Path of the Forgotten.

The arena was still smoldering.

Wei Zicheng lay crumpled at the edge, chest faintly rising, lips flecked with blood. His once-proud flame aura had scattered like burnt paper in the wind.

And in the center of it all — beneath the cracked sky, surrounded by stunned silence — Lin Feng had fallen.

His body knelt like stone, scorched and smoking, hand still clenched into a fist.

Then… he collapsed.

The disciples didn't cheer. They didn't dare.

Some tried to speak, but found their throats dry. Others lowered their eyes — not out of respect, but fear.

> "Is he… human?" someone whispered.

No one answered.

---

Within the Sect Walls – Moments Later

Lan Xueyin moved first.

Her robes fluttered as she descended from the observation terrace, her expression unreadable. One of the inner elders moved to intercept her, but she brushed past him without a word.

She paused just before Lin Feng's body, eyes narrowed.

His veins no longer glowed. The unnatural heat had vanished. But the mark was there in the air, like the space around him had been… bruised.

> "This can't be coincidence," she thought. "He's hiding something far worse than a talent."

Behind her, voices rose again — whispers between elders, sect stewards, and rival factions.

---

Elder Quarters – Same Hour

"Retrieve him. Quietly," said one elder.

"Kill him," said another.

"He's unstable. He could be useful. Or dangerous."

Silence followed.

Then the Seventh Elder spoke from the shadows.

> "Let him live."

The others turned.

> "If we kill him now, we'll never know what's inside him. And if we wait… perhaps we'll remember what we've forgotten."

No one dared argue.

---

Nightfall – Disciples' Quarters

The full moon rose behind thin clouds.

Lin Feng lay on a stone bed in a secluded chamber near the base of the mountain. His body was still unconscious — wrapped in light bandages, his robes removed, his sword placed at the far wall like a threat even in sleep.

Outside, a breeze stirred the lantern flame.

And then — it went out.

> Footsteps. Silent. Careful.

A figure entered through the side window — dressed in sect robes, but face covered. They knelt by Lin Feng's side, drawing a short blade wrapped in spiritual silk.

The blade didn't reflect light.

It absorbed it.

One clean cut to the neck. Quick. No sound. No risk.

They raised the dagger — and hesitated.

Because Lin Feng's eyes opened.

Half-lidded. Clouded. Unfocused.

But glowing faintly blue at the edges.

> "What... are you?" the assassin whispered, unable to move.

Lin Feng didn't speak.

But the air grew heavy.

The intruder's hand shook — the dagger slipped from their grip.

They turned to run.

But the door had already closed.

---

By dawn, the news had already spread — Wei Zicheng had been crippled. His cultivation foundation fractured. His status ruined.

But what startled the outer sect most… was the silence.

No one had seen Lin Feng since the duel.

No one had dared approach his chamber.

But someone — no one knew who — had been found unconscious outside the disciple quarters, with blood leaking from every orifice and eyes wide open in terror.

They survived.

But would never speak again.

---