Chen Yuan emerged from the Great Zone with slow, heavy steps, each one sinking slightly into the soft soil. His clothes were torn, stained deep with dried beast blood. His breathing was rough, his qi unstable, but he walked with the weight of someone who had finally grasped something.
On his arm, faint silver motes flickered—remnants of using The Conquest far more than he should have.
The System's cold text lingered in his vision:
Style Completion: 34%
Eight percent in a single week.
A small number to some.
A miracle to him.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead, staring down at his trembling hands. His knuckles were cracked, wrapped with makeshift bandages that seemed to be holding bone together more than skin.
But his eyes carried a distant clarity.
This week of fighting, killing, bleeding—
it had carved truth into him.
The Chen Clan was not a cultivator clan.
He had no foundation, no teachings, no philosophy behind him.
Everything he had built was grafted together through instinct, pain, and desperate experimentation.
And his Style…
the thing the System demanded…
what was it, exactly?
His movements had begun bending toward The Conquest—
toward the weight of command,
toward the discipline of bladework forged in forgotten empires,
toward the echoes of the Emperor whose spirit he had defeated.
Was The Conquest leading him?
Or was he shaping himself around it?
Chen Yuan washed the blood from his face in a river near the Great Zone's exit. The icy water bit into his skin, grounding him. When he stood up again, the System chimed.
A sound he had never heard before.
A deeper tone.
A heavier resonance.
System Notice:
Act II — Strife
Commencing.
His breath caught.
Another line appeared—cold, merciless, final.
Primary Objective:
Confront your old enemy.
Chen Yuan froze.
Old enemy?
Zhao Ming?
No.
No.
His heart tightened.
His stomach twisted.
His jaw clenched until his teeth hurt.
Elder Zhao.
The name alone poisoned his thoughts.
He had not thought of the man in a week—not once. He had been so focused on beasts, on swordwork, on the Style… that Elder Zhao had dissolved into the background of his mind.
But now—
His fury returned like a storm.
This wasn't the quiet anger of a slighted disciple.
This wasn't frustration.
This wasn't fear.
It was a deep, boiling, righteous wrath.
The same wrath that had pushed him to defend Zhao Ming in the past.
The same wrath that made him stand up against impossible odds.
The same wrath that, for a moment, made him believe he could fight Elder Zhao at all.
But now, the truth hit him again.
He wasn't strong enough.
Not close.
Not even remotely.
Elder Zhao was decades—no, lifetimes—ahead of him in cultivation.
Going to fight him now would be nothing but suicide.
Chen Yuan inhaled slowly, emptying the anger from his lungs.
"How…?" he whispered. "How do I confront a man I can't touch?"
A hunter hunted with strength.
A scholar fought with knowledge.
A ruler fought with authority.
Chen Yuan had none of those.
But he did have something else—
something he had used once before.
He remembered Zhao Ming, broken and terrified, cornered by Elder Zhao's orders. He remembered the way he had shielded him—not with strength, but with society itself, with the sect's own laws, with witnesses and rules.
Judge him with society.
Expose him.
Corner him.
Force him into the light.
"Maybe I should do the same again…"
The words slipped out in a whisper.
He couldn't beat Elder Zhao physically.
He couldn't out-cultivate him.
He couldn't overpower him.
But he could make him answer for his sins.
Cheating.
Coercion.
Abuse of authority.
Violence against disciples.
Political manipulation.
Everything Elder Zhao had done to the Chen family.
Everything he had done to Zhao Ming.
Everything he had hidden.
Chen Yuan clenched his fist.
"…I will drag you down."
His voice trembled—not with fear, but with conviction.
"I can't kill you…"
His fingers tightened.
"But I can judge you."
A cold wind blew across his face.
Act II — Strife had begun.
And elder or not—
cultivator or not—
the man who tormented the Chen family would finally be held accountable.
Chen Yuan turned toward the Ascendant Grounds' central district, where the Sect Halls and Registries were located.
He was going to gather information.
He was going to prepare.
He was going to expose Elder Zhao.
Not through battle.
Through justice.
Through Strife.
And this time—
he wasn't the ordinary disciple who bowed his head.
He was the one holding The Conquest at his side.