NOVEL WEB Chapter 265: Ambush
Author's Note: Do Not Unlock Yet. Chapter Is Still Under Construction.
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Qin Han's eyes widened as he recalled how powerful that attack was and he slammed both palms down unleasing an explosion of earth qi, which shattered the strike into rough fragments.
The ground around them trembled as tiles cracked beneath the force.
Nearby, two other elders who had gotten back to their feet, advanced.
Elder Bai Xian's, summoned a flurry of icy petals with a Bai Family special art.
Each petal fluttered out, sharp as razor glass and coated in freezing qi.
A second elder, Qin Song, channeled Flame Serpent Arts. His arms wreathed in burning qi that licked the air with hungry tongues of fire.
Victor danced between them and activated his Dragon Breathing Arts once again.
Flame sprouted out of his nostrils and coiled along his arms which he used to vaporize the frost petals midair.
With a sudden bound, he leapt in a soaring arc and swung his fist forward, sending a spiraling shockwave that buffeted the flame serpent's qi back into a sputter.
Qin Song landed heavily on the courtyard edge, coughing black blood.
Elder Bai Rui pressed her hands together, chanting softly. Another wave of freezing petals descended, but Victor quietly closed his eyes, feeling the chill in his blood. With a low hum, he condensed a shield of void qi around himself, nullifying the frost and melting it into harmless sparks.
The elders recoiled at the ease with which their family arts were dispatched, and murmurs of shock rippled through the assembled disciples. This boy—the outsider—had turned their signature techniques against them.
Qin Han scowled and charged. "You dare ridicule our arts?" With a stomp, he shattered the ground beneath Victor's feet, sending jagged earth shards shooting upward in an attempt to pin him. But Victor was gone in a blink—another Shadow Blink—and appeared above Qin Han, sword drawn for a Phantom Moon Slash aimed straight at the elder's shoulder.
Qin Han barely raised an arm in time, blocking the blow. The sword's qi carved a deep groove in his armor, but the elder managed to stagger back, retrieving his balance. Dirt fell from his robes as he glared upward.
Victor dropped softly and sheathed his sword. His qi flared, and for a heartbeat he looked every inch the Nascent Soul cultivator he truly was—an apex predator poised to strike. The other elders hesitated, glancing at one another with wide-eyed alarm.
Then Victor spoke, calm but fierce. "Remember me? A year ago, you ran me out of town. You almost broke all my bones and tortured me until Bai Xue intervened. I escaped then, and I promised I'd return."
Shock registered in every elder's eyes. Whispers flooded the courtyard. "It's him…" "Fang Chen…"
They remembered all too well the boy who had humiliated Qin Fei and set the entire household into chaos. The same upstart who had vanished without a trace—until now.
Qin Han's face twisted. "You insolent—" He lunged again, but Victor's next strike was a Phantom Moon Slash combined with a crescent of flame from Dragon Breathing Arts. The combined qi cleaved through the elder's earth palm, sending him sprawling backward across the courtyard.
The other elders raised their voices, desperate to overwhelm Victor with coordinated attacks: fire, frost, earth, wind. But their efforts only served to showcase his superiority. He sidestepped with Phantom Mirage Step, countered with Frost Bloom Seal to frost-bind ankles, then expelled a torrent of void qi that shattered their formations.
As the battle reached its crescendo, the courtyard shuddered. Qi crackled in the night air like lightning trapped in a bottle, illuminating the horrified faces of the family's core disciples watching from the balconies above.
Victor breathed deep, gathering his final reserve for one decisive strike. His aura pulsed, the night around him dimming as he activated his nascent soul's full might.
But before he could unleash his Shadow Crescent's ultimate form, a twin gong clang rang out, echoing through the estate.
The courtyard gates thundered as they were flung open, and a figure strode in, radiance blazing. He was older yet formidable—hair the color of silver starlight, robes rippling like liquid moonlight. His presence alone snapped the gathered disciples upright in reverent terror.
"Who dares defy my heirs?"
His voice was low, but it carried the weight of a mountain and the hush of midnight. The battle arrests mid‑air; Victor's qi faltered, the elders froze, and even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Elder Qin Han, battered and bleeding, struggled to his feet, stumbling toward the newcomer. "Master… it is Fang Chen. He—"
The newcomer's eyes flicked to Victor—sharp, ancient, and assessing. Recognition sparked. A soft, menacing smile curved his lips.
