The air cracked with tension.
Flares of Qi burst across the obsidian chamber as Baihu's people made their move.
Their movements were practiced, unified, led by Baihu's second-in-command, the Ascension Stage Four cultivator whose spear gleamed with lethal intent. Behind him, four others followed, two drawing curved blades, one raising a set of reinforced talismans, the last slipping low with a narrow dagger drawn. Each weapon pulsed faintly with imbued Qi, ready to kill on command.
They moved quickly, like shadows broken loose from their masters.
There was no cry of war, no declaration of intent. Just motion. Calculated. Ruthless.
Ronan felt it before he saw it, an unnatural shift in the air, a pressure that didn't belong in a chamber meant for reverence. He spun instinctively, eyes widening as the assassins closed the distance.
His heart pounded.
Do I stop them?
Do I protect Warren… or protect myself?
He barely knew the man. Warren was calm, stoic, powerful, but that wasn't enough. Not when the White Heaven Sect held sway across entire provinces in their realm. Baihu's master was a known figure of fear, Transcendence Stage, unquestioned. Entire sects had vanished under his shadow. Even the Ice-Lily Sect, proud and refined, had only an Ascension Rank Nine master to defend them. That alone was enough to make Ronan hesitate.
Is Warren worth dying for?
But he hesitated too long.
The lead attacker was already past him, spear levelled and gleaming with condensed Qi.
At the centre of the room, Warren's eyes opened.
The golden glow around him still flickered faintly, threads of the sovereign's mark drifting across his skin. He looked up slowly, as if waking from a long dream.
Too slow.
The spear lunged forward, straight toward his chest.
Time fractured.
And Warren, still in meditation, was exposed, no shield raised, no Qi flared.
The clash of metal rang like a bell of judgment across the obsidian chamber.
Warren blinked, staring at the spear that had stopped inches from his heart.
Yan stood between them, the curved blade of her phoenix-forged sabre pressed against the shaft of the incoming weapon, deflecting it with casual precision. Her robes fluttered from the motion, crimson and white threads glowing faintly as Qi surged beneath her skin.
She tilted her head, smile widening. "Ever since I reached Ascension, I've wanted a real fight with someone who didn't crumble after the first blow." Her voice was light, playful.
Then her eyes sharpened.
"Don't disappoint me."
The spear wielder recoiled a step, bracing for a follow-up strike, but Yan didn't press yet. Her foot slid back, knees bending into a relaxed but deadly stance. Phoenix fire shimmered around her like an invisible storm, heat rising from her blade in soft waves.
The other two attackers flanked wide, one a blade user with a jagged sword, the other a lean woman with dual throwing knives laced with elemental wind. All three moved again as one.
They're coordinated, Yan noted. But not fast enough.
The first attacker lunged, his spear sweeping low.
Yan shifted. Her body dipped just enough to avoid the arc before her blade flashed outward, not to strike, but to catch the shaft again and twist it aside. She rotated on her heel and pivoted under the next strike from the swordsman, her foot sliding across the stone like a dance step.
The knife wielder came from behind, a spinning throw already in motion.
With a flick of her wrist, Yan snapped her robe sleeve through the air, catching the knife mid-flight in its folds. Her sabre came around in the same motion, sparks trailing behind as it connected with the blade attacker's weapon, knocking it skyward.
She smiled again. "You're coordinated. I'll give you that."
They were breathing heavier now.
"You're not supposed to be this strong," the spear user growled.
"I'm barely trying," Yan replied sweetly. "But we can fix that."
She released a pulse of Qi.
Flame burst from her feet in a spiral, pushing all three attackers back in a sweeping arc. The heat scorched the edge of their robes but didn't touch skin, precision, not power.
Behind her, Ronan leapt into action.
His blade, slender, almost needle-like, sliced through the air, gleaming with icy threads. He moved to Warren's side and slammed the tip of his sword into the ground.
Ice bloomed outward like cracked glass, spreading across the stone in a jagged radius. Frost crackled upward in a dome-like shield, its formation precise and intentional, anchoring Warren within a zone of protection.
That should hold for a minute…
Ronan turned, eyes narrowing as three of Baihu's subordinates rushed toward him in unison.
They were fast, two with short twin sabres, one with a curved halberd, all glowing faintly with elemental Qi. Their footsteps echoed sharply, and their movements were coordinated.
But they're sloppy. No battlefield awareness.
The first attacker lunged in with his left-hand blade leading.
Ronan didn't retreat.
He stepped forward.
