Chen Fei had always known He Yu was strong. Stronger than he gave himself credit for. She’d seen him fight Xiaoling during the tournament. She’d seen him train with Zhang Lifen, with Xiaoling, and more recently, with Li Heng.

This was different. Each of his blows was heavy with the fury of his spirit and his killing intent in a way they’d never been in training. Sure, Senior Sister Zhang had implored them all to train at full strength, and He Yu always had. But there was some quality to him now that had never been present then.

The moment He Yu and Cui Bao met each other in combat, the four Third Realms rushed forward. Chen Fei summoned the Titan Panoply, the third stage of the White Mountain Body Art. Her spirit rose to the heavens and reached deep into the earth. From within the effects of her presence, she felt like she was looking down on the world from an impossibly tall peak—capped in snow and thrumming with the eternal power of an immovable mountain.

She drew strength and vitality from the earth. Metal flowed through her meridians, and her skin became harder than stone or steel. The suit of spiritual armor formed around her, encasing and protecting her. She became the mountain—the perfect alignment and combination of earth and metal.

The first of Cui Bao’s followers reached her. He carried a pair of butterfly swords, and moved with respectable speed. People always thought she’d be slower than she really was.

She drew back a fist and cycled qi into the Eternal Mountain Root. The instant she connected with his chest, she activated her family art, the Seventy-Two Blessed Symbols. A single formation character imprinted itself upon the world, and the Third Realm blasted backwards and away from her. She grimaced and mentally apologized to him. Then she reminded herself that nobody had told them to attack her. It wasn’t her fault—they could have sat this out if they’d really wanted to.

The rightness of her assessment settled over her, as her thoughts and her actions resonated with her Wayborn Seed. They had been the ones to attack, and He Yu had told her to look out for Zhu Feng. If she needed to stand between these four and the alchemist, then that was what she would do.

The second reached her, carrying a large, iron banded club. She took a hit on one of her formation barriers and ducked inside his guard. Once more she drew from the earth. A dull golden shimmer of mountain qi gathered around her fist, warping the very air. An uppercut sent the Third Realm stumbling backwards.

The first of the Third Realms that she’d hit was back on his feet. Just as he rushed forward a second time, dozens of black tendrils of shadow burst from the nearby undergrowth and pulled him into an ever-expanding mass of darkness. She allowed herself to relax a bit at that—although she was mostly confident she’d be able to endure all of Cui Bao’s followers, she’d hoped that she wouldn’t have to. It was still hard for her to hurt people, after all.

At least that’s what she told herself as one of their jaws shattered beneath her fist.

* * *

Zhu Feng wasn’t suited for combat. He shot another worried glance up from the table and out the ruined workshop door. If he’d needed any reminder of why that was the case, it was clashing of the Fourth Realm presences just outside. Oh, sure. He was late Body Refining, and all his mentors and seniors assured him it was only a matter of time before he reached Golden Core. He desperately wished that he’d pushed himself harder and had reached it already.

Not that he could participate in that, however. No, he simply wished he was at Golden Core so that it didn’t take cycling every last drop of qi into his presence to remain on his feet in the face of their clash.

He’d known He Yu wasn’t normal. He’d seen what that kid had done while he was still at Body Refining to the arena in the final round against the Jade Princess. The mere thought that only two years later he was—by all accounts—early Golden Core was absurd. Zhu Feng had known plenty of Golden Cores over the years. That fire cultivator, that was what a Golden Core was supposed to feel like.

If Zhu Feng hadn’t known better, he’d have assumed He Yu was middle stage, at least. He knew better, of course, but he was having a hard time believing it. He was also having a hard time believing that He Yu, practically a child still, was this strong already. Zhu Feng was a good fifteen years older than him. Maybe if he were a bit more normal, it would have been easier to take.

Stuffing the last of whatever he thought might be of value from this slaughterhouse masquerading as a workshop into his storage treasure, Zhu Feng shot another glance outside. If he hadn’t witnessed it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it to be true.

That guandao of his slammed down upon the earth. Wind blasted away from the impact. It left a crater a good six feet across. It kicked up a cloud of dirt and sent chunks of rock flying. A stroke of lightning reached down from the heavens themselves to leave a black scar at the crater’s center. Before the aftermath of that impact had faded, He Yu was already advancing on the fire cultivator with a series of looping sweeps.

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Every single one of those sweeps churned with the power of a howling gale, and sent crescent shaped blades formed of crackling heaven qi arcing forward. The fire cultivator was on the back foot. He put up a good fight, but it was clear to Zhu Feng that this fight was over in practice. Golden Cores could go for days, even when this mismatched, but it was obvious who the stronger party was.

Even Sect Sister Chen, still at peak Body Refining, was engaged in a horrifically one-sided fight against two cultivators at her own stage. And of course she was winning. Sect Brother Yan was off somewhere in the undergrowth, from the feel of his spirit. Presumably dealing with the other two. Quite the achievement for a Yan, all things considered.

Zhu Feng shook his head as he scurried away. Maybe in another decade, with enough elixirs, with enough medicines, and a whole heaping of good fortune, he’d make Golden Core. Even then, he’d never be the monster these three were.

