The sky above the sect blazed like hammered bronze, late morning light spilling across the wide stone arena where the final stage of the Outer Sect Competition was about to begin. Five teams stood at the starting platform, their auras tense, weapons in hand, eyes fixed on the glittering goal ahead.
Beyond the arena, four towering stone pillars jutted upward, equidistant from one another, each topped with a floating orb of light. The relics shimmered faintly, gleaming spheres that pulsed like beating hearts.
They were the prize. Each team had to secure one to qualify for the Inner Sect. It didn't matter how they achieved it—whether by snatching, fighting, or trickery. The rule was simple: at least one relic per team, or elimination.
The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation. Disciples whispered like buzzing locusts. Elders leaned forward in their seats. And at the edge of the stands, Li Xian stood stiff, her arms crossed tightly, gaze locked on her students.
"This is it," Bao Fu muttered, licking his lips. His voice trembled with both fear and excitement. "One relic, and we're in. Just one!"
Yan Mei's calm face did not flicker. "We must act before the others converge. Delay means chaos."
Chen Yuan nodded quickly, hands tightening around his satchel straps. "If we go head-to-head too soon, we'll be dragged down. We need speed."
Lu Mao's eyes glinted, the silver threads of his Eyes of the Hawk faintly shimmering as he scanned the arena. He saw the tension in every team, the hunger, the greed. He knew this stage was designed to pit disciples against one another like dogs thrown scraps of meat.
"Then speed it is," Lu Mao said flatly. His tone carried weight, steady and decisive. "The moment the gong sounds, we all activate Phantom Veil together. We don't wait, we don't hesitate. We rush straight for the nearest pillar. With Phantom Veil, no one will outrun us."
The three nodded, their trust absolute.
The referee elder raised his hand. The entire arena seemed to hold its breath.
"Final Stage—begin!"
The gong boomed.
Four teams shot forward like arrows, qi flaring, figures blurring as martial techniques exploded into action. Dust and sparks flew as disciples surged toward the relics.
But Lu Mao's team—
The moment they invoked their qi—nothing happened.
Their bodies lurched forward sluggishly, legs heavy as stone. Phantom Veil failed to respond, the energy in their dantians still and lifeless. It was as if invisible chains shackled their inner worlds.
"What—?!" Chen Yuan stumbled mid-stride, eyes wide with panic. "My qi… it's not circulating!"
Bao Fu slapped his chest in disbelief. "I can't—my meridians feel locked!"
Yan Mei's pupils shrank, her calm finally cracking. "Something's suppressing us."
Meanwhile, the other teams surged ahead, already halfway to the relic pillars, their laughter and shouts echoing. The gap widened instantly.
And then—shadows stepped in front of Lu Mao's team.
Four figures blocked their path.
At their head stood Zhang Wei, lips curled in a triumphant sneer, his blade resting casually against his shoulder. Behind him, two bulky men and a slender girl fanned out, their killing intent radiating.
Lu Mao's chest tightened. He didn't need his Eyes of the Hawk to understand—this suppression wasn't natural. It was Zhang Wei.
"Going somewhere?" Zhang Wei's voice dripped mockery. His teeth gleamed as he tilted his head. "Pathetic. Look at you, stumbling like toddlers learning to walk."
Bao Fu growled, fists shaking. "You bastard… what did you do?!"
Zhang Wei chuckled, slow and deliberate. "What did I do? Nothing special. Let's just say… heaven favors me. You should be honored to lose to someone chosen by fate."
His teammates laughed cruelly.
One of them, a thick-necked brute, cracked his knuckles. "Boss, want us to cripple them now?"
Zhang Wei raised a hand lazily, stopping them. His eyes, cold and predatory, never left Lu Mao.
"No rush," he said. "After all, the dogs need to understand why they're kneeling before their master."
He stepped closer, each footfall loud against the silent suppression. His voice rose, taunting, echoing across the arena where disciples and elders watched in confusion.
"You, Lu Mao… you humiliated me. Do you know what it means to be caged, stripped, displayed like livestock at an auction? Bought back by my own clan like some cheap trinket?!" His voice cracked, rage bleeding through.
Gasps rippled across the stands.
Some disciples exchanged bewildered looks. Others chuckled. One even shouted, "So that story was true? Zhang Wei, the auction dog!"
Laughter broke out. A wave of cruel mirth rolled over the crowd, stabbing into Zhang Wei's pride like knives.
Zhang Wei's face flushed scarlet. His breath came ragged. "SHUT UP!" he roared, qi surging faintly around him. "I'll kill you all! I'll slaughter every fool who dares laugh at me!"
But the laughter only grew louder.
Even elders murmured, faces dark with disdain. "To think an inner elder's nephew could fall so low…"
Zhang Wei trembled, veins bulging in his neck. His eyes locked on Lu Mao, hatred so sharp it could carve stone.
"You did this," he spat. "You made me a joke. And now—you'll crawl. Either become my lackey, or I'll break you here and make you my dog. Admit defeat, and I'll let you lick my boots."
The arena stilled. Every eye turned to Lu Mao.
Blood trickled from his lip where he had bitten down, his body sluggish under suppression, his teammates struggling beside him. He stared at Zhang Wei with eyes as calm as still water.