Victor straightened, shadow qi gathering around him like living smoke. He met the elder elder's gaze without flinching.
"I am Fang Chen," he said, voice echoing with the power of his bloodline. "And I came to end the tyranny of your heirs."
The courtyard's torches trembled as the great elder raised a single hand. The wind roared, swirling fire and frost and earth into a vortex. The assembled disciples ducked. The next battle, Victor realized, would be against a master far beyond any he had faced that night—and perhaps, for the first time, he felt genuine anticipation.
But he did not retreat. Instead, he stepped forward, fists clenched, ready to meet the greatest challenge of his life. The final and most powerful elder had arrived—and Fang Chen's true war was only just beginning.
---ss
The courtyard trembled like a living thing.
Victor stood in the center, chest heaving, a thin cut trailing crimson from his cheek to his jaw. Around him, jagged cracks shot through the jade tiles like spiderwebs. Across from him, the strongest elder of the annexed Qin-Bai family—Elder Qin Yao—hovered inches above the ground, robes rippling in an unseen gale, eyes gleaming with ruthless certainty.
Peak Nascent Soul Realm. His aura was a mountain. A storm. A crushing, suffocating weight.
----sss
Tarkos up ahead made his tattoos peel from his skin and lash out like vipers.
They wrapped around the legs of a charging disciple, yanking them off their feet before a spear of ink pierced their chest.
"No time to linger!" Victor shouted.
More were approaching from rooftops, and the street ahead was rapidly filling with enemies. "We're getting boxed in," Tarkos muttered.
Victor knew what had to be done. "Split up. I'll draw them out. You disappear into the shadows."
Tarkos gave a curt nod and vanished in a blur. Victor who was now alone, dashed down a side street, letting his qi flare for just a moment to announce his presence. The cultivators took the bait.
Victor led them out of the city, dodging techniques and blade strikes. He jumped between trees, using Wind Glide to leap high and avoid ranged attacks.
By the time he reached a cluster of boulders at the city outskirts, only seven cultivators were still on his tail.
He ducked behind a large rock while letting out visible icy breaths.
He swiftly went to the menu panel and found he log out option.
[Log Out]
His avatar turned translucent before vanishing entirely.
...
...
Victor's eyes snapped open in the real world and he immediately glanced at the time.
4:45 AM.
"Perfect timing," he muttered with a groggy but focused look.
He rose from bed and quickly got ready for Tuesday's morning routine. Camp 11 was already filled with students by the time he arrived.
Instructor Vex Rhane didn't hesitate to put them to work.
"Unmoving Body," Qin Yao intoned, voice deep as an ancient bell. A dense, earthen energy settled over his frame. Light strikes wouldn't work—not even most heavy ones. A technique meant to render him impervious to almost anything below his level, and even partially above it. A defense to anchor a clan.
Victor rolled his shoulders, feeling the ache of overdrawn qi gnawing at his veins. His techniques were refined, his style versatile. But every Shadow Blink, every Phantom Moon Slash, every Frost Bloom Seal—it was a drain. Qin Yao had two techniques, maybe three, but each one was grand and tyrannical.
They clashed again.
Victor lunged, sword humming with condensed void qi. He layered Dragon Breathing over the shadow arc—flame and darkness intertwined into a jagged crescent. Qin Yao didn't dodge. He simply braced, his Unmoving Body technique flaring like a mountain's outline.
The blade collided and detonated a storm of energy. Stone tiles exploded, dust billowed. Victor slid back three meters, boots digging furrows. Qin Yao? He took a single step back. Just one.
Victor grit his teeth and forced his lungs to steady. He could feel the rumbling murmurs of disciples and minor elders ringing around the courtyard. He could feel the fear beneath their bravado.
He had to end this quickly. He didn't have the reserves to keep throwing everything against an unyielding wall.
He blurred, Shadow Blink snapping him to the elder's rear, and struck low—Phantom Moon Slash cutting at knees. Qin Yao snapped his fingers, redirecting the force. Victor was hurled sideways like a ragdoll. He twisted midair, slammed his palm against a pillar, and kicked back off it to land in a crouch.
