The plains of Vaerion stretched endlessly beneath the sun, a canvas of golden grass punctuated by banners that fluttered like a sea of color. Hundreds of sects had converged here, bringing with them the weight of their pride, their histories, and their ambitions. From afar, the sprawling arenas shimmered with spiritual wards and defensive formations, designed to ensure that every duel would test not only strength but intellect, strategy, and the precision of one's cultivation.
For the Black Dragon faction, the journey had been long but purposeful. At the front of the caravan, Lu Mao walked with measured steps, his Moonveil dagger sheathed at his side, eyes scanning the horizon with a hawk-like intensity. Li Xian, her long hair tied in a taut braid, mirrored his scrutiny. Behind them, Yan Mei, Chen Yuan, and Bao Fu moved in quiet, disciplined lines, each of them aware of the eyes that would soon be upon them.
The air itself hummed with expectation. Even Wei Quing, who had traveled from Amber Viper Clan bearing a pouch of fifty newly refined healing potions, paused to observe the plains. "I never imagined you'd surpass the War Blood threshold so swiftly," he said, handing the pouch to Lu Mao. "Use these wisely. I will compete with all my strength, but… you've forced me to face Spirit Accession opponents earlier than I expected." There was a rare note of caution in his voice, mingled with the faintest edge of pride.
Lu Mao accepted the potions with a nod, tucking them into his inner world vault. "I will," he replied calmly. "And I'll return a sample refined by my own hand. You'll see if your work has truly taught me anything."
Chen Rong, the Dawn Lotus Sect prodigy and labyrinth companion, stepped forward then, flanked by Lan Yue and Bo Heng of the Golden Sparrow Thieves' Sect. "Brother," Chen Rong called, a faint smile on his lips, "the labyrinth was child's play compared to this. Think you're ready to handle a hundred sects staring at you with knives in their hearts?"
Lu Mao's lips quirked. "I've handled worse than spectators' eyes. But don't get in my way, or you'll find the Moonveil not just for show."
Lan Yue chuckled, her gaze flicking toward Lu Mao with a teasing sharpness. "Careful, everyone. He's not just a thief; he's the kind that steals your breath without even touching you."
Bo Heng grinned. "Then I'll just have to keep him entertained. You know how he likes distractions."
Even Chen Rong shook his head, laughing softly. "You've all changed. But Vaerion will be a proper test. No labyrinth shortcuts, no tricks. Just pure skill."
Lu Mao's eyes swept over the distant arena. "Then let them come."
***
In the days that followed, the Black Dragon faction's delegates took up residence within the designated sect quarters. Shen Mu's presence was imposing, a silent shadow over their activities, reminding them that control and restraint were as vital as raw power. Under his watchful gaze, Yan Mei, Chen Yuan, and Bao Fu secluded themselves within chambers protected by layered wards. There, they consumed Potent Foundation pills—carefully, in controlled succession—allowing their cultivation to surge and stabilize. By the end of three days, their qi flows had settled into harmonious spirals, breaking into the Spirit Master stage of the Spirit Accession realm.
Yan Mei's eyes opened with a spark of clarity, her thoughts sharper, her senses keener. Chen Yuan exhaled, a broad grin breaking across his face as he felt his body pulse with newfound strength. Bao Fu, less steady but resolute, tightened his fists, his own qi now singing within his veins, a promise of growth despite narrowly failing earlier trials.
Lu Mao and Li Xian, meanwhile, trained with deliberate precision. Each day, Lu Mao's inner world tested him, pushing the War Blood flow to its limits, expanding his meridians to accommodate the tidal qi surging within him. Li Xian mirrored his intensity, refining lightning strikes and movement patterns, practicing feints and sudden bursts of power.
Wei Quing visited them once more before the preliminaries. "Remember," he said, eyes glinting with a mix of warning and challenge, "the Southern Conclave is not a place for early arrogance. But mark my words, Lu Mao—you are already a storm they did not anticipate. Temper it, or they will try to drown you before the fights even begin."
Lu Mao's reply was quiet but firm. "I know the storm, Wei Quing. And I know how to ride it without capsizing."
***
The day of the competition arrived with a sky streaked in crimson and gold. Hundreds of sects had gathered, their banners like a living tide across the plains. Magical wards shimmered faintly, humming with energy, and the wind carried the scent of polished stone, burning incense, and the faint tang of tension. Observation platforms lined the arenas, each perched high with judges and spectators who had come to witness feats of strength and strategy, to see which sects would assert dominance in the generations to come.
