not uncontrolled, but sharpened into something lethal.
Time slowed around Tiān Lán.
Sprint Realm perception allowed him to read every micro-expression, every twitch of muscle, every gathering of qi in the assassin's dantian.
This was no fight.
This was dissection.
The assassin lunged at his heart, too fast for mortal eyes—but Tiān Lán's Guardian thread snapped around the man's shoulder, pulling him forward half an inch. It was enough. Tiān Lán's foot hooked behind the man's ankle and twisted.
The intruder crashed to the ground, crimson qi flaring wildly.
A beat passed.
"You… you know me," the intruder stuttered, voice trembling behind the mask.
"You— You were supposed to be—"
Dead.
Gone.
Broken.
Tiān Lán's smile cut through him like frost.
"I remember all of you."
His voice dropped, cold enough to make the air itself tighten.
"And I forget nothing."
---
Cornered, the assassin panicked.
He unleashed all his Spirit Severing power at once, crimson energy spiraling upward like a broken storm. Roofs cracked. Lampposts bent. Civilians screamed and scattered.
But Tiān Lán moved through the chaos unharmed—because he was the one controlling it.
Spirit threads locked pressure points, absorbed kinetic force, redirected the wild energy into harmless arcs that crackled against the fog.
The fox spirit flared a warning flame.
The dragon spirit pinned the assassin's escape path.
In under thirty heartbeats, the man was trapped—alive, trembling, unable to move.
The Guardian threads coiled around him like invisible chains.
Tiān Lán stepped closer, eyes dull with apathy.
"Name."
The mask fell.
Blood trickled.
"L–Lin Yue…" he choked.
"I was sent… by the Crimson Lotus…"
The world around Tiān Lán sharpened into crystal clarity.
Crimson Lotus.
The organization tied to the betrayal.
The faction that moved in the dark.
The ones who believed he would never rise again.
A shadow passed over Tiān Lán's gaze.
"So it begins."
---
Word spread fast.
A mysterious cultivator dismantling a Spirit Severing assassin with surgical precision.
Shadows warping unnaturally.
A dragon spirit glimpsed through fog.
A blue-eyed phantom vanishing into thin air.
A name resurfaced—
The Mountain Phantom.
In distant sect halls, powerful figures paused.
In hidden towers, masked leaders turned their heads.
In the Crimson Lotus headquarters, several hearts skipped a beat.
The continent felt a shift.
A warning.
A return.
---
Tiān Lán watched as Lin Yue fled, limping into the mist.
He let him go.
Fear was a louder messenger than corpses.
The Guardian hovered calmly behind him.
The dragon and fox spirits coiled close, sensing the change in their master's qi.
Tiān Lán's voice lowered to a quiet declaration—not shouted, not dramatic.
Just a truth the world would learn soon enough:
"From this moment… every shadow on this continent will know my name."
He turned, cloak drifting behind him like a falling night.
"And every betrayal—"
His storm-blue eyes hardened, lightning flashing inside them.
"—will be repaid."
Night descended once more.
Azure Tempest City glimmered beneath the fog, unaware that history had shifted in a single morning.
But the continent felt it.
Something had awakened.
And Tiān Lán was no longer the hunted.
He was the storm coming for them all.