The air inside the hall thickened with tension and heat.
Furnace flames hissed faintly in the corners, illuminating a battlefield of caution and silent hostility. The ten remaining cultivators, stripped of their cultivation but still governed by instinct, watched each other like beasts caught in a cage too small.
When Han Chen finished speaking, his words hung like steel in the air. Then a low growl echoed from among the ten. A wolf‑man stepped forward—tall, shoulders broad, brown hair streaked with white and golden patches. His yellow eyes glowed faintly with suppressed fury, long canine teeth bared just enough to show defiance.
Even with his cultivation sealed, his presence radiated untamed aggression born from bloodline pride. He huffed through his nose, scanning Han Chen from head to toe. "We wolf‑men follow no one," he snarled, his voice deep and rumbling, sharpened with feral intonation.
Without another word, he reached into his spatial ring. His spiritual energy might have been sealed, but his control over mental energy remained strong enough to draw steel. From the shimmer of light materialized an iron sword—crudely forged, but unyielding.
He swung it once, air breaking with the hiss of metal.
Han Chen's expression darkened. "Tch… animals." The wolf‑man lunged.
Boom—The sound of his footsteps cracked across the stone floor, and before Han Chen could fully brace himself, the sword flashed toward his ribs. Han Chen reacted instinctively. His spatial ring flared, and he drew out a short metal rod—an iron staff no longer than his forearm. He met the descending strike head‑on.
Clang—! The sharp bite of collision sent vibrations shooting up both their arms. The wolf‑man's strength was monstrous even without qi, his sheer physical power enough to shake Han Chen's stance.
Han Chen's shoes scraped across the blood‑stained floor, sparks flying as the blade slid off the metal rod and whistled past his chest. The beast‑man grinned, fangs glinting. "Your reflexes aren't bad… for a prey!"
Han Chen's cold eyes narrowed. Switching grips, he brought the dagger in his other hand up from the side, slashing toward the wolf‑man's wrist. The wolf‑man twisted at the last moment, pulling back his arm, but the blade caught his palm, drawing a clean cut across skin and fur.
Blood sprayed—dark crimson—but the beast only grinned wider. Han Chen didn't wait. He sidestepped, bringing the metal rod down in a heavy swing toward his opponent's knee. The wolf‑man leapt back, his movement raw and fast, like a predator bounding through grass.
He twisted mid‑leap, reversed his grip on the sword, and countered with a downward slash. Han Chen ducked low, feeling the rush of air part above his head. The sword howled as it sliced through nothing but left a faint nick across his shoulder.
The wolf‑man landed, snarling. "You'll die a good death!" Han Chen's jaw tightened. "Loud mutt." He threw the dagger in a quick jab. The weapon spun through the air, forcing the wolf‑man to parry. The clash disoriented him for a heartbeat—enough for Han Chen to surge forward, swinging the rod with both hands.
Clang! The weapon met bone instead of blade this time, crashing against the wolf‑man's shoulder. The beast stumbled a step back, eyes flaring with pain and rage. His next swing came wild and full of raw power, teeth clenched, muscle tensing.
Han Chen sidestepped, grabbed the wolf's arm with his free hand, and went to strike the dagger against his side—But the beast's knee came up like a hammer.
Thud—! The impact slammed into Han Chen's thigh. Instantly a bolt of pain shot through his leg, the muscle tightening, balance faltering. He bit back a grunt as he staggered half a step back.
The wolf‑man saw the chance. "Got you!" he bellowed, twisting his blade downward and striking low.
Han Chen brought his rod down to parry, but the wolf's speed and ferocity pushed through. The sword's edge scraped against the metal with a ringing shriek before sliding across the rod's surface and cutting deep into Han Chen's leg.
Ssshk—! Blood sprayed from the wound, spattering onto the floor. The sharp, stinging pain flared across his senses, his lower leg trembling from the blow. Han Chen hissed sharply, breathing through clenched teeth as he staggered to regain footing.
The wolf‑man grinned through the spray of ash and blood. "Now you'll crawl, human." Han Chen shifted his stance despite the pain, dragging one foot behind the other, the dagger flashing in his grip. His eyes turned dangerously calm. "You're barking too early."
The two circled each other again—predator and predator. The harsh echo of their battle filled the hall like thunderclaps, a pure and primal rhythm of survival.
Meanwhile, on the far side of the room, the remaining nine cultivators kept their distance.
Their eyes flicked between the two men locked in brutal combat—it was a level of ferocity they hadn't expected. None dared interrupt, each secretly gauging who would win.
But one man among them—a thin cultivator with a shaved head and trembling hands—was moving differently. His eyes darted toward the seven still refining their pills in deep concentration.
Those seven were mere moments from finishing, their souls stretched thin by the critical stage. No one noticed as the man reached into his own spatial ring, drawing a curved Saber. He took a slow, quiet breath, then crouched low. The others were too focused on Han Chen's battle to see him moving in the shadows between overturned tables.
Careful, silent, he slipped closer—his body low, footsteps muffled under the soft roar of fighting flame. Inch by inch, breath by breath. One of the refiners sat near the edge, body still, eyes shut tight, sweat streaming down their face. The smell of herbs surrounded them.
The man's grip tightened on the saber hilt. Closer. He could hear the pounding of the refiner's heart now, loud even over the flames.
And then, with a single motion—Shhk—!The curved blade flashed, clean and cold. The refiner's eyes opened in an instant of shock before the saber cut through his neck.
A spray of blood arced high across the firelight. The man exhaled slowly as the body slumped forward, head rolling away. The hall fell eerily still—except for the clash of rod and sword across the room.
...
