Frostfall Town was a scar on the trade route—a cluster of wooden buildings huddled around a half-frozen river, known for its neutrality and its fear. Neither orthodox nor unorthodox factions held sway here; it was a town that survived by being useful and invisible. It was the perfect place for the northern Demon Sect to plant its first branch.
Kaelen arrived with a handpicked group of five Senior Disciples, not in uniform, but in the worn leather and fur of northern hunters. They did not march in formation; they blended, their eyes missing nothing. The branch was not a fortress, but a fortified merchant warehouse by the river dock, purchased quietly through Master Ilhan's network. From here, they could control the flow of goods upriver, gather intelligence from the south, and expand their reach without raising immediate alarm.
For three days, it worked. Disciples moved through the town's muddy streets and smoky taverns, listening. They heard the same whispers Kaelen anticipated: talk of the "Demon Boy," of the safe roads, and of the growing unease among southern sects. The Continental Conference was no longer a rumor; edicts had been circulated. The north was to be "stabilized under righteous guidance."
Then, the challenge came.
It arrived on the fourth day, delivered not by scroll, but by spear. A disciple of the Verdant Phoenix Sect—an orthodox sect known for its fiery temper and rigid honor—planted his weapon in the dirt before the warehouse door. The disciple was young, perhaps sixteen, his robes brilliant green and gold, his face a mask of arrogant piety.
"I am Liang Chen, of the Verdant Phoenix," he announced, his voice ringing through the cold air, drawing a crowd of townsfolk. "I challenge the master of this… establishment. A duel of honor. To see if your northern savagery can match orthodox discipline."
Kaelen stepped out, his expression unreadable. A duel was not just a fight; it was a statement. To refuse would brand him a coward, weakening his standing in the town and with the watching merchants. To accept risked exposing his full strength prematurely.
He walked up to the planted spear, reached out, and snapped the shaft with a single, sharp twist. The crack echoed like breaking bone.
"Honor is a luxury for those who eat regular meals," Kaelen said, his voice carrying a quiet, dangerous edge. "But I accept. Not for your honor. For their lesson."
He gestured to his disciples and the gathered crowd. This would be a demonstration.
The duel was set for noon at the town's frozen central square. By the time the weak sun reached its peak, the entire town seemed to be holding its breath. Elder Wen and a small contingent of Jade Cloud observers were also present, having "coincidentally" arrived that morning.
Liang Chen entered the square with a flourish, drawing a beautifully crafted longsword. His qi flared, a visible aura of green-gold flame that melted the snow in a circle around him—a display meant to intimidate.
Kaelen walked out with only his worn northern spear. He wore no aura. He emitted no visible power. He seemed, to the untrained eye, profoundly ordinary.
"Begin!" a town elder shouted.
Liang Chen moved first, a blazing comet of orthodox sword technique—the Phoenix's First Flight. It was swift, elegant, and predictable.
Kaelen did not block. He leaned, letting the blade pass so close it stirred his hair. He did not counterattack. He watched.
The disciple snarled, launching into a more complex combination. Each strike was perfect, textbook, powerful. And each one missed Kaelen by a hair's breadth. Kaelen moved not with flash, but with impossible, economical precision. He was not fighting; he was analyzing.
"Stop dancing and fight, coward!" Liang Chen yelled, his frustration mounting. He poured more qi into his next technique, the Phoenix Dive, a sweeping, overpowering strike meant to end duels.
This time, Kaelen moved.
It was not a technique from any manual. It was adaptation incarnate. As the flaming sword descended, Kaelen's spear flicked upward, not at the blade, but at the disciple's leading wrist. The strike was blunt, precise. A dull thud sounded.
Liang Chen's fingers spasmed. His perfect grip failed. The magnificent sword tumbled from his hand, embedding itself point-first in the ice.
Before the disciple could register the loss, Kaelen was inside his guard. The spear's butt struck his solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs. A follow-up sweep took his legs. Liang Chen crashed to the ice, gasping, his orthodox aura guttering and dying.
The entire duel had lasted twenty breaths.
Kaelen stood over him, spear tip resting lightly on the disciple's throat. The square was utterly silent.
"Your technique is perfect," Kaelen said, his voice cold and clear. "Your forms are flawless. You practiced a dance to impress masters. I practiced survival to kill wolves. That is the difference."
He lifted his spear and turned his back, a gesture of utter dismissal. The lesson was delivered.
But as he turned, he felt it—a surge within his own meridians, a torrent of understanding. The duel, the pressure, the conscious analysis and flawless execution had triggered a breakthrough. The Demon Manual's core principle—growth through adaptation—had metabolized the entire orthodox style he had just witnessed. His qi circulation accelerated, deepening, becoming more resilient and fluid. He had not just won; he had evolved.
Elder Wen stepped forward, his face grave. "You have won the duel, Young Master Kaelen. But you have also made a powerful enemy. The Verdant Phoenix does not take humiliation lightly."
Kaelen met his gaze. "Let them come. Every enemy is a new manual to study."
That night, in the warehouse branch, Kaelen addressed his Senior Disciples. The atmosphere was electric.
"Today was a warning," he said. "The orthodox sects will now move from observation to action. The coalition to 'pacify' the north is real. Our time of quiet growth is over."
He pointed to the map on the wall, now marked with more than trade routes.
"We expand faster. We recruit from the desperate in these border towns. We turn every trade deal into an intelligence pact. And we prepare."
He looked at each of them, his black eyes reflecting the flickering lamp light.
"They think this is about territory. It is not. It is about the future of power itself. And we will be the ones to define it."
Outside, the northern wind picked up, howling through the streets of Frostfall Town. It carried away the day's tension and brought in the deep, penetrating cold of the long night. In a southern capital, lords of sects would be reading reports of the duel, their anger simmering. Plans would be drawn, alliances solidified.
The spark in the north had become a flame. And the continent, wrapped in its ancient balance, was beginning to feel the heat.