Wang Xiaobo’s jian slammed into the Spring Rain Mirror, crashing through it as if He Yu’s defensive technique didn’t exist. At least He Yu had the prescience of the Cloud Emperor’s Peerless Judgment, the agility of the Empyrean Ninefold Body Tempering, and the raw speed of the Sky Dragon’s Flight.

He yanked himself back on wings of wind, heaven qi crackling over his robe, along his skin, and down the length of his guandao. In an instant he was outside Wang Xiaobo’s reach. In another instant, Wang Xiaobo had closed the gap again.

A storm of metal, heavy with killing intent, rained down on He Yu. A thousand blades fell from every possible angle, each of them gleaming razor sharp. Heaven’s fury answered, arcing from ground to sky to blade. Some blades shattered. Others were turned away by He Yu’s desperate formations of the Spring Rain Mirror. More still missed him completely, as he used the full extent of his speed and agility to dodge what he could.

The greatest number cut.

They opened his flesh and spilled his blood. The most superficial of his wounds, he healed. Healing drained precious qi, but what else could he do? The moment Wang Xiaobo attacked, He Yu found himself on the back foot. Momentum was so critical in a fight, and Wang Xiaobo had it all.

A short distance away, Li Heng fared little better. His ancestral jian gleamed with silver light as he beat back a series of powerful blows from Xin Lu’s double halberd. Flames exploded from each impact, and thunder roared as heaven’s light flashed. Li Heng appeared just out of Xin Lu’s reach and released the light from his jian.

A river of silver—heavier than He Yu had ever felt from his friend and laden with killing intent—surged forward. Xin Lu met it with a one-handed thrust from his halberd. A vortex of flame warped the air around the weapon, and Li Heng’s technique scattered into a spray of silver like a dusting of snow.

Xin Lu leaped. Flames all but consuming him as he sailed across the distance separating him and Li Heng. Although Li Heng flashed away with the White Hare Dance once again, he got caught by the explosion of fire and lightning that followed. That single attack obliterated the portion of the hill they’d been standing on. Before the debris had finished falling, Xin Lu blasted after Li Heng like a comet from the heavens.

This was too much. Maybe if it had been He Yu and Li Heng against one of them, they might have been able to create an opportunity to escape. Perhaps they could have driven their opponent off, making the cost of victory greater than what they were willing to pay. Certainly not win—it was only by heaven’s fortune that things had worked out so well when He Yu and Tan Xiaoling had fought the mine overseer, a middle stage Golden Core. Against two late-stage Golden Cores at once? They had no chance.

What other choice did they have, though? They couldn’t run. If there had been a time for negotiation, that time had clearly passed. What else could they do but fight? If this was how his legend ended, then so be it. It would end with him on his feet, fighting until the last.

The same rightness he’d first felt during the tournament settled over him again. Yes, this was how he needed to move, to act. So what if it was overwhelming odds? So what if he saw no clear path to victory? A hero stood regardless, and a legend fought on. If he acted like he had back in those first days when he had cowered in fear of a foe stronger than himself, he would never become who he was meant to.

His cultivation base surged through his meridians. With a formation of the Sweeping Wind, He Yu called on Heaven’s Descending Blade. He layered all of his killing intent into the technique, such as it was. He tapped what ease, what aid he could from his Wayborn Seed. The technique reached out, touched metal, and heaven fell upon the earth.

The sky opened, and the storm spoke. It spoke of rage—of the unfairness of using such greater strength to push around those who could do nothing but endure. It spoke of justice—of the duty that the strong had to those of lesser advancement, to nurture and protect. It spoke of vengeance—for those wronged and oppressed.

Metal screamed and shattered. The thousand shards once aimed at his heart turned away, obliterating the surrounding land. The winds howled; upon their wings, the fury of a storm. The deluge came, drowning the land. The storm broke and brought with it the wrath of heaven, a thunderous drum that brought punishment upon the unjust.

He Yu looked into Wang Xiaobo’s eyes and saw a glimmer of fear. “I will make you claw every last drop of blood from my body before I fall, Wang Xiaobo. You may be stronger than I am. I’m sure you will beat me, but I will not give you an easy victory.”

Wang Xiaobo’s features twisted into a snarl. “I would expect no less of that bitch’s disciple.”

A renewed shriek of heaven and metal and water and wind marked a new exchange. Some distant tiny part of He Yu’s mind not wholly focused on survival marveled at the fact he’d lasted this long. He met Wang Xiaobo blow for blow, the clash of their weapons ringing out across the hills, the scent of lighting and steam and twisted, ruined metal hanging thick in the air.

He Yu moved too late—or perhaps in the wrong way. It didn’t matter. A blade slid through the silk of his sleeve, opened his arm. He grimaced at the warm and wet flow of his blood. It would take more than he could spare to deal with a wound that deep, and he doubted Wang Xiaobo would be so kind as to allow him to take a restorative pill.

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Less than a dozen feet away, Li Heng crashed to the ground. His presence caused the earth beneath him to freeze, and a blast of frigid air rushed out from the impact. Xin Lu rushed the fallen noble, his halberd held high, gathering another vortex of heaven and fire.

He Yu moved without thinking. With qi surging in his meridians fueling both the Sky Dragon’s Flight and the three pillars of the Empyrean Ninefold Body Tempering, he placed himself between Li Heng and Xin Lu. The Spring Rain Mirror flashed into place, and Xin Lu’s halberd smashed through it. He’d expected that—although water overcame fire, Xin Lu was simply too far above him. But since he’d expected it, he’d also prepared for it.

He caught Xin Lu’s weapon with his own. He blasted the flames with a formation of the Bracing Wind. He used every ounce of his strength to turn the double halberd away. In the brief opening he created, with both the halberd and the guandao lodged in the dirt, He Yu lashed out with a kick sparking with heaven aimed at Xin Lu’s midsection.

