The quarter-final ring was silent.
No jeering. No chatter. The crowd knew this was different. Dao Feng versus the Empty Sheath. Precision versus patience. The sect's most observant disciple against its greatest mystery.
Dao Feng stood with his jian already drawn. The blade was perfectly still. He wasn't warming up. He was listening to the air.
Zhou Kai entered the ring. The sheath felt heavier than ever. He knew the void-log's assessment was right. His chance of winning while hiding everything was nearly zero. But losing wasn't an option either. Not with so many eyes on him now.
They bowed. No words.
The overseer, Elder Mu himself today, raised the flag. His eyes held a warning for Zhou Kai: Careful.
The flag fell.
Dao Feng didn't move. "You neutralized a refined Soul-Scorch variant yesterday," he stated, as if commenting on the weather. "You extracted it from Li Chen's meridians and contained it in your sheath. That is not a Soul Attendant ability."
The crowd murmured. This wasn't a fight. It was an interrogation.
"I did what was needed," Zhou Kai said.
"Needed by whom?" Dao Feng took a single step forward. "By the sect? Or by your own secret curriculum?"
Zhou Kai said nothing. He settled into his stance.
Dao Feng attacked. But not with a lunge. With a question.
His jian flicked out, not toward Zhou Kai, but toward the ground between them. The tip traced a single, complex rune in the dirt. It glowed silver for a second—a sensory glyph. "Tell me," Dao Feng said. "When you stored that toxin, where did it go? The sheath didn't bulge. It has no visible pouch. So. Where?"
The glyph pulsed. Zhou Kai felt a faint, scanning pressure. Dao Feng was using his Sword-Scribe arts to read the residual energy around the sheath.
[Detection attempt: Sensory glyph analysis.]
[Sheath void-shield holding. No leakage.]
[Countermeasure: Passive nullification advised.]
Zhou Kai took a step, scuffing the glyph with his boot. The silver light died.
Dao Feng almost smiled. "Direct. Good." He moved. This time, the jian came for real. A simple, perfect thrust at Zhou Kai's center mass.
Zhou Kai pivoted, letting the sheath intercept. The blade tip struck the leather with a sharp tink. It didn't pierce. But it didn't bounce. It pressed, and Dao Feng held it there, his grey eyes locked on Zhou Kai's.
"The material isn't special," Dao Feng murmured, more to himself than to Zhou Kai. "The energy within is. It's not metal. Not wood. It's... absence."
He withdrew and struck again. Five rapid thrusts, each aimed at a different part of the sheath—the tip, the mouth, the sides. Testing. Probing.
Zhou Kai rotated, letting each strike land, feeling the impacts vibrate through the void-buffer. He wasn't storing the energy this time. He was dispersing it silently into the ground through Stone's passive connection.
Dao Feng noted it. "You're grounding the force. Not reflecting. You learned from our first match."
He changed tactics. He began to circle, his sword weaving patterns in the air. These weren't attacks. They were brushstrokes. Each motion left a faint, lingering silver trail—more sensory glyphs hanging in the air around Zhou Kai.
A net of questions.
[Environmental hazard: Analytical Field.]
[Effect: Gradually maps spiritual and spatial anomalies.]
[If completed, Blade presence may be inferred.]
[Counter: Disrupt glyph formation or exit field.]
Zhou Kai couldn't exit the ring. So he disrupted.
He charged. Not at Dao Feng. At the glyphs.
He swung the sheath like a club, smashing through the shimmering silver patterns. Each glyph shattered with a sound like breaking glass. The crowd gasped. They could see them now, thanks to the destruction.
Dao Feng didn't stop him. He watched, fascinated. "You perceive them. Not with sight. With something else."
Zhou Kai cleared the last glyph and turned. He was breathing harder. Breaking the glyphs took spiritual energy. He was burning through his reserves.
Dao Feng lowered his sword. "You have two options. Lose to me now, conventionally, and keep your secrets a little longer. Or show me something real, and risk me understanding what you are." He tilted his head. "Which will you choose?"
Zhou Kai felt the weight of the silent Blades. Stone. Water. They waited. He couldn't use them. Not here.
But he could use what they had taught him.
He settled back into his stance. "I choose to endure."
Dao Feng nodded, as if he'd expected that. "Then I'll have to press harder."
He attacked in earnest. No more questions. Just perfect, relentless swordplay. Thrusts, cuts, sweeps. Each aimed not to kill, but to force a reaction—to make Zhou Kai use something beyond defense.
Zhou Kai became a ghost. He moved with the minimal efficiency Stone had taught him in the mines. He dodged by inches. He deflected with the sheath when he had to, each impact jolting up his arm. He was being pushed back, step by step, toward the ring's edge.
Dao Feng was a machine. No wasted motion. No emotional tells. Just pressure.
Zhou Kai's mind raced. He couldn't win by defense alone. Not against this. He needed to break Dao Feng's focus. Just for a second.
He remembered the poison vapor. The fear in Hong's eyes. He couldn't use it here. But he could suggest it.
As Dao Feng's blade came in for another thrust, Zhou Kai didn't dodge fully. He let the tip graze his sleeve, tearing cloth. A faint scratch appeared on his forearm. A line of red.
