Azreal, his shoulder throbbing with pain, leans against a twisted tree as Xiara retrieves a set of bandages from her spatial ring. Her delicate hands, usually so steady when crafting her explosive concoctions, tremble slightly as she approaches, fatigue and shock setting in. Azreal raises his hand to stop her, "I'll be fine in a moment," Azreal says as he watches the wound on his shoulder begin to slowly close over. "My body can heal wounds like this over a short amount of time, it struggles when I am significantly damaged all over, but for one wound like this, my body can handle it. Thank you, Xiara," says Azreal through gritted teeth, the errant Qi from Ming Yue's blade flaring within him.

Nearby, Lilith is crouched next to Darian, a look of concern on her face, "What is with the golden tinge in your eyes?" she asks, "I don't know" replies Darian, as he slumps against a twisted tree trunk, "It's overuse of your cultivation technique, somehow, you over utilised your strength. It's either the prolonged use or you drew too much of your Qi into that last punch" says Azreal, him and Xiara looking over at his poor condition.

"You will need to rest for the rest of the competition, we are out of pills and do not have the time to cultivate," Xiara states, turning her attention to Lilith. "Lilith, what are you planning to do now?" she asks.

"We have to warn the others," she says, her voice thick with emotion. "Nila and Nola... they died because of that monster. We can't let their deaths be in vain."

"The Sect Leader said we are alone in here, they won't come and help until the competition is over. What did he mean?" Azreal asks, his voice strained. "Ming Yue's final words, about his Senior Brother being stronger than him?"

Xiara, placing the bandages back in her spatial ring, her eyes meeting Azreal's with a grim intensity. "I don't know, but if there's someone even more powerful than Ming Yue hidden among the disciples, then no one in this Grove is safe." she admits.

Darian, still weak from his exertion, shakes his head. "And abandon the competition? We've come too far to give up now."

Oh…You're right, we've only seen a few disciples since we started. Wasn't there hundreds when we entered?

"Hey, does anyone else find it weird we haven't run into more disciples since we started?" Azreal asks.

An awkward silence, his question seemingly unrelated, this silence lingers for ten seconds before Xiara's expression becomes darker, "Are you suggesting they've already killed many disciples?" she says.

Lilith and Darian's expressions turn darker as the realisation comes into their mind. "I've seen a fair few groups when we initially teleported in, but the frequency has dwindled. I had thought the disciples went deeper into the Grove, or dispersed through the area," says Lilith.

"I don't believe the Sect Leader or Great Elders, would stand by while an inner disciple murders on mass," Darian chimes in through gritted teeth.

"I think Ming Yue is a member of a cult, the way he spoke and acted, 'A Chosen Echo'. That's what he called himself, has anyone heard the name before?" Azreal asks the group, as he walks over to help Darian stand.

Xiara, Darian and Lilith, shake their heads, "Never. But calling a disciple Chosen is often used by smaller Sects, groups, or cults; they use the title Chosen for their most promising members. It gives a sense of pride to the person and allows the leaders to control their members more effectively" says Xiara.

"If that's the case, then we might be dealing with a cult or group that has infiltrated the Heavenly Root Sect," Azreal says. "And if they're willing to sacrifice their own members, like Ming Yue, then they must have a goal that goes beyond the competition."

Lilith's eyes flash with determination. "Then we finish this," she declares, "for Nila and Nola, for every disciple who's fallen victim to this cult. We stay in the competition, but we stay vigilant. And if we find this Senior Brother..." Her hand tightens around her axe, the promise of retribution clear in her grip.

Azreal nods, helping Darian to his feet. His friend's face is pale, the golden tinge in his eyes a stark reminder of the price he paid to save them. "Agreed," Azreal says, "we finish this, but we watch each other's backs. No one fights alone."

As one, the group moves out, Azreal supports Darian as they navigate their way through well trodden pathways of the Lingxi Grove. The sense of unease grows with each step, the fatigue and anxiety growing in each, only Lilith remains unaffected by fatigue, fuelled by her rage. Somewhere ahead, Azreal knows, a traitor hunts their fellow disciples.

As they venture deeper into the Grove, the signs of recent battles become more frequent. Weapons lie on the floor, Marks on the twisted trees, gouges in the earth that could only have been made by powerful techniques, and most disturbingly, splatters of blood, some of it still fresh.