The other cultivator grunted. The kick hadn’t done much, but it had done exactly what it was supposed to. It had bought Li Heng a precious few heartbeats. With a burst of silver light and snow, Li Heng flashed behind Xin Lu. His jian vanished, the blade turning to little more than a few barely perceptible wisps of frozen mist.

Five black scars opened on the world. The Darkmoon Strife had advanced along with its user, and these dark scars bit even deeper than they had before. A dusting of frost covered Li Heng’s skin, glinting in the afternoon light. Tiny ice crystals dusted his robes. All around him hung the slow death of winter.

For an instant, their eyes met. There passed between them an acknowledgment—one that was devoid of pride or envy. Whatever else lay between them, they looked out for one another. For all the times Li Heng had come to his aid in those early days at the sect, He Yu would return that favor a thousand times and more.

Xin Lu knocked He Yu back and spun on Li Heng. The five wounds on his back were dark with frostbite. Even his late Fourth Realm presence, with its heat and flame, had proved insufficient against the attack. He readied for a wide horizontal sweep with his halberd, gathering qi for a technique laden with killing intent.

“Don’t turn your back on him!” came a shout from Wang Xiaobo.

He Yu had already launched his own technique—a combined assault with the Crashing Wind and Heaven’s Descending Blade. Opposite him, Li Heng barely matched Xin Lu’s attacks. Although his dantian felt empty, and he had so little qi left to give, he would give it all for Li Heng, if that’s what it took.

When his overhand strike was still in mid swing, Wang Xiaobo slammed into him.

The razor-cold steel of Wang Xiaobo’s jian slid between He Yu’s ribs, puncturing a lung. Pain exploded in his side. It seared through his nerves. He dropped to one knee, his guandao hitting the ground beside him with a clattering clang. A foot slammed into his face.

From somewhere impossibly distant, Li Heng gave a wordless shout. Black crept in on the edges of He Yu’s vision. He struggled to breathe as he desperately cycled qi to his injured lung. He groped around next to him for his guandao. A blade severed the tendons in his arm.

“Looks like I’ll get my satisfaction,” Wang Xiaobo said. Killing intent hung thick in the air.

A muffled thud marked something heavy landing next to He Yu. It was Li Heng. Although he couldn’t see well through the encroaching darkness and the pain, he didn’t think Li Heng would be in much better shape than he was. He Yu tried once more to cycle his qi, to enforce his body, maybe even manage to get away with his movement technique.

Wang Xiaobo kicked him in the ribs on his injured side. Bone shattered and shredded what was left of his lung. A gleaming blade pressed against his throat.

“Stop,” came the low, steady voice of Xin Lu.

“You can’t be serious,” Wang Xiaobo snapped. He hadn’t removed the blade.

“If you kill him, how do you think the sect will respond? Killing a junior, and while he was on an assignment from the sect? They’ll expel us and brand us outlaws. And what about Zhang Lifen? That would remove her fetters. She’ll be expected to exact vengeance upon us for killing her disciple. Absent any protection from the sect, she will hunt us down. You know her as well as I, brother. Do you think for an instant she will let this stand?”

“I do know her,” Wang Xiaobo shot back. “You expect me to believe she cares for one instant what happens to some baby Fourth Realm? Disciple or no?”

“Whether she cares what happens is irrelevant. She’d be forced to act, if only to save face.”

The blade was finally removed, but not before drawing a trickle of blood across his throat.

“What about the Li? We could kill him, and Zhang Lifen would have no cause to pursue us for it.”

“And the sect? Besides, you think Li Bao would stand by and allow the death of his son and heir to go unpunished? Do you think Li Renshu would remain in seclusion? Would you bet the life of your patriarch against the life of this whelp? The position of your clan?”

Silence hung in the air as He Yu struggled to breathe. After an agonizing amount of time, Wang Xiaobo spoke again.

“Right as always, brother.”

“We’ve sent our message,” Xin Lu said. “They know where things stand. Let them recover or die as their strength permits. We can claim that we left them alive. Divinations will show the truth of it, and if they die after we leave, we can hardly be blamed. If they return? There’s no reason we can’t keep denying the both of them resources.”

Wang Xiaobo laughed and spoke his agreement. Perhaps the worst part of it all was the way the two of them laughed and joked with one another as they left. They hadn’t even bothered to claim tokens of victory. It was so abundantly clear—now that Wang Xiaobo’s blood-lust had been mitigated, He Yu and Li Heng were simply beneath consideration. Beneath even looting for spoils. Beneath attention, beneath thought.

He Yu didn’t know how long he lay there, staring up at the darkening sky, struggling to breathe, and cycling what little qi he had left He Yu could do little more than listen for his friend. It took some time, but eventually, he heard Li Heng’s faint breaths.

Finally, he allowed his eyes to close. He was too drained at this point to move. Really, he couldn’t be bothered to care anymore. Although he hadn’t quite given as tough a fight to Wang Xiaobo as he would have liked—he hadn’t backed down. If anything, the boy who’d first come to the Shrouded Peaks Sect and spent months cowering in fear of a stronger foe was truly dead and buried.

Li Heng was alive and, for the time being, so was he. That was good enough as far as He Yu was concerned. He didn’t know for how long he lay there like that. Face to the sky, simply cycling what little he had left. At least a day, by his count. At least a day before a trio of familiar presences entered his spiritual perception.

A shadow, a desert, and a mountain drew close. He Yu cracked open his eyes. Chen Fei knelt next to him. He didn’t even bother when she pushed a restorative pill into his mouth. He simply bit down, and for the first time since the fight, felt a healthy surge of qi in his meridians.