First blood.
The crowd stirred.
Dao Feng paused, blade held back. "You let that happen."
"Yes," Zhou Kai said. He lifted his arm, showing the cut. Then he raised the sheath, pointing its mouth toward the bleeding scratch.
He focused on the Water Blade, deep within. Not to manifest. To simulate.
He pushed a thread of Water's essence—the purifying, cleansing aspect—to the cut. But he pushed it through the sheath's void-conduit first, tinting it with a faint, visible purple haze.
To the spectators, it looked like the sheath exhaled a wisp of purple smoke that coiled around his arm. The bleeding stopped. The scratch seemed to... clean itself.
It was a tiny display. But it was new. And it was undeniably not defensive.
Dao Feng's eyes widened. "You channel through it. The sheath isn't a container. It's a lens."
Zhou Kai said nothing. He lowered his arm. The message was sent: I have more than defense.
Dao Feng's analytical hunger warred with his combat discipline. He wanted to dissect this new data. But he also needed to win.
He made his choice. He sheathed his jian.
The crowd murmured in confusion.
"I yield," Dao Feng said, clear and calm.
Silence. Then uproar.
The overseer, Elder Mu, stepped forward. "Discipline Dao. Explain."
"I have learned what I needed," Dao Feng said. "He is not a Soul Attendant. He is a practitioner of a lost art that uses the void as an intermediate state. His 'sheath' is a focal point for abilities that should be impossible at his cultivation level." He looked at Zhou Kai. "Pushing further would force him to reveal more than either of us is ready for. The sect is not ready for. So I yield."
He bowed to Zhou Kai, a deep, formal bow of respect. Then he walked out of the ring.
Zhou Kai stood alone, the victor. He felt no triumph. Only exposure. Dao Feng had publicly declared him an anomaly. The secret was fraying.
Elder Mu's face was unreadable. He raised Zhou Kai's arm. "Winner."
The cheers were mixed with confusion, speculation, fear.
The aftermath was swift.
Zhou Kai was summoned to the elders' pavilion before he could leave the tournament grounds. Not by Elder Mu. By Elder Jin, the head of discipline. A stern woman with eyes like polished obsidian.
She sat behind a stone desk. Two other elders flanked her. The air was thick with spiritual pressure.
"Discipline Zhou," Elder Jin began, her voice like cracking ice. "Dao Feng's public yield and declaration have caused unrest. He claims you practice a 'lost art.' Explain."
Zhou Kai bowed. "This disciple only knows what the Awakening Stone revealed. Soul Attendant. The sheath is my symbol. Its functions… are still unfolding."
"Unfolding?" Elder Jin leaned forward. "It stores toxins. It channels healing energy. It repels blades. Does that sound like 'Soul Attendant' to you?"
"This disciple does not have other references, Elder."
"Do not play ignorant." She stood, walking around the desk. "We have reviewed your performance. Your Qi signature is aberrant. It reads as weak, yet you perform feats that require deep reserves. There are only two explanations. Either you are host to a demonic artifact, or you are the inheritor of a forbidden legacy." She stopped before him. "Which is it?"
Zhou Kai's mind raced. Denial was useless. Confession was fatal.
Elder Mu entered the chamber, his face calm. "Elder Jin. The disciple is under my oversight. His anomalies are known to me. They are not demonic. They are a rare but legitimate mutation of the Soul Attendant lineage. I have been documenting his progress."
The other elders looked surprised. Elder Jin's eyes narrowed. "You knew of this and did not report it to the council?"
"I was assessing the stability of the mutation. Rushing to judgment could have damaged a unique talent." Elder Mu's tone was firm. "His actions have been of benefit to the sect. He contained a dangerous seepage. He aided a poisoned disciple. His tournament conduct has been defensive and non-lethal. These are not the actions of a demonic host."
Elder Jin considered this. The pressure in the room lessened slightly. "The council will want a full report. And a demonstration."
"Agreed," Elder Mu said. "After the tournament. Let the disciple finish his participation. It will provide more data."
Elder Jin looked at Zhou Kai for a long moment. "Very well. But know this, disciple. You are now a subject of interest. Your every move will be watched. Any sign of corruption, any hint of danger to the sect, and you will be sealed and studied. Understood?"
"Yes, Elder."
"Dismissed."
Zhou Kai bowed and left. Elder Mu followed him out into the corridor.
"That was close," Elder Mu said quietly. "Dao Feng's curiosity nearly unraveled you."
"He yielded," Zhou Kai said. "He could have pressed."
"He yielded because he is wiser than the elders. He knows some truths are dangerous to uncover too quickly." Elder Mu looked at him. "You must advance faster. The Fire Blade. You need its offensive capability. The next time you're challenged, defense may not be enough."
"The forge requires a trial. A resonance."
"Then find it." Elder Mu's voice was urgent. "The tournament semi-finals are in two days. Your opponent will be Hong, who you humiliated. He will not hold back. He may have… external support."
"External?"
