The streets of the city had returned to their usual hum, but the whispers were far from over. The incident with the goddess of the Eternal Lotus Sect, the golden-robed prodigy of the Celestial Phoenix Sect, and Lu Mao's unyielding defiance had rippled through every faction, every alley, and every tavern from the southern tip of Xunwei to the central mountains. Even in the quietest corners of the continent, cultivators paused mid-step, eyes narrowing as they exchanged hurried murmurs: The Slayer walks among us… and none may bend him.
The Black Dragon faction, normally sequestered within the shadows of the Golden Sparrow Thieves Sect, felt the heat of scrutiny immediately. Shen Mu's presence had been sufficient to prevent disaster that day, but the lesson was clear to every disciple, every recruit: Lu Mao had the audacity of legends, and the strength to enforce it.
Back in the Black Dragon stronghold, the air was thick with tension, anticipation, and unspoken pride. The faction had risen steadily over the past years, gaining new disciples, improving cultivation techniques, and refining potent pills and elixirs to strengthen its members. Yet the episode in the city had elevated them beyond all calculations, casting a shadow that rival factions would find impossible to ignore.
Lu Mao, however, did not linger in the bustling heart of the city. After ensuring that his team—Li Xian, Yan Mei, Chen Yuan, and Bao Fu—remained safe, he retreated to the solitude of a secluded mountain range, a place where the wind howled over jagged peaks and the rivers ran like molten silver under the sunlight. Here, he could think without intrusion, cultivate without distraction, and push the limits of his Martial King Stage One power.
In the solitude of his new haven, the memory of the goddess crossed his mind again. Her presence was more than beauty; it was force, an aura of War Blood mastery that resonated in ways he had never experienced. Something in his veins responded, a strange stirring that even he could not fully comprehend. The God Devouring Veins pulsed, hungry, seeking, as if recognizing another ancient current within her, a challenge embedded in the very essence of existence.
"Why now?" Lu Mao muttered, pacing atop the cliff's edge. His Moonveil Dagger rested against the rock beside him, its edge catching the morning sun, gleaming like silver fire. "Two years of seclusion, and the world throws this… this tempest in my path."
Li Xian, her presence quiet and deliberate, appeared beside him, observing the horizon. "It is not a tempest you face," she said softly, "but a mirror. Someone who challenges your limits in ways the world cannot predict. You felt it."
"I did," Lu Mao admitted. "And yet… I could not even gauge the depths of it. Her power… it's like nothing I've felt before. And that golden-robed boy… he will not forget me."
Li Xian's eyes, sharp as ever, flickered with a trace of worry. "Nor will the Celestial Phoenix Sect, nor the Eternal Lotus Sect. They will watch, and they will act. But you… you have the strength, Mao. Don't doubt it."
Lu Mao's jaw tightened. "Strength is nothing without purpose. I have grown… but I cannot remain here forever. There are others far stronger than me at my age. Bright talents from the top-tier sects, rivals who could annihilate entire factions. I've achieved much, but the competition… it never ends."
The wind carried her words, and with it, the unspoken truth that had guided him since his earliest days in the Golden Sparrow Thieves Sect: To rise, one must be willing to leave behind what is comfortable, what is safe.
Meanwhile, across the continent, the political and sectal tremors of that fateful day continued to propagate. The Celestial Phoenix Sect's master had summoned his son immediately after the incident, fury burning in his eyes like a celestial storm. The heir had returned from the confrontation, humiliated in ways he would not forget, his pride shattered by a mere fledgling from the Black Dragon faction. His words had been sharp, but his strikes had been met with unyielding resistance.
"You dare—" he had begun, voice trembling with fury. Yet the elder at his side had merely watched silently, eyes calculating, aura steady, revealing nothing of the strategy that would unfold. The heir had left with his pride wounded, a lesson in caution hard-carved into his bones.
The Eternal Lotus goddess, too, returned to her sect with a storm of her own brewing inside. She had tried to mediate, to halt the escalation, but she could not deny the spark she had felt when Lu Mao's presence intersected with hers. Something in him had awakened, a pulse of primal strength and cunning that mirrored her own innate power. Her mind churned with questions she had never asked herself before: Who is this man? How can a single youth withstand the might of my allies and yet remain unbroken?
Back in the Black Dragon's secluded mountain, Lu Mao's seclusion became a crucible for his own ascension. Days and nights blurred together as he pushed through the limits of Martial King Stage One. Each pulse of qi, each refinement of blood and spirit, brought him closer to an understanding of the God Devouring Veins, the strange currents that allowed him to perceive, to adapt, and to absorb the world's raw essence in ways few could.
