"The Phantom Moves… and Heaven Holds Its Breath."
The night draped itself over Azure Tempest City like a shroud.
The streets had quieted, yet the air was wrong—too still, too sharp, too alert. Rumors had carried through taverns and alleys all day, whispered in fear:
A cultivator who moves like a ghost…
A shadow that bends a battlefield…
A presence you sense only when it's already too late.
They called him the Mountain Phantom.
High above the city, Tiān Lán stood on the northern cliffs, cloak stirring faintly in the cold wind. Below, fog curled through the city like pale beasts hunting for prey. His Sprint Realm energy pulsed like a silent heartbeat—controlled, compressed, deadly.
His storm-blue eyes swept the valley.
Every flicker of light.
Every shift of wind.
Every unstable thread of qi.
Nothing escaped him.
Beside him, his Guardian manifested as threads of condensed energy stretching down toward the city like invisible watchtowers. The storm dragon circled overhead with wings made of lightning, while the fox spirit danced across rooftops—swift, bright, impossible to catch.
"They're moving already," Tiān Lán said quietly. "Crimson Lotus has begun their first plays."
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
The kind of calm before a storm tears the heavens apart.
---
From the eastern gates, a figure emerged—dark cloak, steady steps, aura carefully hidden but not weak. Not Sprint Realm. Not Spirit Severing. Something older, something sharpened by discipline.
Tiān Lán's gaze sharpened immediately.
When the figure stopped and lowered her hood, the fog parted around her like it feared touching her presence.
A pale face.
Sharp eyes.
Black hair that glimmered like a blade in moonlight.
"I've been sent to test you," she said. Her voice was smooth but carried steel beneath every syllable. "And to see if you are ready for what comes next."
"Who are you?" Tiān Lán asked—not threatened, merely assessing.
"Names are for those who need them."
Her lips curved faintly.
"Call me Ling Yan. Scout of the Shadow Lotus Sect."
Shadow Lotus.
A name that carried weight.
And blood.
"I've heard of your sect," Tiān Lán replied. "But methods? Are you here to test me… or kill me?"
Ling Yan's gaze did not waver.
"Both, if necessary. Survive, and you'll understand the real game.
Your revenge will demand more than power.
It will demand cunning."
---
A ripple tore through the city.
Then another.
Then the shadows themselves split open—dark figures dropping from rooftops, their steps barely whispering across tiles. Swift Shadow Assassins. Fast, lethal, and merciless.
Each bore the faint crimson mark of the Lotus.
Tiān Lán did not descend immediately.
He inhaled softly, letting his perception spread like a net.
And the city became his chessboard.
A lantern swayed—blinding an assassin's approach.
Roof tiles loosened underfoot—sending another stumbling.
A gust of wind twisted at the perfect moment—deflecting a poisoned dart.
He controlled the battlefield without them noticing.
Then he moved.
A streak of blue lightning tore through the fog.
One assassin collapsed, weapon stolen mid-strike.
Another spun, but Tiān Lán was already behind him, threads of energy binding the man's limbs without spilling a drop of blood.
He didn't kill them.
Not yet.
This was a lesson.
Come at me again… and you won't walk away.
Ling Yan watched from above, expression unreadable.
"Your control is frightening," she murmured. "But don't grow arrogant. Numbers aren't our true method."
Her eyes glinted.
"You'll understand soon enough."
---
Wave after wave of assassins attempted to overwhelm him.
But Tiān Lán adapted faster than they could blink.
Their footwork.
Their timing.
Their breath patterns.
Everything became data.
Everything fed into his calculations.
From the fog came traces of familiar qi—thin threads of killing intent that made Tiān Lán's expression darken.
Mu Yiran.
Feng Jiutian.
Zhao Wusheng.
His betrayers.
Their signatures lingered like old wounds in the valley.
"They think they're untouchable," he whispered, eyes cold as frost. "They think the past still chains me."
He extended his hand slightly.
Qi threads shifted around the city.
Streets bent.
Shadows thickened.
The ground itself began obeying his subtle commands.
The assassins faltered.
Stumbled.
Lost their rhythm.
This was no longer a fight.
This was domination.
---
When the last shadows retreated, Ling Yan approached with slow, deliberate steps.
"You have power," she said softly. "Far more than most realize. But that also makes you a target."
She looked into his eyes without fear.
"There are eyes on you—far beyond Crimson Lotus. The kind that strike without form, without warning, without mercy."
Tiān Lán exhaled once.
"I've survived worse."
"But surviving is not enough."
Ling Yan stepped closer.
"If you want revenge—real revenge—then walk the edge between shadow and light. Become what assassins fear in the dark."
A faint smirk tugged at Tiān Lán's lips.
"Then teach me. I'll master both.
And every enemy who thinks themselves hidden…
will kneel beneath the Mountain Phantom."
---
The night deepened.
Rain began to fall—soft at first, then heavy enough to drown the city's whispers. The storm dragon curled around Tiān Lán, rumbling low like thunder mourning lost souls.
He stood at the cliff's edge again, looking over the restless city.
Faces flashed in his mind.
Smiles that hid betrayal.
Hands that had pushed him into ruin.
Hearts that had broken him without hesitation.
A cold resolve burned in his chest.
This time, I rise.
And this time… none of you escape.
Lightning lit the sky.
Thunder rolled like heaven itself was trembling.
And Tiān Lán whispered an oath only the storm could hear:
"Remember this night.
For the Mountain Phantom rises…
and Heaven will weep for what it allowed to happen."
The first wave had ended.
But in the deepest corner of the night, darker shadows stirred.
And Tiān Lán smiled.
He would be ready.
---
> Rain poured over Azure Tempest City, washing the streets but carrying whispers of the storm yet to come. Tiān Lán's storm-blue eyes narrowed, and the city below seemed smaller, fragile under his gaze.
He knew what was coming. And somewhere, in the wind, the battle sang itself into being.
"Before the First Blade Falls"[Title]
"Beneath the moon's cold witness,
the world holds its breath.
A single thread of fate
quivers in the darkness,
pulling assassins, traitors, ghosts of the past
into one inevitable collision.
In the fog-choked alleys of Azure Tempest City,
rumors coil like serpents—
of a phantom reborn,
of blue lightning walking on human feet,
of vengeance that has waited lifetimes
to finally speak.
The storm gathers not in the sky,
but in a young cultivator's chest—
grief tempered into steel,
betrayal forged into purpose.
And when the blades are raised,
when darkness finally lunges…
the world will see the truth:
A single will,
sharper than any sword,
can split destiny open.
The coming battle is not a clash of strength,
but a reckoning long overdue.
Tomorrow,
the shadows bleed."
> And as the last line echoed in the foggy alleys, Tiān Lán vanished into the night, leaving only whispers and the promise of a reckoning. The first battle was only a taste; the storm had only begun.