"His family has connections to the Earth-Shatter Sect. They are not friends of ours. They may provide him with tools. Or poisons of their own." Elder Mu met his eyes. "You must be ready. Not just to endure. To end the fight."
Zhou Kai felt the weight settle. "I understand."
"Go. Prepare."
Zhou Kai didn't return to the dorms. He went to the one place he could think. The abandoned smithy on the edge of the sect grounds.
It was a relic from an age when the sect forged its own spiritual weapons. Now it was just a stone building with cold forges and rusted tools. But the air still smelled of old fire and metal.
He needed to understand Fire. Not just as an element. As a part of himself.
He sat in the center of the dark smithy. He reached inward, to the third sleeping shape. It felt different from Stone and Water. It was coiled. Hot. Waiting to explode.
[Third Blade: Fire.]
[Core concept: Rage. Purification. Destruction as creation.]
[Prerequisite: Qi Condensation Stage 30.]
[Current stage: 21.]
[Deficit: 9 stages.]
[Emotional resonance required: Controlled rage.]
Rage. Zhou Kai had plenty of that. But it was buried deep, under layers of patience and adaptation. The humiliation at the Awakening. The bullying. The constant threat of exposure. The elders' suspicion.
But it was controlled. Suppressed. To forge Fire, he needed to tap it. To shape it. To let it burn without consuming him.
He thought of Hong. Of the smugness. The entitlement. The willingness to poison a fellow disciple for advantage. A slow heat began in his chest.
He thought of Zhang Wei. Of the sneer. The attempt to steal his sheath. The heat grew.
He thought of the elders' cold eyes, seeing him as a specimen, not a person. The heat became a coil.
But it wasn't enough. It was just anger. Fire needed more. It needed a transformative purpose.
He stood. He walked to a dead forge. He placed his hands on the cold anvil. He remembered the only time he'd ever felt true, uncontrollable rage.
He was seven. A stray dog he'd been feeding was killed by a cruel older boy for sport. Young Zhou Kai had attacked the boy, fists flying, screaming. He'd been beaten easily. But the fire in his chest that day—the pure, unjust, destructive fury—had been real.
That fire had been buried under years of discipline. Of being told to be calm. To be useful. To be empty.
He called it now. He let it rise.
His hands on the anvil grew warm. Then hot. The metal began to glow faintly red under his palms. The air shimmered.
[Emotional resonance achieved: Rage (foundational).]
[Qi reaction: Stage increase detected. Stage 22.]
[But... incomplete. Rage without direction is just arson. Fire requires a target. A purpose.]
Purpose. What was his fire for?
Not for revenge. That was too small.
For protection. For the miners like Luo. For disciples like Li Chen. For himself, and the silent blades he carried. His fire would be a wall. A purge. A clean burn that left only truth in its wake.
The heat in his chest focused. It became a point of white-hot intention. The anvil under his hands glowed brighter. The rust flaked away, leaving clean, bright metal.
He wasn't burning the anvil. He was forging it anew.
[Core understanding approached: Fire as sculptor, not just destroyer.]
[Resonance increase: 40%.]
[Qi Condensation Stage: 23.]
[Remaining stages to requirement: 7.]
Seven stages in two days. Impossible through normal cultivation.
But the tournament was a pressure cooker. And his next fight was against someone who embodied everything his rage despised.
It might be enough.
He removed his hands. The anvil cooled, now clean of rust, marked with the faint imprint of his palms. A permanent change.
He heard a step behind him.
Ling Yue stood in the doorway, a small bundle in her arms. "I thought I'd find you here," she said. "The forges call to fire."
"What's in the bundle?"
"Stimulants." She unwrapped it, showing several spirit herbs with fiery red veins. "Sun-Pepper Roots. They'll aggressively boost your Qi circulation. They'll also make you irritable and hot-tempered. They'll push you toward the emotional state you need." She met his eyes. "They're dangerous. They can burnout meridians if misused."
"You think I need them?"
"I think you're running out of time." She placed the bundle on the anvil. "Hong's family has delivered a crate to his quarters. Sealed with Earth-Shatter Sect runes. It's not tournament gear. It's a weapon."
Zhou Kai looked at the glowing anvil, then at the herbs. "Will you help me?"
"Tomorrow night. Before the fight. I'll monitor your meridians. We'll try to trigger the resonance. But Zhou Kai..." She touched his arm, her fingers cool against his still-warm skin. "Fire is the hardest blade to control. Because it wants to be free. Don't let it burn down the house you're trying to protect."
She left him in the dark smithy, the red roots glowing faintly on the anvil.
He picked one up. It was warm, like a coal. He could feel the aggressive energy within.
Two days.
One fight.
Seven stages.
One forge.
And a fire waiting to be born from rage and purpose.
[Training complete for tonight.]
[Objective: Rest. Conserve energy.]
[Tomorrow: Cultivation sprint with Sun-Pepper Roots. Attempt Fire Resonance.]
[Tournament semi-final: 36 hours.]
He left the smithy. The night air felt cool on his heated skin. In the distance, he could see the lights of the sect, the orderly world that saw him as a problem, a mystery, a threat.
Soon, they would see fire.
And he would have to decide: to warm, or to burn.