Yan Mei, Chen Yuan, and Bao Fu were not idle. The potent foundation pills, meticulously refined over months and distributed in small doses, had propelled them to the edge of the Spirit Accession realm's final stages. Days of isolated cultivation, meditation, and controlled qi intake brought breakthrough after breakthrough. Yan Mei's determination, sharpened by years of waiting, now allowed her to push past limits she had once thought insurmountable, approaching the threshold of the War Blood Realm. Chen Yuan's analytical mind dissected every pulse of energy, every fluctuation of qi, inching closer to mastery. Bao Fu, despite a minor setback, balanced determination with caution, recognizing that raw speed without foundation was worthless in the face of true War Blood cultivation.
The Black Dragon faction's disciples flourished under this era of preparation. Lu Mao's guidance, subtle yet pervasive, had forged a generation of warriors whose potential now rivaled, if not surpassed, the abilities of those from older, more established sects. Healing elixirs, qi-refining pills, and tailored cultivation techniques—refined personally by Lu Mao—had created an unprecedented wave of ascendant talent. Even rival factions paused to note the increase in speed, efficiency, and raw potential emanating from the Black Dragon disciples.
Despite the calm and measured cultivation, the world outside continued to stir. Rumors of the Slayer's rise reached the ears of top-tier factions. Scholars debated his potential, strategists predicted alliances, and rival factions began quietly probing the limits of the Black Dragon faction's growing influence. Each message, each observer, each whisper carried with it the implication that a new power was rising in the south—one that would inevitably demand attention and provoke envy.
It was during one of these long days, as Lu Mao walked through the forested cliffside near his seclusion, that a messenger arrived. A small figure emerged from the shadows, bearing a wrapped scroll, inscribed with the seal of Wei Quing of the Amber Viper Clan. The man, a rival in cultivation but bound by respect and necessity, bowed deeply.
"Mao," Wei Quing said, voice steady but tinged with an unspoken awe, "I have brought fifty refined healing potions. Use them wisely for yourself and send back a sample. Your method of refining is… remarkable. Even my disciples pale in comparison."
Lu Mao accepted the pouch, examining the gleaming vials carefully. "Thank you, Wei Quing. Your skill is unmatched, as always. The refinement process will benefit many of our disciples. But remember… I will compete again, and we will see whose method prevails."
Wei Quing's eyes widened. He had never anticipated that Lu Mao, a youth from the Golden Sparrow Thieves Sect, would surpass him to the War Blood Realm so early. His tone, a mixture of respect and restrained competitiveness, revealed his inner conflict. "Then I will not hold back. May the heavens judge our efforts."
Lu Mao nodded, turning back to the solitude of his mountain. Every step, every breath, every pulse of qi was preparation. Every interaction, every alliance, every slight, real or imagined, was a thread in the intricate web that would define his rise.
In the city below, life continued with a deceptive calm. Yet, the whispers of the Slayer's legend had not dissipated. Tales of his courage, cunning, and refusal to bow spread through markets, taverns, and sect halls alike. Banners bearing the Black Dragon insignia were seen in territories once dominated by rival factions, and recruits flocked to the sect in growing numbers, eager to test themselves under the guidance of Lu Mao and his cohort.
And amidst this quiet, Lu Mao allowed himself a rare moment of reflection. Two years of seclusion had refined him, reshaped him, and sharpened his vision. He had grown beyond what even he had imagined in his youth. Yet the world was not static, and the forces arrayed against him were vast. Powerful sects, ambitious heirs, and legendary cultivators awaited beyond the horizon. The encounter with the golden-robed heir and the goddess had been but a prelude—a spark that would ignite future conflict.
He exhaled, the wind carrying the faint scent of pine and smoke from the lower valleys. "The path is clear," he whispered. "I have grown, but the climb is just beginning. The Slayer's name will not fade, and the Black Dragon will rise, stronger than ever. I will not kneel, nor will I steal blindly. My path… will be forged by my hand alone."
Li Xian, appearing silently beside him, gave a faint nod. "Then go," she said. "Grow beyond even your fears. We will be ready when you return."
And with that, Lu Mao turned back to the mountains, to the peaks shrouded in clouds, and began the next stage of his journey. The world would wait, the legends would rise, and the Black Dragon faction would prepare to claim its place among the titans of Xunwei.
But the echoes of defiance, the memory of crimson robes and golden blades, and the promise of the Slayer's unstoppable rise would linger in every mind, ensuring that when Lu Mao chose to return, the world would know: he was not to be underestimated.