The other elders crept closer, forming a circle. Victor's senses lit up—they were planning something. An array formation?
Yes. He could feel it. Their hands flickering through seals, the ground subtly glowing as they took positions. A binding ritual—desperate, but potentially lethal. A combined sealing technique that would fuse their mana and lock his meridians long enough for Qin Yao to finish the job.
Victor sprang forward to break the formation, but three elders moved in sync, hurling overlapping energy nets. Threads of binding qi slapped into him, laden with oppressive weight. He slashed them away, but more came—sheets of seal scripts swirling like paper storms.
They were choking off his escape. Qin Yao planted his foot. The air shuddered.
Victor spat blood. His body couldn't take much more.
He leveled his sword and whispered, "Come on then."
They did. Seals wrapped around his limbs, his torso, even his neck. Ethereal chains appeared, locking on like iron shackles. His qi flow sputtered—he could barely circulate it. For a heartbeat, he was stuck—frozen in place.
Qin Yao's palm rose. A massive imprint of energy formed above it—a crushing, mountain-sized version of his hand, shimmering with golden-brown earth qi.
"End," Qin Yao said.
And then—
The world dimmed.
Not figuratively. Literally. Like the sun had gone out.
A figure dropped from a rooftop blur-fast. No warning. No chant. No flash.
Tarkos.
He hit the ground with so much force the jade tiles cratered inward. His peak Soul Transformation Realm aura flared like a black sun over the courtyard. Every disciple dropped to their knees as if gravity had doubled. Even Qin Yao's eyes widened, the ghost of disbelief cracking his stern expression.
"Get off him," Tarkos said, voice casual but killing intent gleaming in the whites of his eyes.
He moved once.
One punch.
Elder Qin Yao flew. Not staggered—flew. Crashed through a pavilion, a wall, and two buildings beyond, his body painting a half-mile line of destruction.
The elders holding the seal gasped. Their concentration broke. Seals fizzled; the chains snapped. Victor felt qi rush back into his meridians like air into burning lungs. He wrenched his arms free, ripped the last talismans off his body, and fell forward onto one knee, coughing.
The crowd erupted—shouts, screams, prayers. And then another sound joined them—
Footsteps. Many. Too many.
Victor looked up. The main gate of the annexed estate had been blasted apart. And through the jagged opening poured hundreds, then thousands of people.
Merchants, smiths, farmers, ex-guards—faces grim, eyes blazing. Lingyun Town had come. Not just to watch.
To reclaim.
Victor rose, sword in hand. Tarkos tossed him a grin and drew his curved blade. "Took 'em long enough."
Behind them, a flurry of motion. The elders gathered themselves—some bolting, others rallying, panic buzzing through their ranks. The lesser disciples backed away, swallowed by the wave of townsfolk now flooding the courtyard.
And then, cutting through the chaos, another voice:
"Enough!"
Several elders of the Bai lineage stepped forward. At their head—Elder Bai Rui, hair loose, robes torn from earlier battle. She held her sword out, turning it away from Victor, toward the Qin elders.
"We are done," she shouted, voice ringing clear, "being chained to your deeds! We annexed out of desperation—not to enslave our people or destroy this town!"
Another Bai elder—Bai Peng—stepped beside her. "We stand with Lingyun Town."
The split was brutal, immediate. Half the courtyard froze, trying to understand. The Bai family—small but proud—had chosen their side.
The people roared.
Victor's lips curved upward. Finally.
Qin elders hissed like cornered snakes. "Traitors," spat Qin Han, holding his broken ribs. "You think the town will forgive your part? You think you can wash your hands so easily?"
Bai Rui's expression was granite. "We will accept judgment. But we will not continue this path."
She raised her sword. "Bai Clan—protect the citizens!"
It exploded from there.
Tarkos dove headfirst into a cluster of Qin guards, cutting through them with efficient, elegant lethality. Victor waded into the oncoming wall of enemies, Shadow Crescent Strike ripping a swath through a line of spear-wielders. He parried another elder, flipped her blade, and kicked her backward off a balcony.