The divisions were clear. War Blood cultivators faced their peers, while Spirit Accession practitioners were matched against each other. The crowd murmured, scanning the names of participants. The appearance of the Black Dragon faction—and the Golden Sparrow representatives—raised eyebrows and whispers alike. "Slayer," someone muttered, pointing toward Lu Mao. "He killed six at once… and survived against a War Blood elder?"
Lu Mao walked to the War Blood preliminaries with Li Xian at his side. His Moonveil dagger glinted faintly in the morning light, its edge catching the sun. Li Xian's own strikes had been honed to lethal precision; together, they were a storm waiting to be unleashed. Behind them, Yan Mei, Chen Yuan, and Bao Fu prepared quietly for their Spirit Accession duels, their breaths measured, their minds razor-sharp.
When the preliminaries began, the arena erupted with action. Yan Mei used her whip-like blade with subtlety, striking at tendons, slipping between defenses, never directly engaging in lethal confrontation but leaving her opponents staggered and weakened. Chen Yuan's strikes flowed like water over rocks, controlled, precise, and devastating when opportunities presented themselves. Bao Fu struggled at first, his movements erratic, but he adjusted quickly, though he ultimately fell just short of victory—a reminder that mastery required more than strength alone.
Meanwhile, Lu Mao stepped into his first duel, facing two War Blood cultivators who had come to test the rumored Slayer. He moved like a shadow, each Moonveil strike leaving arcs of silver in the air. His martial arts—the Heaven Pressing Mountain Aura Manual—intertwined with his doppelgänger and phantom doubles, creating a spectacle of ghostly strikes and blinding speed.
"Two at once," one opponent spat, staggering back as a phantom strike mirrored Lu Mao's movements from an impossible angle. "Impossible!"
Lu Mao's inner voice remained calm. They underestimate speed and deception. Let them tire themselves against shadows while I control the center.
With a sharp movement, he activated Silver Eclipse Strike. Crescent-shaped arcs of silver light ripped through the air, cutting deeply into both War Blood cultivators. They fell, leaving him unscathed, save for a few minor scratches. Li Xian, not to be outdone, dispatched her own preliminary challengers with elegance and precision.
The crowd erupted, whispers of "Slayer" spreading further. Even seasoned observers paused, noting the audacity of a low-tier sect sending multiple War Blood cultivators to the quarter-finals.
Wei Quing, watching from the sidelines, clenched his jaw. He took the War Blood threshold before I even expected. And he has the confidence to dominate…
Chen Rong approached Lu Mao after one of the matches, clapping him on the shoulder. "Brother, you haven't changed—still reckless, still brilliant. Vaerion won't know what hit it."
Lu Mao allowed a faint smile. "Then let's see which spectators get turned into legends."
Lan Yue's laughter followed them, soft but sharp. "Just don't die before the quarter-finals. That would ruin the atmosphere."
Bo Heng grinned. "And don't forget, we still have treasures to collect—maybe even a relic from the arena itself."
Meanwhile, Yan Mei and Chen Yuan advanced steadily through their Spirit Accession duels. Yan Mei's whip danced like a living thing, each strike precise, her defensive maneuvers ensuring she never faced lethal risk. Chen Yuan moved like a river, flowing through openings, exploiting every mistake with refined technique. By the end of the day, both had reached the quarter-finals; Bao Fu had fallen just shy, leaving him to stew quietly in the corners of the Black Dragon faction's quarters.
Even as the preliminaries ended, the air hummed with the energy of impending challenges. Observers whispered about Lu Mao and Li Xian. "Multiple candidates in quarter-finals… from a single low-tier sect?" "The Slayer walks among us." "Black Dragon faction is rising faster than we expected."
The political and cultural undercurrents were clear: the Southern Conclave was more than a test of skill. It was a stage for reputation, for alliances, and for rivalries yet to be born.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the plains of Vaerion glowed golden, reflecting off hundreds of banners and the intense energy swirling from the arenas. Lu Mao's gaze swept over the horizon, thinking of the duels yet to come, of the Spirit Accession practitioners he would soon face, and of the ever-watching eyes of Wei Quing, Chen Rong, and the faction elders.
Even as the Southern Conclave had begun, it was only the first ripple of what would become a storm. And somewhere in the crowd, whispers of the Slayer were already growing louder, a name that would be remembered across Xunwei for generations.