The Stele of Names towered over the training grounds like a dark monument, its polished surface rising higher than the rooftops of Heavenly Dragon Sect. Thousands of glowing characters shimmered faintly across its face, names etched by battle and merit. Each line represented a disciple's struggle, each rank a foothold carved into the mountain of ambition.
For Li Wei, this was no monument. It was a gate.
He stood at the edge of the square, his sword at his side, the murmurs of disciples washing over him like wind.
"The Xianglong brat's finally shown up."
"Heh, I thought he'd waste all that stipend on pills and lock himself in a courtyard. Bold to step here so soon."
"Bold? More like stupid. The stele isn't kind to newcomers."
The words carried scorn, amusement, even faint pity. None of them recognized the storm that had been building quietly in the weeks since Li Wei returned from the caravan escort.
But not all gazes held disdain.
At the edge of the crowd, Meng Yao folded her arms. Her sharp eyes swept the platform, then the jeering disciples. Idiots, she thought. They think strength grows only with years? They'll choke on their words soon enough.
A little further off, Han Lin leaned casually against a railing, lips quirking with faint amusement. He had fought beside Li Wei on the caravan road, watching his blade carve through wolves and bandits with unshakable calm. That memory was enough. If they think he's just a stipend baby… well, they're in for a shock.
Even some nameless disciples—ones who had glimpsed Li Wei's sword flashing during missions or caught whispers of beasts cut down by his blade—watched with quiet anticipation. They had seen enough to know the surface whispers hid deeper currents.
Li Wei ignored them all. His eyes were fixed on the stele, its runes humming faintly in the sunlight.
He pressed his contribution token against the stone base. A low vibration filled the square, and the black surface rippled like water. Glowing characters rose into view:
Qiu Jian – Rank 873
A ripple spread through the crowd.
"Qiu Jian? He's late Qi Refinement. That's too high a jump for someone unranked."
"Looks like the brat doesn't know his place."
A broad-shouldered figure strode up the steps to the dueling platform. Qiu Jian wore his saber slung across his back, the steel humming faintly with qi. His grin was wide, teeth flashing.
"Unranked, daring to call me out?" His voice carried across the square. "Brave—or very stupid. Either way, you'll regret it."
The crowd chuckled at his confidence.
Li Wei's reply was quiet, his hand resting lightly on his sword. "We'll see."
The array flared, sealing the platform in a circle of light.
Qiu Jian wasted no time. With a roar, his saber swept down in a blazing arc, crimson qi crackling along its edge. The strike smashed against the stone, chips flying. Gasps rose.
But Li Wei was already gone. Flowing Cloud Steps carried him sideways, his figure a blur of mist. The saber cleaved empty air, Qiu Jian's eyes narrowing in surprise.
Fast.
Li Wei's blade moved once—sharp, precise. Steel rang against steel as Qiu Jian barely managed to parry, the impact shuddering up his arm. He staggered back, shock flashing in his eyes.
The jeers from the crowd faltered.
Another step, lighter than drifting wind. Another slash, layered with qi that roared as it split air. The Tempest Fang Slash unfolded like claws of wind tearing from steel.
Clang!Clang!Clang!
Each strike pressed Qiu Jian further back, his saber quivering under the weight of layered blows. The crimson glow flickered, overwhelmed by the storm surging from Li Wei's blade.
Meng Yao's lips curved faintly. There it is.
Han Lin shook his head, though his grin widened. Stronger than before. Much stronger.
Qiu Jian gritted his teeth, qi flaring wildly. "Don't get arrogant, brat!" He swung with both hands, pouring everything into a desperate counter.
The saber howled downward—only to meet a strike sharper still.
Li Wei's sword split the arc apart, Tempest Fang Slash bursting in layered afterimages that lashed out like claws. The impact tore the saber from Qiu Jian's grip, sending it clattering across the platform. Wind roared through the array, rattling the barrier.