A lantern crashed to the ground. Flames spread across a pavilion roof. Someone screamed for water. A group of townsfolk—former blacksmiths from the east block—rushed with makeshift weapons, swinging padded hammers into crimson-robed Qin disciples. Arcs of mana, bursts of earth qi, slashes of raw killing intent—all overlapped in a tapestry of chaos.
Victor spun, sword carving a crescent of darkness that sucked light inward. Phantom Moon Slash ripped through a guarding wall, opening a path to the dais. He saw Qin Fei standing there—bloodless, clutching a concubine like a shield, eyes darting crazily.
"You. You caused this!" Qin Fei shrieked, finger shaking. "You won't get away—"
Victor smashed him aside with the back of his sword. Qin Fei crumpled unconscious without ceremony.
"Consider yourself lucky," Victor muttered. "I don't kill vermin."
He scanned the battlefield. He needed to find Qin Yao—if that monster got back up, everything would be over.
He didn't have to look far.
Qin Yao rose from the wreckage, hair wild, robes shredded, aura screaming with fury. Blood dripped down his chin. He spat and broke into a sprint, palms surging with earth qi.
"So you want to play with grown men," he roared, gaze locked on Tarkos. "Let's see if a shadow rat can withstand a mountain!"
He stomped, and the earth surged in waves. Tarkos simply leapt, riding the ripple like a surfer, then swung. Qin Yao's palm met Tarkos' blade—and cracked. His skin split open, blood spraying.
Tarkos smiled. "Cute."
Victor darted forward, adding momentum with Wind Glide, his body becoming a streak of pale light. Together—Tarkos up high, Victor low—they struck as one.
Victor's blade sought joints—where Unmoving Body was weakest.
Tarkos' blade hammered the qi lines directly.
A scream tore from Qin Yao. He staggered, his technique shattering like a broken mirror. His aura—once a mountain—crumpled like dust.
The remaining elders froze. Townsfolk surged. Bai clan warriors flanked.
And in that moment, the annexed family's reign ended.
Victor stood over the fallen elder, breathing hard, sword pointed at his chest. "Lingyun Town," he called, voice loud, strong, commanding, "is free. If you wish to live, lay down your arms and submit to the judgment of the people!"
Weapons clattered to the ground.
The mob hesitated—but they obeyed. A murmur swelled, growing louder.
Bai Rui stepped forward. "We will answer. We will stand trial alongside the Qin. But this ends tonight."
Victor lowered his sword. Tarkos holstered his blade, eyes scanning for any lingering threat. None presented a challenge.
The people flooded the courtyard, tears and laughter and curses blending into a single roar of catharsis.
A hand touched Victor's shoulder. He turned.
Bai Ting Ting stood there, face damp with tears she'd hidden for too long. Chen Wu and his father were beside her, alive, safe. Chen Wu nodded once, silently. Victor returned the nod. No words needed.
Xuan Qing would've loved this chaos, he thought absently. He smirked. "Maybe I'll bring her next time."
He sheathed his sword and exhaled, feeling everything at once—exhaustion, relief, fading adrenaline.
Tarkos clapped him on the back. "Not bad, hero. Drink later?"
Victor eyed the shattered estate, the flames licking at the night sky, the people reclaiming something that had been stolen from them.
"Definitely," he said, smirking. "But first—let's finish dismantling this rotten house."
Smoke bled into the evening sky as the last of the Qin banners were torn down from the shattered parapets. The courtyard stones were slick with sweat, blood, and the pulped remains of pride. What had begun as a single clash between Victor and the elders had erupted into a war that swallowed the entire annexed estate, and now—finally—silence spread like dawn.
Bodies lined the pathways: some unconscious, some groaning, some dead. Qin disciples knelt with their hands bound behind them. Bai disciples, those who chose to stand with the people, tended to the wounded townsfolk with shamed faces and trembling hands. Others of their clan—elders and lackeys who had sided with the tyranny—were herded toward makeshift cells or simply banished outright, stripped of their cores by angry cultivators. Qi crippled, foundations shattered, eyes wide with the realization that the town they once oppressed now held the hammer.
Victor stood in the center of it all, sword sheathed, chest rising and falling. His qi reserves were scorched down to embers, his limbs shaking, but he kept his back straight. The people were watching.
"Fang Chen!"
