The academy's halls buzzed with tension as a confrontation unfolded, drawing the attention of the gathered students.
On one side stood Raja, a rising star whose meteoric ascent through the ranks had left many in awe. With an unparalleled cultivation speed, he had advanced from the Foundation Establishment realm to the Quasi Ethereal Core stage in what seemed like the blink of an eye. His achievements had quickly earned him recognition, and whispers of his potential filled the academy.
Opposing him was Qiran, a tall, imposing figure known for his calm yet intimidating presence. His thin limbs belied the power he wielded as one of the few students who had reached the peak of the Ethereal Core stage. What made him even more formidable was his status as the direct disciple of the feared Instructor Wuya, known for his ruthless methods and unyielding expectations.
As the two locked eyes, the hostility was palpable. "Watch where you're walking, trash," Qiran sneered, his voice dripping with disdain.
Raja’s expression hardened as he brushed off the dust from his robe. "Watch where I'm walking? You clearly pushed me on purpose," he retorted, his voice steady but laced with underlying anger.
Qiran's eyes narrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "You dare talk back to your senior?" he spat, his tone growing more venomous.
Neither was willing to back down. This was no longer just a clash of egos but a battle of pride and honor. Whoever conceded would not only lose face but also tarnish the reputation of their respective instructors. The students around them held their breath, knowing that the outcome of this confrontation would ripple through the academy for days to come.
The crowd around them swelled as curious students gathered to witness the brewing conflict. Whispers circulated, each student speculating how far this would go. Qiran’s reputation as Instructor Wuya’s star disciple preceded him, and few doubted his ability to crush anyone who dared challenge him
Qiran stepped closer, his height casting a shadow over Raja. "You should know your place, Wildland rubbish. I’ve crushed vermin stronger than you without breaking a sweat," he threatened, his voice low and menacing.
Raja didn’t flinch. His eyes met Qiran’s with a steady gaze, refusing to show any sign of intimidation. "Yet, you remain passive like a barking dog," he replied, his voice unwavering.
Qiran’s lip curled into a sneer. "Big words from someone who’s just broken through Foundation Establishment," he said mockingly, yet his eyes showed a flicker of uncertainty. Raja’s calm demeanor was unsettling, unlike the usual reaction he elicited from others.
In the back of the crowd, a few students began to murmur. "Raja’s gutsy. No one’s stood up to Qiran like this before," one said.
"Yeah, but Qiran’s no joke. He’s Wuya’s disciple. This could get ugly fast," another added.
The crowd shifted restlessly, their eyes darting between the two figures. Raja’s stance was firm, and there was a quiet confidence about him that made it clear he wasn’t going to back down. His journey had been one of relentless determination, and he had faced too many challenges to be cowed by threats now.
Qiran, sensing the unease growing in the crowd, decided to escalate. He extended his hand, and a subtle wave of energy pulsed through the air, a show of strength. "You’ve had your chance to walk away. Now, I’ll make sure you regret not taking it," he declared, his voice carrying an edge that sent a shiver through the onlookers.
But Raja was unphased. He shifted his weight slightly, grounding himself. "If you’re so eager to teach me a lesson, then go ahead," Raja said, his voice steady, almost challenging. His aura began to pulse in response, a controlled surge of energy that matched Qiran’s display.
The two energies collided in a silent battle of wills. The very air seemed to hum with the power emanating from the two cultivators, a palpable force that pushed the bystanders back, creating a clear space around them.“What’s this? I came here to meet an old friend, and now face a pissing contest.” a deep, commanding voice cut through the battle like a blade. The crowd parted instinctively, making way for Orion. His mere presence demanded respect, a testament to the legacy he had left behind in the academy.
Orion was more than just a former student; he was a legend. During his time at the academy, he had ascended to heights few could even dream of. His strength was respected, and his name was still spoken with reverence by those who had witnessed his feats firsthand. Even now, as an alumnus, his influence lingered, his words carrying the weight of authority.
Qiran immediately cupped his hands and bowed in a gesture of deep respect. “Senior brother,” he began, his voice laced with deference, “it’s nothing of importance. I’m merely trying to educate this bastard who crawled out of the Wildlands.” His tone dripped with contempt as he glanced at Raja, clearly eager to demonstrate his superiority before someone as esteemed as Orion.
Raja, sensing the need for diplomacy, mimicked Qiran’s actions, cupping his hands and bowing slightly toward Orion. “Senior brother, Qiran attempted to provoke me without cause, deliberately walking into me and then accusing me of being at fault. His actions are a disgrace to the ideals of true righteous cultivation,” Raja explained, his voice steady but firm. Though he maintained a respectful posture, there was no mistaking the accusation in his words.
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Orion’s gaze shifted between the two, his expression unreadable. He had seen countless conflicts in his time at the academy, and this one, while not uncommon, had caught his attention. His eyes lingered on Raja for a moment, assessing the young cultivator’s resolve and the fire in his spirit.
“Qiran,” Orion finally spoke, his voice calm yet carrying an undeniable authority, “is this how we conduct ourselves in the academy now? Bullying those who may have come from less fortunate circumstances? Is this the righteous path you claim to follow?”
