The sect yard buzzed with whispers as word of the challenge spread like wildfire.
A duel in the open. No elder interference. No holds barred.
Wei Lian stood at the edge of the stone arena, arms crossed, face blank. His robes were clean, his eyes unreadable. The morning sun filtered through the clouds, casting long shadows across the gathering disciples. Most of them were outer sect members, but a few inner sect eyes watched from the shade of distant pavilions.
He felt them. Watching. Weighing.
Across the ring, his opponent paced with theatrical flair—broad-shouldered, loud, and sneering. His name was Xu Rong, a known lackey of Elder Mu's circle. Third layer of Foundation Establishment. Loud about it.
"Still time to kneel, Wei Lian," he called, laughing. "Save yourself a trip to the infirmary."
Wei Lian said nothing.
Lin Yu stood among the spectators, nervous. He clutched a scroll in his sleeve, hidden, filled with names and affiliations. His glance flicked between the two combatants and the elders behind the railing.
Elder Mu wasn't present.
But his assistant, Elder Yao, stood beside another elder near the far wall. Expression unreadable. Hands clasped. Watching.
Wei Lian took a single step forward.
Xu Rong grinned and stepped into the circle.
A senior disciple, acting as judge, raised a hand.
"This duel is sanctioned by the outer sect. Life and death are permitted. Begin when ready."
The hand dropped.
Xu Rong moved first, fast and direct.
He came in like a boulder, sword swinging with practiced power, aiming to crush Wei Lian's ribs with one blow. Wei Lian tilted his body back just enough—the blade missed by inches. His foot slid on the stone, and he stumbled deliberately.
Gasps rang out.
Xu Rong laughed, capitalizing on the perceived weakness.
"Trash. Just like the rumors said."
Wei Lian scrambled to his feet in a mock panic, dodging back as the next strike carved a gouge into the stone floor.
Whispers surged through the crowd.
"He's no match."
"Why did he even challenge?"
"Maybe he's trying to die."
Wei Lian let the insults roll off him like ash. He dodged again—this time slower. He grunted as Xu Rong's palm struck his shoulder, sending him skidding across the ring.
Xu Rong spat. "I thought you'd at least last a few exchanges."
Wei Lian coughed and rose to one knee, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand.
He didn't need to act anymore. The blood was real.
But his eyes never left Xu Rong.
"You're stronger," he admitted. "But that won't matter."
Xu Rong blinked. "What?"
Wei Lian's posture shifted.
Subtle. Focused.
He stopped dodging. And started advancing.
Xu Rong sneered and raised his sword again—but the moment it came down, Wei Lian caught it between his palms.
The crowd gasped.
"What—?!"
The blade trembled. Wei Lian's fingers bled, but he didn't release it. Instead, he twisted, yanked it from Xu Rong's grip, and flung it aside with a clatter.
Xu Rong backed away.
Wei Lian followed with steady steps.
"Afraid?" he asked softly.
Xu Rong's hands lit with a low-tier flame technique. He hurled it forward—but Wei Lian side-stepped and struck.
A single palm to the gut. Deep. Brutal.
Xu Rong bent double, coughing blood.
Wei Lian grabbed his hair and slammed a knee into his face. Once. Twice.
Then he shoved him back into the ring's center.
Xu Rong tried to crawl toward his sword.
Wei Lian walked.
Deliberate.
Slow.
He stepped on the man's hand as it reached the hilt.
Crack.
Xu Rong screamed.
Wei Lian crouched beside him.
"You should've killed me in the forest," he whispered. "At least then, you had numbers."
Xu Rong's eyes widened. "What—?"
Wei Lian jammed two fingers into a pressure point beneath the ribs.
Xu Rong shrieked, twitching.
"I want you to remember this pain. I want everyone here to remember it."
He stood, eyes sweeping the crowd.
"You mock weakness. You call me trash. But you follow pigs like this."
He pointed at Xu Rong, who was now sobbing into the stone, teeth shattered, blood pooling around his jaw.
"This is your strength?"
Nobody answered.
Not even Elder Yao.
Wei Lian turned back to Xu Rong.
"Last words?"
The man just whimpered.
Wei Lian raised a hand and struck his neck with a clean blow. The sound was dull. Wet.
The body twitched. Then stilled.
Silence swept the yard.
Wei Lian walked to the side of the ring, picked up Xu Rong's discarded sword, and broke it across his knee.
The sound echoed like thunder.
He threw the pieces beside the corpse, turned, and walked from the ring without another word.
By evening, the sect was still whispering.
No one had expected it.
No one understood how Wei Lian, that quiet disciple from the lower dorms, had crushed a Foundation layer cultivator in public.
Rumors spread like fire through dry brush.
Some said he'd been hiding his strength.
Others claimed he was a killer from another sect.
A few whispered that he was cursed. That he drank blood at night.
Wei Lian let the rumors bloom.
He walked calmly through the courtyard toward his quarters. A patrol disciple stepped aside without being asked. Lin Yu trailed behind him with wide eyes.
Inside his room, Wei Lian poured himself tea and watched the steam rise.
So far, everything was proceeding as planned.
Elder Mu's faction was bleeding. Their reputation faltering.
Now the eyes of the sect would turn inward—toward the chaos.
Wei Lian smiled faintly.
The duel was just a message.
The real war hadn't even begun.