He turned. Chen Wen stumbled forward, tears clogging his throat. The young man's face was skinnier now, arms new-threaded with wiry muscle, but those wide eyes were the same as the ones Victor had met in Lingyun Rest a year ago. Behind him, his father—Chen Guang—limped, leaning on a carved stick. They both dropped to their knees.
"No—don't," Victor muttered, reaching down to pull them up. Chen Guang clasped Victor's hands, wrinkled eyes wet.
"You saved my boy. You saved our home."
Shen Mu arrived next, the once-dignified manager of the Lingyun Trade Pavilion now covered in soot and mud. He bowed so low his forehead touched cracked stone. "My shop was a prison under their 'custodianship.' You gave it back."
Around them, people gathered—blacksmiths with soot in their eyebrows, mothers clutching children, old cultivators with walking sticks, young ones with eyes full of fire. They surrounded him like a tide, voices overlapping:
"Thank you!"
"He's the one who freed us!"
"Fang Chen! Fang Chen!"
Victor exhaled, the roar of their gratitude brushing his skin like heat from a forge. His system pulsed, and lines of light scrolled across his vision.
[ DING! ]
[ Regional Quest Complete: "Reclaim Lingyun Town" ]
[ Sub-Objectives:
— Expose the annexed family's corruption ✓
— Liberate enslaved townsfolk ✓
— Topple the Qin's domination ✓
— Restore balance to Lingyun's economy ✓ ]
[ Rewards Granted:
450,000 Wisps of Qi
2 Legendary-Grade Treasure Chests
1 Mythic-Grade Technique Scroll (Random)
Bloodline Integration +2%
New Qi Art Unlocked: "Void Severing Thread"
Reputation with Lingyun Town: MAX (Exalted/Peak)
Title Earned: "Savior of Lingyun" ]
[ Hidden Achievement: "Topple a Clan Without a Clan" ✓ ]
[ Reward: "Fang's Banner" (Unique Insignia – boosts allied morale and qi recovery in a 100 ft radius) ]
He skimmed, barely absorbing, as more flashed:
[ Fame Spread: "Whispers of the Void Swordsman" now known in adjacent regions. ]
[ World Ripple: Minor. Some factions have taken notice. ]
He blinked the windows aside. The system never slept, but right now the real world in front of him mattered more.
Tarkos leaned against a ruined pillar, arms folded, watching the crowd with a lopsided grin. "Congratulations," he muttered. "You just became a holiday."
Victor glanced at him. "What?"
"Listen."
The murmur swelled, unified, coalescing into a chant that rolled like thunder.
"Fang Chen Day!" someone shouted from the back. "The day we got our town back!"
"The day we stood up 'cause he gave us the guts to!"
"The day of independence!"
"Fang Chen Independent Day!" a woman yelled, voice cracking, but nobody cared—the phrase stuck. It ricocheted from wall to wall. People repeated it. Louder. Stronger. Laughing. Crying.
The old statue of Lingyun—the legendary swordsman whose likeness dominated the town square—stood silently beneath the moon. A man with his sword extended, left palm out, guarding, defying. Tonight, the stone looked almost alive under the torchlight.
"Erect another!" a blacksmith bellowed, hoisting his hammer overhead. "Right next to Lingyun's!"
"The boy's got moves like the old hero!" another cackled, clasping his grandson's shoulder. "Mark my words—he's a descendant. Has to be!"
A hush fell. In Lingyun Town, legend was as real as bread and water. If the people believed it, it was almost true already.
Victor rubbed his forehead. "I'm not—"
Shen Mu raised both hands. "Whether you are or not, young master Fang, you saved us. That is all that matters. Let us honor the living as we honor the dead."
The crowd cheered again, and the decision was made before Victor could shape protest into words. A small team broke off immediately—carving masters, stone shapers, rune carvers. They tore down one of the defaced Qin monoliths and hauled its shattered blocks to the square. Even in ruin, they saw raw material.
"Make him with that blade he used tonight!"
"No, no—make the qi swirl! The dark crescent he used!"
"He should stand beside Lingyun, not beneath!"
Victor pinched the bridge of his nose, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He didn't like statues. Statues were targets. But: these people had been starved of heroes. If stones and names gave them the spine to stand next time, then let them build.