Then he spoke.
"Zhang Wei… you always forget what we are."
His voice cut through the jeers and whispers.
"We are not merchants. We don't make deals."
He leaned forward, fists clenching despite the heaviness of his limbs.
"We are thieves." His lips curved in a sharp, fearless grin. "We don't kneel. We steal."
The stands erupted in gasps.
Zhang Wei's smirk faltered, then twisted into a snarl. "Then try it, thief. Let's see you steal with broken arms."
His team surged forward.
The clash was brutal. Lu Mao's group, suppressed and sluggish, barely lifted their arms in time. Bao Fu's strikes were clumsy, Yan Mei's flickers dulled, Chen Yuan's footwork heavy. They were battered back instantly.
The girl in Zhang Wei's team slammed her palm into Yan Mei's stomach, sending her skidding across the stage, coughing blood. One brute hammered Bao Fu's ribs, dropping him with a cry. Chen Yuan stumbled as another fist caught his jaw, teeth scattering crimson.
Lu Mao staggered, arms raised as Zhang Wei's blade slashed across his guard. Sparks burst, his forearms screaming with pain. Another blow sent him crashing to the tiles.
The audience murmured uneasily. "Why are they fighting like mortals? Where's their qi?"
"Something's wrong—"
But on stage, Zhang Wei loomed over Lu Mao, blade raised.
"Pathetic. Look at you, bleeding in the dirt. This is where you belong." He stomped on Lu Mao's chest, forcing a grunt of pain. "Crawl. Admit defeat, and I'll spare you further humiliation."
Lu Mao coughed, blood staining his lips. Yet his eyes still burned with defiance.
And then he noticed it.
Zhang Wei's right fist—always clenched tight, even as he struck. He never once opened it.
Something pulsed faintly. A whisper of alien energy.
Lu Mao's golden-black vein inside his inner world thrummed violently, resonating, swirling like a black hole pulling at unseen threads.
His mind sharpened. It's that fist. Whatever he's holding… it's the source.
Zhang Wei snarled above him. "You'll die here, Lu Mao. I'll carve you apart and erase your name."
The crowd jeered, some mocking, some shouting encouragement. A disciple laughed loudly, "Auction dog barking again!" Laughter erupted, cruel and unrestrained.
Zhang Wei's face twisted, humiliation carving deep. Spittle flew as he screamed, "SILENCE! I'll kill him now! Watch me kill this thief!"
He raised his fist, ready to crush Lu Mao's skull.
But Lu Mao's hand shot up, clutching Zhang Wei's fist with desperate strength. Their gazes locked, one seething with fury, the other calm, unyielding.
"Something's missing," Lu Mao whispered.
The golden-black vein pulsed—
And suddenly, Zhang Wei's hand spasmed. The shard he clutched vanished, ripped from his grasp by an invisible force, swallowed into Lu Mao's inner world.
At that instant, the suppression shattered.
Qi roared back into Lu Mao's meridians like a storm. His teammates gasped as their strength surged back, techniques sparking to life. The suffocating chains were gone.
Zhang Wei's eyes widened in horror. "No… no, where is it?! Where is it?!" He clawed at his empty hand, panic breaking through his rage.
Lu Mao rose slowly, bloodied but steady, qi radiating like a storm-tide. His eyes gleamed with merciless light.
"You wanted me on my knees," he said, voice low, carrying across the arena. "But thieves… don't kneel."
His fist blurred. Wind Fist exploded.
The shockwave smashed into Zhang Wei's chest, sending him flying across the stage like a ragdoll. Blood sprayed midair before he crashed, skidding and coughing violently.
"Boss!" his teammates cried, rushing forward.
But Bao Fu, Yan Mei, and Chen Yuan were already on them, qi blazing as techniques struck with renewed fury. Bao Fu's Finger Dance shattered ribs, Yan Mei's Wind Fist left streaks of blood across the girl's arm, Chen Yuan's Blend Stride hammered into a brute's back, dropping him flat.
The stage shook with the thunder of their revival.
Zhang Wei staggered to his knees, face twisted, blood dripping. His eyes darted wildly, searching for the shard. "No! Where is it? Where—"
Another Wind Fist slammed him down, teeth scattering across the stage.
The crowd roared, the arena erupting into chaos. Some disciples screamed in awe, others cheered wildly.
On the elder's platform, Zhang Wei's uncle's face darkened. Without a word, he rose, turned, and strode away, cloak billowing like a stormcloud.
Li Xian's lips pressed thin, her hands tight at her side, but her eyes gleamed faintly with relief.
At last, with their enemies broken, Lu Mao's team turned. The relic pillars glimmered just ahead. Together, bruised and bloodied but unbroken, they sprinted, Phantom Veil carrying them in a blazing rush.
Yan Mei leapt lightly, silent as a shadow, and snatched the final relic.
The gong boomed.
The competition ended.
Lu Mao and his team stood victorious, relic in hand, the arena thundering with cheers and gasps.
And behind them, Zhang Wei lay beaten, broken, his hand clawing desperately at empty air, the echoes of laughter still ringing in his ears.
The thief had not knelt.
He had stolen.