Morning seeped gently into the camp — silver light touching the waves, and mist rising like sacred incense from the ocean water. Spirit-grass glittered in dew, and the soft rustle of wind brushed through the tents like a lullaby.

The world felt quiet.

Safe.

Healing.

A rare moment of peace for Sanatan Flame Sect.

Inside a secluded clearing, Elder Wan sat cross-legged beside a glowing cauldron. His sleeves fluttered lightly as spiritual fire circled in a calm dance, refining a crystalline lotus essence within liquid gold energy.

His fingers moved with measured precision, each seal deliberate, sacred.

A final pulse of qi rippled.

Tzzzmm—

A shimmering pill rose from the golden mist — pure icy-blue lotus core wrapped in faint, crystalline frost qi. Beside it, a vial of glimmering pale-blue medicinal liquid floated gracefully.

Elder Wan opened his eyes and smiled with weary pride.

> "One pill… and one nectar. Worth the effort."

Elder Liya exhaled softly beside him, lips curling.

"You always exceed expectations, Elder Wan."

He chuckled, beard lifting.

"When life gives you one lotus… refine perfection twice."

She rolled her eyes softly.

---

Blessings Passed

Xiao Lian approached first — quietly, hands clasped.

Her eyes widened seeing the frost-blue pill.

"For me…?"

Elder Wan nodded, placing it gently in her palms.

"This will awaken more of your Ice Phoenix potential."

She bowed deeply, voice trembling with gratitude.

"I won't disappoint."

She left quickly — eager, motivated, heart glowing.

Next, Elder Wan turned to Lin Shu, gently offering the vial.

> "For the Master. His dantian needs nourishment beyond pills."

Lin Shu accepted silently. Her fingers trembled just slightly, but her eyes burned firm with devotion.

She bowed once, very low, heartfelt, then turned and entered the main tent.

Inside, Shaurya lay still — too still — like a warrior carved from divine stone yet held captive by sleep.

His breath steady.

Aura faint but stubborn, refusing to fade.

Lin Shu knelt beside him, uncorked the vial, and lifted his head gently.

Her fingers touched his jaw — gentle, reverent.

She fed the nectar drop by drop, watching it slide down his throat.

> "Come back soon," she whispered, voice barely a breath.

"I can fight the world… but I don't want to fight without you."

The faintest warmth pulsed through his veins.

But his eyes remained closed.

Lin Shu exhaled softly and brushed a thumb across his cheek.

"Sleep. I will guard."

She stayed there for a moment longer… then stepped out.

The sect bustled lightly, warmth in the air.

Wang Tian sat on a rock, bandages off, chest bare, stretching arms like a resurrected warrior.

Luo Chen meditated next to him, aura circulating like gentle wind, his injuries almost gone as well.

Muo Qian patiently ground herbs, occasionally glancing at Wang Tian with a fake-stern glare.

> "If you tear your wounds again, I'll staple you to that rock."

Wang Tian immediately froze mid-flex.

Su Quan sat cross-armed behind Luo Chen — but her sleeve slightly lifted, ready to catch him if he fell, as always pretending she wouldn't.

Not far, Xu Ran, Jun Hua, and Xiao Lian shared sweets on a spread mat, soft laughter carrying in the breeze. True warmth, no pretense. Their hearts lightened after the storm.

Elder Feng Yu meditated under a spirit-tree, healing slow internal injuries. Sweat dampened his collar, fists resting on his knees.

Calm.

Sharp.

A blade in silence.

Disciples trained lightly on the beach, sparring, stretching, channeling qi — joyful, steady, like a family rebuilding strength.

The camp felt like home.

Until the wind changed.

A quiet warning.

Not loud — just a shiver across the skin.

A whisper in instinct.

Muo Qian paused.

Elder Feng Yu's eyes snapped open.

Lin Shu turned, hand already drifting toward her sword.

Yan Chen's gaze sharpened first near the camp's edge.

> "Someone's coming."

Not just someone.

Dozens.

Footsteps echoed like stones grinding.

Killing intent like cold steel crawling on skin.

Black robes emerged from the mist.

Gold dragon engravings.

Cruel, imperial insignia.

Predatory eyes.

Black Dragon Kingdom Royal Palace cultivators.

At the front — sword strapped proudly, eyes like polished malice:

Tian Bufen.

His gaze scanned the camp — calculating, greedy.

Elder Wan and Elder Liya stepped forward calmly, blocking the path.

Elder Liya's voice cold and straight like a drawn blade:

"What business do you have here?"

Tian Bufen smiled, too smooth.

"I seek the one who retrieved the Snow Lotus."

His eyes gleamed with desire.

"And… whatever treasures they hold."

Lin Shu stepped out of the tent behind them — silent, lethal.

Tian Bufen's pupils shrank slightly seeing her aura.

Then, arrogance returned.

He flicked his hand forward.

"Take what belongs to the Royal Dragon."

---

The Battle Ignites

Ten generals lunged forward, qi crackling like bursting storms.

Elder Feng Yu rose at once, intercepting three with a step that split the earth beneath him.

> "Step back!"

His voice cut the air like command forged in fire.

He clashed — sword against three blades — shockwave blasting sand away.

Elder Wan and Elder Liya wordlessly dashed forward, each taking two generals with calm lethal precision.

Lin Shu's blade flashed — she met two at once, eyes sharp as moonsteel.