He turned to Chen Wen. "You'll reopen Lingyun Rest?"
The boy nodded vigorously. "Yes! The kitchen's in ruins, but—Father still has his recipes. And I remember how to serve the house special."
Chen Guang chuckled, a wet-sounding laugh. "Give us a week, and there will be noodles and spice stew flowing again."
Victor squeezed his shoulder. "Good. Make it better than ever."
Shen Mu bowed again. "As for the Pavilion—those guards are gone. The ledgers, I still have hidden copies. We will replenish stock, rebuild trust. Trade will be clean again." He lifted his head, eyes steady. "If you ever need a favor, our doors will be open."
"I'll collect," Victor said lightly.
Tarkos whistled, rolling his shoulders. "My work here is done. Can't stick around—too many smiling faces makes my skin itch. You know where to find me."
Victor nodded. "Thanks. For everything."
Tarkos shrugged. "You dragged me into it. Might as well enjoy the brawl." He paused, then smirked. "Besides, I couldn't let you steal all the glory."
He flickered—one smooth step—and disappeared into the fractured streets.
Victor took a breath. The smell of smoke, sweat, flowers crushed underfoot, and old stone filled his lungs. He cast his senses outward one more time, confirming there were no lingering threats, no hidden assassins waiting for an opportune moment. The Qin power structure had collapsed. Those who didn't surrender were dead or fled. The Bai who chose to remain were now allied, their elder heads bowed low, awaiting judgment.
By midnight, the bonfires had been lit in celebration across Lingyun Town. Performers improvised songs. Children ran in the streets, waving scraps of cloth like flags. Someone strung lanterns along the rooftops; another poured wine into shared clay cups. In the distance, chisels already began to chip at stone beneath the giant statue of Lingyun.
Victor's system pinged one last time.
[ Reputation: Lingyun Town – MAX. You cannot gain more favor here. ]
[ Citizens will now fight and die for you without question. ]
[ Local Statues: 1 (Lingyun) → 2 (Pending Construction: Fang Chen) ]
He laughed softly under his breath. "That's excessive."
But the warmth crawled up his chest anyway. He let himself enjoy it. Just for a moment.
Shen Mu tugged at his sleeve. "Come," he said. "We'll clean what's left of a booth and pour tea. You need to sit. You look like a candle burned at both ends."
Victor hesitated. He glanced once more at the night sky—at the faint shimmer of qi trails still fading, at the rooftops where archers once hid. At the gate where frightened townsfolk had once been dragged through in chains.
He breathed out the last of his tension and nodded.
"I'll sit," he said, finally. "But only until dawn. Tomorrow, there are still embers to stamp out."
As he followed Shen Mu through streets reborn with laughter, the chant rose behind him again, carried on night wind and fragile hope:
"Fang Chen! Fang Chen!"
---sss
Victor's day in the real world blurred by in a wash of obligation and sweat—weighted laps in the dome's circulation pool, the sting of mana beams skimming past his ears underwater, lectures where instructors droned about battlefield triage and mana economization, then the dull scrape of mop heads and scrub drones humming across tiled academy floors. He burned through his punishment shift the same way he did everything else lately—fast, efficient, eyes already on the door. By dusk he was back under his sheets, helmet snug, mana signatures cloaked, Kairo nowhere in sight.
Darkness folded, pixels flared, and the world reformed around him.
He exhaled into the smell of old wood and spice broth. Lingyun Rest—reborn, reclaimed—breathed like a living thing again. The room Chen Wu insisted he take was simple: lacquered floorboards, a low cot by the window, a clay lamp still warm, a folded blanket waiting like a polite bow. Outside, the murmur of late-night patrons drifted up the stairwell: laughter, clinking cups, the rasp of dice on wood. Home, of a sort.
He sat on the edge of the bed, fingers flexing. For the first time in… he couldn't even remember, there was no red countdown pulsing at the edge of his vision. No quest timer chewing a hole in his skull. No "urgent objective" pinging like a drill sergeant's baton.
Silence.
He stared at the far wall until the quiet turned into a weight, and then he finally let himself grin.
"Alright," he whispered. "Let's see what I've been ignoring."
A thought. A ripple.
