The Outer Sect's city was alive with restless energy. From the high stone walls to the lowest alley, every disciple seemed to move with purpose, each step measured, each breath synchronized with unseen rhythms. The final competition that would decide entry into the Inner Sect was looming, and the tension could almost be cut like a blade. Whispered rumors of past victories, strategic alliances, and secret techniques swirled like an invisible storm.
Lu Mao walked among his team with casual composure, though his eyes were sharp and calculating. Chen Yuan, Bao Fu, and Yan Mei followed, each reflecting the strain and intensity of the recent weeks. Training, refining, pushing past limits, this was no longer casual practice. Every day, every move, every breath mattered.
"Master Lu," Chen Yuan spoke softly, his voice laced with both awe and mischief, "do you really think anyone can challenge us now?"
Lu Mao's gaze swept the Outer Sect disciples training nearby. Their movements were strong, precise, but compared to his team, they were still seedlings trying to grow through stone. "Challenge? Perhaps," he said slowly, his voice calm. "But we don't compare ourselves to others. We measure ourselves against what we were yesterday."
Bao Fu puffed out his chest dramatically. "Yesterday we were monsters! Today, we're gods!"
Yan Mei's eyes flickered, her voice cutting through their banter with crisp precision. "Titles mean nothing. Only skill, control, and timing count. Keep that in mind."
Lu Mao simply nodded and moved to a small secluded clearing, spreading the manuals before him: Shadow Steps, Phantom Veil, Eyes of the Hawk, Wind Fist. Each one radiated faint energy, resonating with the golden-black vein that pulsed at the very core of his inner world.
"Today," he said, calm but commanding, "we refine. We make every strike, every movement, every breath uniquely ours. Not the scroll's, not anyone else's. Ours."
The four of them moved as one. Shadows twisted and flickered unnaturally at their edges as Shadow Steps and Phantom Veil intertwined. Each movement was more than a technique—it was an extension of their wills. Bao Fu's fingers danced like serpents, executing Wind Fist with subtlety and explosive force. Chen Yuan's form was precise and calculated. Yan Mei moved like liquid steel—every step, every turn, every glance was deliberate, lethal, perfect.
Lu Mao activated Eyes of the Hawk, silver light flickering in his irises. Every leaf, every insect, even the tiniest breeze was visible to him. He observed his team, making slight adjustments—a nod here, a subtle hand motion there—and they flowed seamlessly with him.
After a pause, Yan Mei's eyes widened as she studied him. "Your Eyes of the Hawk… it's not just refined. It's different now."
Lu Mao's lips curved faintly. "Exactly. improved technique. The grade determines its resonance with higher realms. Quality, not quantity, dictates potential."
Chen Yuan frowned. "Silver-grade?… that's beyond what most disciples even dream of."
"Dreams are worthless if you cannot act," Lu Mao replied. "The technique is merely a tool. Your understanding and cultivation give it power."
Hours blurred into one another. They moved, sweat dripping, Qi flowing, muscles straining, minds sharpened. Wind Fist strikes layered feints with precision. Phantom Veil afterimages, disorienting the senses. Eyes of the Hawk revealed every imperfection in form, every weakness, every opportunity.
Lu Mao sat quietly afterward, eyes half-closed. The golden-black vein at the center of his inner world pulsed faster, thrumming with life. Spirit Apprentice, the next stage of Spirit Ascension, was almost within reach. He could feel it in his Qi, denser and sharper than before. Every nerve, every fiber, every heartbeat resonated with newfound strength. With this power, he could face three Zhang Wei's at once without breaking a sweat.
Meanwhile, in the Inner Sect, Zhang Wei knelt before his uncle, his face pale and stiff. The elder's gaze was like a blade, cutting through the layers of arrogance and fear alike.
"You dared to fail me," the elder said, placing a small, intricate relic into Zhang Wei's hand. The Soul Suppression Shard pulsed faintly, subtle yet undeniable, resonating with a power that would bind hesitation and fear. "No Outer Sect disciple can resist this. You will finish Lu Mao. You will wipe away the stain of humiliation."
Zhang Wei clenched it tightly, a quiet shiver of anticipation and fear coursing through him. "Yes, uncle."
"The next Outer Sect competition will determine who enters the Inner Sect," the elder continued, his voice low and sharp. "Train relentlessly. Sharpen yourself to a blade that cannot be dulled. And ensure Lu Mao never rises above you."
Back in the Outer Sect, the city seemed alive with fevered anticipation. Every disciple trained as if the world itself depended on their perfection. Courtyards, pavilions, and even alleyways became arenas of sweat, blood, and Qi.
Lu Mao's team trained at the center of it all, apart but immersed in the chaos. He taught Chen Yuan, Bao Fu, and Yan Mei his improved techniques—Wind Fist, Phantom Veil, Shadow Steps, and Eyes of the Hawk. Each subtle improvement added layers of lethality and adaptability.
Yan Mei examined Lu Mao's silver-grade Eyes of the Hawk, her mind racing. "This can refine our cultivation beyond Spirit Ascension. It can touch Spirit Apprentice thresholds more efficiently."
Lu Mao's eyes glimmered. "Exactly. Silver-grade techniques resonate deeper with the inner world. Vaults and veins respond to quality, not quantity. This is why the Eyes of the Hawk vault turned silver after absorbing the improved technique. Grade determines potential."
Chen Yuan's fists clenched, feeling the refined Wind Fist flowing through him. "I can feel it. My Qi is sharper, every strike controlled, precise. It's… different."
Bao Fu grinned, face red from exertion. "Different? It's like lightning and storms are dancing at my fingertips."
Hours passed. Night fell. The Outer Sect quieted. Lu Mao remained, meditating with eyes half-closed, golden-black vein at the core of his inner world thrumming faster. Spirit Apprentice stage brushed against him, an almost tangible layer of power. Qi felt denser, sharper, more alive.
In the shadows of the Inner Sect, Zhang Wei's fingers tightened around the Soul Suppression Shard. It pulsed subtly, a faint whisper of the trials and chaos yet to come, tempting and dangerous.
The Outer Sect slept beneath moonlight, unaware that the tides of fate were shifting. The final competition loomed. Strength, skill, and cunning would decide the path to the Inner Sect. Lu Mao's golden-black vein thrummed in quiet anticipation, the calm at the eye of the storm yet to break.