Qiran flinched slightly at the rebuke, but he quickly masked his reaction, bowing his head in contrition. “Senior brother, I-”
Orion raised a hand, cutting him off. “Enough,” he said sharply, his eyes narrowing. “True strength is not shown through intimidation or provocation. It is shown through restraint, through understanding the difference between justice and mere ego.”
He then turned to Raja. “And you, Raja, remember that being provoked is no excuse to lose your composure. The path of a righteous cultivator is one of patience and wisdom, not just power.”
Raja nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Yes, senior brother. I will remember your words.”
Orion sighed, the weight of his past experiences evident in his demeanor. “Both of you have potential, but do not squander it in petty squabbles. The academy is a place of learning and growth. Focus on that, not this pointless grandstanding… the world is too wide a place to be stuck here.”
With that, Orion turned and began to walk away, the crowd parting once more to let him pass. The atmosphere in the hall shifted as the tension dissipated, leaving behind a sense of uneasy calm.
Qiran stood silently for a moment, his pride wounded but his anger simmering just below the surface. As he clenched his fists, a dark thought crossed his mind: "I’ll see him on the stage in a few days. Let’s see how these so-called Wildland rats squeak as they die."
Without another word, Qiran shot a final, piercing glance at Raja, his eyes full of unspoken challenge. The moment stretched on, heavy with the promise of a future clash. Then, with a swift turn on his heel, Qiran walked away.
Though the confrontation had been temporarily defused, it was far from resolved. The air still crackled with the remnants of their conflict, leaving the spectators with an uneasy sense that this was only the beginning. Raja, watching Qiran’s retreating figure, knew that their paths would inevitably cross again, and when they did, there would be no room for restraint.
As the crowd slowly dispersed, whispers of the upcoming duel spread like wildfire through the academy. The stage was set for a showdown, and every student knew that the stakes were high. Qiran’s words echoed in Raja’s mind, fueling his determination. The days ahead would be filled with preparation, both mental and physical, for the inevitable clash that would test not just their strength, but their resolve, honor, and the values they each claimed to uphold.
...
“Brother Ryes, it’s been a while,” Orion said, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia as he reached for a cup of wine.
“Indeed,” Feng Zhiming replied, mirroring the gesture as he took hold of his own cup. The two clinked their cups together, a subtle acknowledgment of their shared past. It was clear that Ryes and Orion had a history together, something akin to friendship during their time at the academy. Their bond made sense, Ryes with his peculiar habits and Orion with his equally peculiar temperament had likely found common ground amidst the intense competition and rigid hierarchy of the academy.
“The Wildlands must have been quite the experience, you seem different,” Feng Zhiming observed, refilling his cup as he studied Orion’s demeanor. There was a change in the man before him, something deeper than the physical scars and the weariness that marked his face.
Orion nodded slowly, downing another cup of wine with a practiced motion. The alcohol did little to dull the edge in his voice when he finally spoke. “All that for nothing,” he muttered, his grip tightening around the cup until his knuckles whitened.
Feng Zhiming’s eyes flickered with interest as he leaned back, allowing his words to fan the growing flames of discontent in Orion’s heart. “That is correct. You were the only one to gain anything from that wretched place, and even then, the treasure you found was snatched away by the new Grand Elder.” His tone was casual, but there was an undercurrent of calculated provocation.
Orion’s gaze drifted to the sky, the weight of the night pressing down on him as his thoughts churned. The memories of the Wildlands, the battles, the sacrifices, all for a prize that had slipped through his fingers, left a bitter taste in his mouth. And then there was Krimin, who had left the ship without a word, disappearing into the unknown.
“If the sword had been with that demonic bastard, he would have kept it,” Orion mumbled, his voice barely audible but heavy with resentment.
Feng Zhiming observed Orion closely, the subtle cracks in his composure telling him all he needed to know. The seeds of doubt and disillusionment had been planted, and now they were beginning to take root. “It seems you’ve come to realize the facade of the so-called righteous sects,” Feng Zhiming said with a soft chuckle, his words laced with irony. “We’re not much different from the objects of our hatred, are we?”
Orion remained silent for a long moment, his thoughts a storm of conflicting emotions. The ideals he had once held dear, the loyalty he had shown to his sect, now felt hollow in the face of the cold realities he had witnessed. The righteous path he had once walked with pride now seemed fraught with hypocrisy and hidden agendas.
"Even the previous Grand Elder Claris was not spared," Orion added with a deep sigh, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. The memory of that fateful meeting still lingered in his mind, a stark reminder of the corruption that had taken root within the sect. Although Claris had often been stern and unforgiving, rebuking him for his missteps, Orion had always respected the elder, he was a fair man, the entire journey back to the sect, not once had Grand Elder Claris even eyed Orion's new sword.
The night stretched on, the silence between them growing heavier. Feng Zhiming could sense the turmoil within Orion and knew that his discontent was only the beginning. The academy, the sects, all the structures he had once believed in were crumbling in Orion’s mind. And Feng Zhiming, ever the observer and manipulator, was more than willing to watch it all unfold, knowing that the ripples of Orion’s disillusionment would soon spread far beyond this quiet, wine-soaked evening.