The interface flooded his sight.
[DING!]
[ Pending Rewards Detected ]
— "Doom's Edge: The Grove of Sealed Fate" (World Quest) – Rewards Unclaimed
— "Return to Lingyun Town" (Long-Term Quest) – Rewards Unclaimed
— "Reclaim Lingyun Town" (Regional Quest) – Rewards Unclaimed
— Hidden Achievements x4 – Rewards Unclaimed
— Treasure Chests: 2 Mythic, 4 Legendary, 9 Rare
— Qi Pools Overflow: +1,080,000 Wisps of Qi (Unabsorbed)
— New Techniques:
• Skyfire Spiral (Dragon Breathing Arts Branch)
• Void Severing Thread (Void Emperor Bloodline Passive/Active Hybrid)
• Sky Walker (Movement Scroll)
• Silent Needle Array (Tier 2 Seal)
• Echo Veil Sense (Bloodline Ability – Echolocation Variant)
He'd seen fragments of these notifications bursting during crises, half-read them in the corner of his eye between explosions. But reading and receiving were different things.
He pulled the lamp closer, though he didn't need light. Habit.
"Let's cash in."
He accepted the world quest batch first. Qi flooded him, a velvet surge that sank into the marrow, pooling, coiling, humming under his skin. He pushed it through his meridians, spreading it evenly until the burn softened to warmth.
[ Bloodline Integration +3% → 65% ]
[ Nascent Soul Realm – Progress: 10% → 18% ]
[ Title Earned: "Anchor of Fractured Gates" ]
[ Passive Buff: Sealcraft Aptitude +15% ]
[ World Ripple: Minor – Name registered in three regional scrolls ]
He snorted. "They can register this," he muttered, summoning the first Mythic chest.
It materialized as a cube of obsidian threaded with violet veins. Touching it sent a thrum up his arm. He pressed his palm flat.
The lid dissolved into motes.
Inside lay a sword guard shaped like a crescent moon, a scroll bound in black silk, and two pellets of liquid-looking gold.
[ Mythic Chest Opened ]
— "Moonshadow Guard" (Artifact Component) – When attached to a sword, increases void-qi channeling by 22%, reduces backlash from shadow techniques.
— "Heaven-Listening Scroll" – One-time consumable. When activated, reveals the true nature of a foe's core technique within a ten-mile radius.
— "Soul-Tide Pellets" x2 – Refines Nascent Soul threads, strengthening soul-based attacks/defenses.
Victor whistled low. "Now we're talking."
He pocketed the guard, feeling the faint hum of compatibility with his current blade. The scroll he set aside carefully; you didn't waste a listen on sparring partners. The pellets… later. He didn't want to be half-delirious when he tested Skyfire Spiral.
He opened both Legendary chests next, each bursting like fireworks:
[ Legendary Chest x2 Opened ]
— "Wind-Thread Anklets" (Movement Artifact) – Slight time dilation during dashes; +15% evasion in sustained combat.
— "Serene Cauldron Miniature" – Portable high-efficiency cauldron. Reduces concoction time by 40% for arrays/seal inks.
— "Crystalline Lotus Ink" x5 vials – Grade for Tier 3 seals.
— "Qi-Condensing Jade" x3 – Single-use; compresses ambient qi for meditation, tripling cultivation speed for one hour.
— "Shadow-Stitch Needles" x24 – Silent throwing tools that bind a target's shadow for three heartbeats.
He could feel his hands itching. Gifts like these weren't meant to sit. They were meant to be wielded.
He opened the rares with less ceremony, sorting what mattered (a few hundred spirit coins, a set of refined talismans, a nasty poison labeled "Whispering Night Haze," a torn page from a lost manual) and dismissing what didn't.
When the last chest faded, the room was cluttered with glowing artifacts, scrolls half-unrolled, vials lined up like a chemist's vanity. Victor leaned back, palms pressed into the wood.
"Good haul," he murmured.
But rewards weren't just things. They were possibilities. And possibilities only mattered if you sharpened them.
He stood.
He slid the window open, night air flooding in. The town was quieter now; celebrations had dwindled to murmured songs and low conversations. The moon over Lingyun was a plate of silver.