The hall's rhythm was no longer that of an alchemy trial—it was a slaughteryard.
The faint humming of furnaces had turned to the sharp whistle of steel and the wet crack of flesh meeting iron. The glow of soul flames cast long, twisting shadows across the blood‑stained floor.
One by one, six clean streaks of silver cut through the air. The saber's arc was silent but precise, slicing through necks that had bent forward in helpless concentration.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
One by one, six heads fell beside their cauldrons, blood spraying outward in thin arcs that sizzled as it hit the heat of the furnaces. The flicker of life in each refiner's body vanished instantly, their half‑formed pills scattering across the floor and rolling into pools of red.
When the last head dropped, the sound that followed was unbearable silence.
Han Chen froze mid‑movement. The Heavenly Eye inside his consciousness pulsed weakly, greedily, but there was nothing left to consume.
The death qi—the raw essence that should have risen from six powerful souls—had evaporated into nothing, their deaths occurring too fast, too brutally for the soul's fracture to linger.
Han Chen's expression remained cold, but deep in his chest, a spark of rage ignited. "...Motherfucker," he muttered under his breath. "Ruined my death qi."
...
The wolf‑man, panting heavily from the exchange earlier, sneered and charged again. The sound of his padded footsteps on stone echoed over the stench of blood. His sword gleamed under the burning light of the cauldron's flames.
Han Chen's head turned slightly, his focus snapping back to the fight. All restraint vanished from his stare. His pupils narrowed to pinpoints.
He no longer cared about the others watching—Han Chen did not fight with his full power because of the cultivators watching from the sidelines. If he unleashed his full might and became exhausted with no energy left, what would he do if those cultivators took advantage of his weakness to kill him for good?
The nine survivors, the murderer who'd robbed him of his harvest. Right now, only the beast in front of him existed. "RAAGHH!!" The wolf‑man roared and swung his sword down with the force of a falling mountain.
Han Chen didn't dodge.
Clang—! Steel met steel as the dagger cut across the sword's flat edge, sparks bursting between them like fragments of lightning. The metal rod in his other hand swung forward immediately, cracking against the wolf‑man's forearm.
The beast grunted, twisting his body to absorb some of the blow, yet the sheer impact made his sword hum in protest. His muscles bulged, veins straining under the weight of their clash.
Han Chen pressed forward, step by step, each block a calculated deflection that closed distance rather than retreated.
Clash—clang—step.
Clash—clang—step.
His movements became rhythm itself; dagger low, rod high, body weaving fluidly between each swing. The sharp scent of blood mixed with the metallic tang of heat in the air.
The wolf‑man's eyes gleamed with fury and rising desperation. "You think you can overpower me!?"
Han Chen didn't respond. He dropped low, twisting on his uninjured leg, the dagger whipping horizontally like a flash of lightning. The beast's reflexes saved him—barely. The edge cut shallow through his thigh, loosening fur and flesh. The wolf grunted in pain and retaliated instantly, swinging his sword in a bone‑deep arc meant to cleave Han Chen from hip to shoulder.
Han Chen brought his metal rod up to intercept, angling his dagger to deflect. Clang—! The raw force nearly jarred the rod from his grip. The sword screeched along his weapon's length, skipped over the edge, and nicked his forearm—blood splattered across his sleeve.
Han Chen exhaled sharply through clenched teeth. His body lowered as the Heavenly Eye pulsed faintly within him, its resonance pushing away the pain, feeding his focus. The wolf‑man pushed forward, snarling. "Die, human!"
Han Chen's eyes flashed cold and unshaken. "Try it." He drove the rod upward with both hands, smashing against the bottom of the wolf's sword arm. Bone snapped—a dull, wet crunch lost amid the roar of clash and flame.
The sword wobbled, tilting off‑balance. Han Chen didn't hesitate. He pivoted, letting pain fuel him, dagger slicing upward in an underhanded arc. The blade kissed the wolf's ribs, tearing deeply as Han Chen turned sideways to dodge the counter swing.
Blood sprayed across his face, hot and sticky, but he didn't blink. His muscles screamed as his injured leg shifted to balance, but the fury behind each strike burned through restraint.
The wolf‑man bellowed in rage, swinging wildly, trying to force distance again. Han Chen blocked with the dagger, sparks flaring between the blades. The vibrating hum filled the room. Then, with a low growl, the beast lunged a final time—too open, too desperate.
Han Chen saw it. He slammed the dagger downward to divert the blade, stepping in close, the rod ready. Boom—! The rod came down with full force. The heavy metal slammed into the side of the wolf‑man's skull. Bone cracked audibly, followed by a dull, sickening thud.
The beast staggered, his sword slipping from his grasp. Han Chen didn't stop. He raised the rod again and brought it down—once, twice—each strike landing harder, blood splattering across the floor in a grim symphony of rhythm and sound. Crack—thud—crack—And finally, a muffled snap.
The wolf‑man's body went limp, collapsing onto the floor with a heavy crash. His head lolled to the side, half‑caved from the final impact, blood pooling rapidly. Han Chen stood above him, chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. Sweat and crimson slicked his face, dripping down his jaw.
Around them, the other cultivators froze.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
The flames from the cauldrons flickered softly, reflecting in Han Chen's cold, unwavering eyes. He exhaled slowly and spat blood to the side, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand."You should've stayed in your tribe," he murmured, voice calm, devoid of emotion.
The wolf‑man's lifeless body's Blood darkened the floor further as the heat of the furnaces hissed quietly in the background. And beyond the haze, the faint glow of the seven extinguished furnaces—their dead refiners—seemed almost to mock them all.
-----TO BE CONTINUED-----