The flat of his sword turned, redirecting the incoming strike in a swift arc that slid the sabre away. His knee snapped up into the man's chest, knocking the wind out of him, and with a single twist, Ronan flipped him backward into the path of the halberd wielder.
The second attacker stumbled, unable to halt his momentum.
The halberd came down anyway.
Too late to pull back.
The weapon slammed into his ally's side, not fatal, but enough to send both of them sprawling in a tangle of limbs and curses.
The third cultivator came from the side, blades low, aiming for Ronan's legs. But Ronan was already moving.
He pivoted on the heel of his frost-glazed boot and slashed upward in a clean crescent.
Ice burst along the arc.
The strike didn't cut skin, but it didn't need to.
A wave of frozen air struck the swordsman's core, locking his arms mid-swing. His sabre clattered to the floor, fingers numb and shaking.
Ronan exhaled softly, not even winded.
"Three on one," he muttered. "Try five next time."
Across the chamber, Yan's fight had escalated.
The Ascension Stage Four spear wielder came at her again, fury tightening every line of his body. His spear crackled with condensed lightning Qi, and each thrust split the air with enough force to punch through steel.
Yan moved like flame.
Her feet barely touched the ground as she shifted sideways, blade flashing. The spear nicked her sleeve, but not her skin.
"Almost," she taunted. "Come on. I know you've got more than that."
He responded with a roar, spinning his spear and sending a gust of wind behind the next jab. This time, Yan didn't dodge.
She caught the shaft mid-lunge with her left hand, her right lifting her sabre high.
Phoenix flame exploded along the edge.
The spear ignited where she touched it, Qi meeting Qi, and the man yanked it back in shock, the metal smoking.
Before he could reset, the knife wielder darted in from behind.
Yan didn't look. She didn't need to.
With a flick of her wrist, flame spiralled in a protective arc behind her, catching the woman's blade mid-strike. The fire didn't burn, it warned. Controlled. Intentional.
"I said don't disappoint me," Yan said, voice like velvet laced with fire.
The spear wielder lunged again, feinting low this time, but Yan stepped in, not away. Her palm struck the shaft, redirecting it wide, and her elbow snapped forward into his ribs, sending him skidding backward with a grunt.
The knife wielder hesitated, but Yan didn't give her time to retreat.
A short dash, a twist, and the flat of Yan's blade cracked against her shoulder, knocking her clean off her feet without a single lethal blow.
Both were down. Alive. But dazed and gasping.
Yan stood tall, spinning her sabre in one hand, flame licking along its edge before dying down to embers. "I didn't come here to kill you," she said, flicking a strand of hair from her eyes. "But don't think I won't if you try that again."
From across the chamber, Baihu's expression twisted.
He stepped forward, calm but seething, and raised a single hand.
From a silver ring on his finger, a blade materialized in a shimmer of light, white steel, the colour of bleached bone, etched with ancient grooves. Its hilt was black, twisted like forged obsidian, and its guard was set with a pulsing purple gem, alive with a Qi that felt… foreign. Old. Not his.
Power surged through the room like a slow, cracking thunder.
"Why," Baihu said coldly, "do I have insects preventing my ascension to the next realm?"
The lightning flared down his blade. The temperature dropped.
"I'll enjoy killing you with my master's weapon," he continued, voice rising. "The Skyfallen Blade. Forged during the Collapse of the Fifth Era. Bathed in Transcendent blood."
Ronan froze mid-step, his eyes widening. "That's… a Transcendence-tier blade," he said quietly. "It has a spirit of its own. A weapon like that… can cut through soul as well as steel."
Across the chamber, Yan just laughed. Light, teasing. Dangerous.
"Oh, your master's blade," she said with mock reverence. "Of course. I should've known." She rested the tip of her sabre on the ground, smiling. "More borrowed power. More boasted words. You don't even realize how empty that makes you sound."
The Qi around Baihu sharpened, like the edge of a blade being honed by wrath.
He raised the Skyfallen Blade.
Lira, watching from a safe distance, turned to Ryu, her tone tight. "Ryu… should we let this go on?"
Ryu, reclined with one leg bent, leaned casually against the golden chest of the inheritance, arms folded. His eyes remained half-lidded, tracking Baihu's movements.
Lira's voice rose. "Ryu! Take this seriously!"
"I am," he said without moving. "Look at her."
Yan stood unshaken. A ribbon of flame curled behind her, and her Qi flowed in measured ripples, calm, poised.
"If I couldn't use my spatial Dao," Ryu said simply, "she'd probably best me in a fight. I'm not worried about the blade, Lira."
He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again.
"I'm worried for Baihu's life."