Wang Tian cracked his knuckles, grin wolfish.

Luo Chen rolled his neck, qi sparking.

Both stepped forward.

One general sneered. "You two aren't even healed—"

Wang Tian punched first.

Bone cracked.

The general staggered.

Luo Chen's palm strike followed, wave of qi smashing into ribs.

> "We don't need to be healed," Wang Tian smirked.

"We just need to fight."

The camp erupted with motion.

Tian Bufen's cultivators charged the disciples.

Bad choice.

Yan Chen cracked his knuckles.

Xiao Lian stood graceful, frost aura shimmering.

Jun Hua drew her blade quietly, eyes fierce.

Cheng Fang stretched like warming up for fun.

Xiao Rui whistled casually while stepping forward.

Lee Bie twirled his spear.

Zong Bu shoved fruit into his mouth then sighed.

> "Haven't even finished breakfast."

He still charged first.

The enemy clashed —

And broke.

Sanatan Flame Sect disciples didn't even flinch.

They moved like storm-born fire.

A punch.

A slash.

A spear thrust.

Cries.

Bodies collapsing into sand.

Some begged.

None survived.

This was not arrogant slaughter.

It was decisive, unhesitating — strength earned in blood and loyalty.

Meanwhile—

Elder Feng Yu moved like a mountain-trained tiger, blade singing with fierce precision.

Three generals fought him — fierce, combined arts — yet every clash went backward.

He was calm, steady — fierceness held inside stillness.

Steel rang.

Snow qi crackled.

Blows like thunder, sand flying like storms.

A general yelled, "Monster!"

Elder Feng Yu's expression did not change.

His sword carved a crescent arc —

one head flew.

Another.

Third collapsed, chest split open.

Blood mist sparkled like frost in sunlight.

He didn't spare a glance.

He turned back toward disciples, breathing deep — steady dominance.

Elder Wan fought like refined steel — precise destruction, alchemical surges augmenting every strike.

Elder Liya fought like dancing fire — each motion elegant, deadly.

Lin Shu fought like a silent tempest — calm face, merciless hands, cutting clean and fast. Her blade flashed like first light after rain.

Wang Tian and Luo Chen — hot-blooded wolves, laughing as they fought, joy burning in their veins.

Ten generals fell.

Royal guards scattered — but disciples hunted them like flame chasing shadows.

Silence returned.

Smoke drifted.

Bodies slumped in twisted heaps.

Sand soaked crimson.

Sanatan Flame Sect stood — breathing steady, eyes ablaze.

And only one remained.

Tian Bufen stood alone, stunned, breath shaking.

He stepped backward — dread clawing his throat.

> "You… you killed my Royal Guard…"

He swallowed, forcing a smile.

His fingers curled around his sword.

Then his lips twisted into something feral.

"Oh? So this is the power of your sect."

He chuckled — shaky, brittle — then his expression changed.

A cruel glint, like a man cornered who found a darker card to play.

"I suppose…" he whispered, smile stretching unnaturally,

> "…I should thank you for proving you are worth killing personally."

His aura burst — black dragon qi coiling violently around him.

Shockwaves rattled sand.

Lin Shu's eyes narrowed.

Elder Feng Yu shifted stance.

Disciples braced.

Sand dripped from broken armor and silent bodies.

The beach smelled of steel and blood.

Sanatan Flame Sect stood firm, breathing steady, blades pointed to the earth — like warriors who had finished warming up.

Only Tian Bufen remained.

His boots sank into sand as he staggered back, trembling, eyes wide — disbelief choking him.

All his men.

All his generals.

Thirty seasoned blades and ten elite commanders.

Gone.

And the sect didn't even look tired.

Lin Shu wiped a streak of black blood from her blade without speaking.

Elder Feng Yu's sword hummed softly, still hungry.

Yan Chen and Xiao Rui stepped forward, qi flaring like wolves scenting fresh prey.

Tian Bufen's face twitched.

Then twisted.

Suddenly — laughter ripped from him, loud, cracked, hysterical.

"Heh… haha… HAHAHAHA!"

His qi surged — black dragon energy erupting like a corrupted tide.

The sand beneath his feet shuddered; scales flickered across his skin, sharp and cruel.

A sinister wind rolled outwards, pressure cutting the air like blades.

"Good… very good…" he hissed, pupils narrowing into reptilian slits.

"Slaughter my men… break my pride… and now—"

He raised his hand.

Veins pulsed black.

A dragon shadow twisted behind him, roaring silently.

"—you will learn what it means to provoke the blood of a true king."

The disciples froze—not in fear, but readiness.

Their auras rose like drawn fire.

Xiao Lian's breath steamed blue frost.

Lu Fang's sword hummed sky-cold.

Cheng Fang leaned forward, eyes shining with battle hunger.

Lin Shu set her foot back, sword angled, voice low:

"Everyone—prepare."

Tian Bufen smiled.

Slow.

Cold.

Unhinged.

His voice dropped, dripping venom:

> "Today… the dragon throne answers."

The ground cracked beneath him.

Black qi surged skyward like a beast unclenching from sleep.

And in the main tent behind them—

Shaurya's fingers twitched.

A pulse of golden aura flickered under the canvas.

A heartbeat.

A warning.

A promise.

The air trembled.

The waves stilled.

The world held breath—

To Be Continued…

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