He hopped out, landing cat-soft in the alley, then crossed the cobbled lane and slipped into the shadowed courtyard of the old mill where no one would disturb him. He closed his eyes, calling up the first new art.
Skyfire Spiral.
The Dragon Breathing Arts were unforgiving. The first time he'd inhaled that flame into his lungs, he'd coughed blood. But this branch felt… elegant. Like a coiled flute of flame, a helix, not a blaze.
He grounded himself. Three breaths. Then he inhaled qi up through his heels, spiraling it along his spine, threading fire through the void—a careful weave. He cupped his palms, letting the heat condense, compress, tighten—
"Skyfire Spiral," he whispered.
Flame spun out like a corkscrew. Not a blast. A drill. It hissed through the night, boring a hole clean through a stacked barrel. The wood didn't burn; it smoked for a heartbeat, then cracked, cleaved in a perfect spiral path.
Victor flexed his fingers, skin tingling. The control was exquisite. He could scale that—thread it through a Crescent Slash, lace it on a blade's edge, twist it inside a defensive barrier and hollow it out from within.
He grinned. "Nice."
Next: Void Severing Thread.
This one was trickier, half-bloodline instinct, half technique. He closed his eyes and felt for the vibrating edge of space around him. There—thin as a hair. He plucked it, sending a faint ripple.
His bloodline responded. The arrow marks along his skin tingled.
He pinched thumb and index together, drawing out a strand of nothingness that shimmered like hot air. It hummed in his grasp, eager, hungry. He flicked it toward a pile of crates. The strand hissed. One crate slid apart as if someone had gently separated it along a seam.
He raised an eyebrow. "That'll ruin someone's artifact day."
He practiced weaving three threads into a knot, letting them hang, inert until touched. Trapwork. He'd leave one under Qin Fei's bed if that rat ever crawled back.
He grabbed the Moonshadow Guard, unsheathed his blade, and affixed the crescent guard with a click. The sword purred. He ran a trickle of void qi through it. The blade drank it eagerly, the guard stabilizing the flow into a clean, sharpened stream. No backlash. No sputter.
His sword—reborn.
He tested Sky Walker last. The scroll burned bright for a moment, then dissolved into his consciousness. Walking the air wasn't flight; it was stitch-work, stepping on qi nodes like invisible stones. He took a cautious leap, stabbing his foot forward—felt his sole land on nothing. He took two steps up, hanging in a vertical line over the courtyard. Anyone watching would have rubbed their eyes raw. He laughed quietly and sprang back down, rolling on landing.
By the time he finished, sweat slicked his hair to his nape, his clothes clinging. His qi reserves were pleasantly pruned, not gutted. He sat on a broken millstone, panting softly, grinning like a fool in the dark.
For once, he let himself feel it. Not the rush of battle. Not the edge of survival. Just the joy of growth. Of mastering something new. Of having time to savor it.
He tilted his head back, staring at the stars. The moons here were different, but sky was sky. Some things translated across worlds.
A soft chime ticked at the edge of his perception.
[ Friend Request Received: Aeri Fan ]
[ Message: "We made it back. Everyone safe. Tarkos says you did a thing. You always do a thing. When you log back, update me. Drinks on me (in-game)." ]
He snorted. "We already drank the ancient grove dry," he whispered.
Another ping—Xuan Qing.
[ Message: "Father let me out. Hmph. I'm still mad. Bring me pastries when you visit." ]
He shook his head, smiling despite himself.
He stood, gathered his things, and slipped back to Lingyun Rest. Chen Wu was snoring lightly at the front counter, broom in hand, head bobbing. Victor nudged him with a toe.
"Your room key's on the floor," he murmured.
Chen Wu startled, then blinked. "Ah! Fang—M-Mr. Fang!" He flushed. "Everything okay?"
"All good. Go to bed."
The boy nodded, flustered, and stumbled upstairs.
Victor closed his room door, dropped to the mat, and closed his eyes for one last meditation cycle. He spun the loose, unclaimed qi through his meridians until they sang clean. He took one of the Soul-Tide Pellets, swallowing it dry. Heat flooded his skull, numbing, stretching. He tightened his grip on his soul threads, wove them tighter, stronger, heat shimmering around his core avatar somewhere deep in his spiritual sea.