"Elder Xia..." The words hung heavy in the tense air, as though each syllable carried the weight of the massive, jagged sword mark etched deep into the cold marble floor of the Central Courtyard below.

Yet now, the Elders' eyes widened in disbelieving horror, drawn irresistibly to the limp, hanging form of the man held cruelly aloft by a young stranger's grip.

The man, Elder Xia, bore a sickening crimson gash torn across his heaving, bare chest. His eyes remained screwed tightly shut, lips parted in a bloodless rictus of agony.

His once dignified white martial robe, adorned with dark-yellow striped accents, now hung in disheveled tatters around his waist, the fine cloth stained and rent.

Only moments before, the Elders had been discussing strategies to counter the anticipated assault from unorthodox martial artists, Elder Xia's composed yet commanding presence a vivid presence in the Hall of Insight.

But now, that same Elder Xia dangled unconscious, his pale body gripped by some unknown youth seizing him viciously by the neck. The horrific sight seemed to bend reality, forcing the gathered Elders to blink rapidly.

The whispered warnings of the imminent attack...

The chilling reports of a traitor lurking in their midst...

And now the broken, bloodied form of the esteemed Elder Xia...

RING!

Like the resonant peal of a vibrating string, the entire Central Courtyard was consumed by a sudden, violent surge of Qi energy, a pressure powerful enough to reach the heavens themselves.

Each Elder from the various sects and schools turned solemn, their weathered features hardening to granite. One by one, they drew their blades in eerie unison, razor-sharp gazes converging on the defiant young man - Ji Wuye.

In an instant, Ji Wuye found himself surrounded by a sea of leveled steel, dozens of blades aimed inexorably at his exposed neck.

The oppressive, nearly tangible weight of the Elders' combined Weapon Aura bore down upon him in crushing waves, forcing his body to shudder under the immense spiritual pressure.

Even as he clutched Elder Xia's slackened form, Ji Wuye fought against the overwhelming onslaught, his white shoes scraping back as fissures spiraled outward across the marble tiles beneath his feet. Rivulets of blood began to seep from his clenched nostrils and the corners of his calm indifferent eyes.

"You disgust me, vile martial artist," spat one of the Elders, her voice dripping with venom. The words came from a figure garbed in the martial robe of the Qingcheng Sect.

A serene, almost fragile aura radiated from her willow-thin frame, her long silver hair and deeply lined features belying the sharp contempt that creased her hawkish gaze. "At long last, I get to taste the filth of your jian!"

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A soft, wavering bluish light enveloped the slender jian sword gripped in her age-spotted hands. Yet its aura flowed not like a typical qi shroud, but rather traced the razor contours of the gleaming blade in rippling, liquid undulations.

It looked almost serene at first glance, the light playing across the honed steel like a calm pool caressed by a subtle breeze. But the blade itself was poised with utterly lethal intent, its needle-sharp tip aimed inexorably at Ji Wuye's exposed abdomen.

"Release him, or you'll lose those wrists!" Another Elder's voice sliced through the tension, this one belonging to a figure from the Kongtong Sect. She appeared to be in her early forties, her steely gray hair pulled into a simple, severe bun.

The layered martial robe she wore resembled overlapping scales or defensive plates, its material shifting with a liquid bronze sheen as she moved. Her razor-edged steel fan hovered with terrifying steadiness mere cun above Ji Wuye's wrist, promising to slice through flesh and tendon with the slightest twitch.

"It's best you give up while you still can, young man," a third Elder added. Clad in the distinctive martial robes of the Huashan School, his iron-gray hair was neatly tied back, framing a uncompromising visage.

His confident, balanced stance seemed to draw power from the earth itself as the enormous broadsword clutched in his hands came to rest with deceptive gentleness against the back of Ji Wuye's straining neck.

Amidst this tense, razor-edged standoff, Ji Wuye - the bloodied target of their unified aggression - stood rigid, his slender form wracked by tremors as he endured the crushing, inexorable weight of their combined Weapon Auras.

Crimson rivulets seeped from his face, the corner of his eyes, tracing feral patterns across his sweat-slicked skin.

Yet even under such an immense, bone-juddering onslaught, he still managed to grip on the unconscious Elder Xia's throat. His crimson eyes now turned to bloodshot due to this pressure turned towards Elder Qiao, head bowed, her slender fingers resting lightly upon the strings of her zither.

SHRILL!

The air itself seemed to vibrate violently, shuddering with a piercing resonance that set teeth on edge. And what followed was akin to a shattering melody of death itself. In a surreal, slow-motion instant, the overwhelming pressure created by the combined focus of the Elders' Weapon Auras fragmented like delicate glass struck by a ringing tone.

Weapons of every deadly make and size clattered uselessly to the ground all around, as though the very strength had been drained from their owners' grips in the span of a single shocking beat.

"Fellow Martial Brothers and Sisters, please calm yourselves - he is our disciple." At last, the Elders of the Kunlun Sect snapped out of their stunned daze, their minds grappling to process the unbelievable reality laid bare before them: the seemingly weakest and most infamous disciple of their very own sect - the scorned Ji Wuye - now stood defiantly amid their midst, his fingers locked around the throat of one of their own revered Elders.

The shock was nearly too much to bear, momentarily paralyzing their ability to think, let alone act.

"What?" The Qingcheng Elder's voice cracked like shattering porcelain, her serene scholarliness fracturing in an instant. "This...this demon is your disciple?"

"Impossible!" The word tore from the Kongtong Elder's lips in a ragged gasp as she stumbled back, her steel fan slipping from numb fingers to clang uselessly against the tiles. "The mighty Kunlun Sect would never-"

"By the heavens..." another Elder muttered, their face drained of all color, suddenly as pale and bloodless as ancient parchment.

Finally, Elder Tan of the Kunlun Sect steeled himself enough to step forward, his gaze flickering with barely-restrained unease between Ji Wuye's sneering visage and the horrified expressions of the other sect Elders.

His long black hair stood in stark contrast to his snow-white beard and mustache, while the deep scar carving from the corner of his mouth up towards his forehead lent his weathered features a fierce, forbidding cast.

Yet in this moment, Tan's awkward stance and the stormy conflict playing out behind his eyes betrayed the roiling tempest of pride, sorrow, anger and utter bafflement that burned within him - none of which he could find the words to properly articulate.

"We...we can try to explain," he began at last, the words laden with discomfort, as though speaking them physically pained him.

"This...is indeed our disciple." A weighty pause followed, during which Tan seemed to struggle against some invisible burden weighing on his very soul. "Though his...current actions are most unexpected, to say the least." His voice faltered, trailing off into tense silence as conflicting emotions.

"Unexpected?" The word dripped like venom from the Huashan Elder's lips as his weathered features contorted in an enraged snarl, despite his now weakened state. "You call this mere 'unexpected', Elder? A disciple openly holding one of his own masterly Elders hostage?"

SHRILL!

Once again, that shrill, reverberating tone sliced through the tension blanketing the courtyard - the sharp, metallic report of zither strings being forcefully plucked. All eyes snapped towards Elder Qiao, her frame poised with preternatural stillness, her slender young fingers still hovering over the strings of her towering zither.

Her narrowed eyes swept across the gathered Elders, pinning each of them in place with a mere flickering glance before at last settling on Ji Wuye's bloodied form.

"I think there has been a misunderstanding here..." Her papery voice sliced through the ringing silence with cold clarit. "Is that correct...Little Brother Ji?"