Qiu Jian's body slammed against the stone floor, breath knocked from his chest. Blood trickled from his lip as he stared up in disbelief.
Silence.
The crowd stood frozen, the weight of what they had just seen sinking in.
"…He's Peak Qi Refinement?" someone whispered.
"That can't be. He was only admitted months ago."
"Peak already…? Then he's been hiding his cultivation this whole time."
Murmurs rippled like wildfire. Awe mixed with unease. The laughter and sneers from before had died, replaced with something heavier.
The stele flared.
Unranked → Rank 873
Li Wei lowered his sword, chest rising steadily with controlled breaths. His expression did not change, but within, his qi surged, steady as a storm contained.
He glanced neither at Qiu Jian nor the crowd. His eyes were fixed solely on the glowing surface of the stele, where his name had just carved itself into history.
The whispers swelled.
"At this pace, he'll break into the top five hundred in months."
"He's another monster…"
Meng Yao's gaze lingered on his back, her lips pressed thin. So you're climbing this fast, Li Wei? Then I'll climb as well.
Han Lin crossed his arms, smirking. Peak Qi Refinement already. When he reaches Foundation Establishment… the top hundred won't be far.
Li Wei sheathed his blade and stepped off the platform.
The victory was his, but it was only the beginning. This single rank was nothing compared to the mountain still ahead. He could feel it already—the wind at his back, pushing him higher.
The murmurs continued.
At that moment, a sharp voice cut through the square.
"Silence."
The murmurs fell away at once. From the steps of the platform, Elder Zhao the overseer of the Stele of Names appeared. His gray robe swept the ground, his gaze as cold as the mountain peaks.
"You've all seen another name carved today," Elder Zhao said, his voice echoing. "But since the stele attracts hot heads, let the rules be repeated."
No one protested. They had all heard them before. But the reaffirmation was ritual, and the weight in his tone ensured even veterans paid attention.
"The Stele of Names governs merit through strength. Victory earns rank. Defeat strips it. Those who win rise; those who lose fall. This law does not bend."
His gaze swept the crowd. A few disciples smirked, clearly already calculating how many points they might gain. Others grimaced, recalling past losses.
"Contribution rewards," Elder Zhao continued, "are distributed monthly, tied directly to standing. The higher your rank, the greater your share. Those above five hundred receive stipends of pills and spirit stones. Those below gain little more than dust."
Some mutters rose. A few ambitious disciples clenched fists, whispering about climbing before the next distribution. Veterans only shook their heads—they had seen such ambition break before.
"Each disciple may challenge once per day. Those who lose must wait three before daring again. Do not waste your chances. The stele does not forgive impatience."
This line drew wry chuckles, especially from older disciples. Everyone knew at least one fool who had squandered chances, only to drop even further.
Elder Zhao's gaze hardened. "And remember this: cowardice gains nothing. Refusal to meet a challenge strips you of your place, your stipend, and your pride. The stele tolerates no false names."
The square grew quiet again.
Then, with a flick of his sleeve, Elder Zhao vanished, leaving only the weight of his words.
The crowd broke into murmurs once more.
"Every month the stipends climb higher. If I could just reach six hundred…"
"Tch. If you could. Try not to fall another fifty instead."
"Three days locked out after losing… that nearly ruined me last season."
"…Still, the rewards are worth it."
The atmosphere buzzed with tension. The stele was more than a monument. It was the lifeline of the outer sect, a ladder no one could afford to ignore.
Li Wei listened in silence, the words sinking deeper. He had heard of the stele before, but standing here, watching the greed, frustration, and ambition it stirred, he understood its weight more clearly.
Every name carved here has fought for it. And now, my name is among them.
Li Wei sheathed his blade and stepped off the platform.
The whispers trailed behind him, but he paid them no mind. The stele had taken his first step. Many more remained.
The wind stirred faintly at his back, urging him upward.
The mountain's peak was still far, but he had begun the climb.