* * *

Yan Shirong faded back from the Third Realm with the butterfly swords. One of his throwing daggers cut a silver line through the darkness that enveloped them both, knocking the sword off its target. Shadows billowed up around him, and the world outside became ephemeral, like so much smoke.

He allowed himself a small smile at that—he was so close to unlocking the full potential of his movement technique, the Darkwalker Shroud. Once he reached Golden Core, he’d be able to step through shadows in truth, becoming wholly insubstantial for the duration of his movement.

The partial use was, for now, good enough. He emerged from the billowing cloak of his presence and sniffed as he pointed two dozen throwing daggers at his opponent’s back. “Trash,” he scoffed as he released them all with a flex of his qi. Sure, the other cultivator was Third Realm, and he blocked a few. But since his training first with Zhang Lifen and more recently Yi Xiurong, there weren’t many Body Refining opponents who could stand against him any longer. That didn’t account for the qi-disrupting poison he’d taken to coating his daggers with, either.

Then there was his presence. A thousand eyes peered out from the darkness all around him. He perceived. Nothing escaped his sight. Of course, he had to shut out the duel between He Yu and Cui Bao. He knew how that would turn out, and the riot of their clashing spirits would only distract him.

Shadows curled around his limbs, and yanked him to the side as the Third Realm in front of him launched into another assault. Yan Shirong tossed another couple dozen daggers at him, then turned his attention to the one with the bow. He plucked the arrow from the string using another twisting limb of shadow. Then blasted him with a spray from the Myriad Black Thorns. Dozens of tiny darts of sharpened shadow pelted the archer. Yan Shirong faded back into the darkness before either of his opponents could get their bearings.

He allowed himself a moment to marvel. It was so easy, now that he’d a Wayborn Seed of his own. The vague impression of eyes that he’d always known were there, lurking within the depths of his presence, had given him something akin to sight before. But now? With such a connection to his Way, they gave him so much more. He had an awareness of everything within the effects of his spirit. As shadows billowed around him, cloaking and hiding him from his foes, he watched.

The archer drew back his string. With the Umbral Puppetmaster, Yan Shirong bound the archer’s limbs. Another barrage of daggers peppered his body. The one with the swords lunged at him, but Yan Shirong had seen it coming. He faded back into the darkness and sent a spray of shadowy thorns at his opponent with a flick of his wrist.

It was almost too easy. Although he may not have the raw offensive power of Chen Fei, let alone He Yu, he would wear these two down. They couldn’t touch him, and he saw their every move before they even made it. The longer this went on, the more time his poison had to do its work and the more things would swing in his favor.

* * *

He Yu’s guandao slammed into the pair of hatchets. Heaven and flame sparked and leaped. Embers sprayed away from the impact, and lightning crawled along He Yu’s weapon and arms. For the second time that day, He Yu locked eyes with Cui Bao.

“The court will use you up like it did Sha Xiang. It’s not too late. Throw down your weapons and surrender yourself, and I’m certain the sect will allow you to return.”

Cui Bao spit in his face.

It was a futile gesture—He Yu only had to flex his spirit a bit, and the spittle blasted away from him. Zhang Lifen’s words rang in his head once again. They weren’t worthy of his mercy. He didn’t want to accept that. But then again, Cui Bao clearly knew what was going on here. Maybe if Cui Bao had actually surrendered, He Yu would have been able to find a justification for sparing him. Bringing him back to the sect could provide valuable information, right?

It was clear Cui Bao had no intention of turning himself over. He probably thought He Yu would treat him in much the same way he would treat He Yu. A defeated opponent to loot and then kill. Since Cui Bao was no longer a member of the sect, he wasn’t protected by sect rules, just as he was no longer bound by them.

Certainty settled over him. He layered his killing intent into Heaven’s Descending Blade and swept his guandao before him. This was a pure formation of the technique, unsupported by the Five Crescent Winds. Sheets of lightning crashed down from heaven, just like he’d seen during his advancement.

He smelled burned flesh, and hardened his heart as Cui Bao stumbled backward, barely catching himself from falling. Pointing his blade at his former sect brother, He Yu cycled his cultivation base. Heaven qi surged through his meridians with the Empyrean Ninefold Body Tempering. Wind curled around his weapon as the Five Crescent Winds wrapped his blade and tugged at his clothes.

“You’ve sealed your fate then,” He Yu said. In the distance, thunder rumbled as he spoke.

“Fuck. You.” Cui Bao spoke through gritted teeth.

Flaring his presence, and summoning all the killing intent he could, Cui Bao righted himself. What was left of the grass and shrubs nearby smoldered, and even some small fires leaped to life. They were quickly extinguished under the weight of He Yu’s superior presence in a burst of steam. Cui Bao still took a step forward. The impression of a fiery red leopard stepped forward with him.

He Yu answered in kind. Lightning surged in the winds and wrapped him, rain fell upon the scorched land. Killing intent pressed down upon them both—coming equally from each. It was the only measure in which they were roughly even.

“Then let us end this,” He Yu said. In his mind’s eye, he saw the Thunder God beating his drum.