"Look," Xiara whispers, pointing to a particularly large splatter, "that's not from a beast. That's from a disciple." Azreal's heart beats faster as his grip on Calista tightens. How many disciples have been killed by this cult?

Azreal hands Darian off to Lilith, "Can you support him? I think I see something ahead"

He eyes the area ahead, notices a small trail with blood stains leading behind a small underbrush. Azreal, taking a few steps towards the blood stains, eyes go wide as he notices a figure in the tattered robes of an outer disciple slumped against a tree. "Over there!" he shouts, already sprinting forward.

The others follow, their fatigue momentarily forgotten in the face of this new discovery. As they draw closer, Azreal's heart sinks. The disciple's robes are soaked with blood, his face soaked in blood and tears. "Help..." the disciple rasps, his voice barely above a whisper.

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Azreal moves towards him and kneels beside him, Xiara already rummaging in her spatial ring for any remaining healing pills, only to have her expression turn sour, as she remembers they are completely out.

"What happened?" Azreal asks, trying to keep his voice steady. "What did this do to you?"

The disciple's eyes, already clouding over, lock onto Azreal's. "Disciple..." he whispers, each word an effort. "In the Sect... powerful... after..." His voice trails off, his head falling to the side, a slight trickle of blood from his mouth.

"After what?" Azreal presses, desperation creeping into his voice. "What are they after?" But it's too late. The disciple's eyes stare sightlessly, his last breath a rattle in his throat. Azreal bows his head, a silent prayer for the fallen on his lips.

"Azreal," Lilith says, her voice tight with urgency, "look."

She points to the disciple's hand, still clenched in his bloodied hand. Azreal reaches out, gently prying the fingers open. There, in the palm of his hand is a scrap of bloodstained fabric, a single character embroidered on it in golden thread.

"'Yan'," Azreal reads, his eyes widening. "That's the character for 'Flame'. But why would..."

Xiara, an expression of confusion morphs as realisation dawns on her face. Her mind becomes clear as pieces of the puzzle fall into place with sickening clarity. The attacks on specific disciples, the cult's infiltration…

"They're after Yan Renshu," Xiara says, her voice barely above a whisper. "The Flameborn, an outer disciple whose Fire affinity is far above normal and he is touted to be one of the strongest outer disciples in this year's intake. They must either attempt to recruit him or kill him, he is the best fire cultivator in the outer Sect. That's their target."

A heavy silence falls over the group, the weight of this revelation settling like a physical burden. They know now the stakes, the true scope of the cult's ambition. And they know, with grim certainty, that if they can't find Yan soon, he will be dead or become another member of the cult hiding in our Sect.

"We have to find him," Lilith says, her voice steel. "Before the traitor does."

Azreal nods, rising to his feet. The path ahead is clear now, even if the destination is shrouded in shadow. They will find Yan Renshu, they will protect him, and they will bring this cult to justice.

As they set off deeper into the Lingxi Grove, Azreal's mind races with questions. How long has this cult been infiltrating the Heavenly Root Sect? How many disciples have they already turned or killed? And most importantly, who is the mastermind behind it all?

Azreal's eyes widened at this revelation. "It's not just Yan," he says aloud, drawing the attention of his companions. "I think they're targeting the best disciples in each element or at least the competition."

Xiara's face pales at the implication. "But that would mean..."

"They're not just trying to recruit or eliminate one disciple," Lilith finishes Xiara's sentence as she trails off, her voice grim. "They're trying to get their claws into the Heavenly Root Sect or kill its future if they can't."

A heavy silence falls over the group as they digest this new information. The stakes, already high, have just been raised to a terrifying new level. "We need to warn the Sect Leader," Darian says, his voice strained with pain and urgency. "If the cult succeeds..."

"We will stop them," Azreal says, his voice filled with a determination he didn't know he possessed. "We have to."

They continue on, the twisted paths of the Lingxi Grove seeming to close in around them. Each rustle of leaves, each snap of a twig, sets their nerves on edge. They know now that the danger is not just from the beasts that roam the Grove, but from their fellow disciples as well.

As they round a particularly dense underbrush and twisting of trees, Xiara suddenly stops, raising her hand to halt her team. "Do you hear that?" she whispers, her eyes scanning the undergrowth.

Azreal strains his ears, at first hearing nothing but the usual sounds of the Grove. But then, faintly, the sound of clashing weapons and the crackle of Qi clashing. "A fight," Lilith says, her grip on her axe tightening. "And not far."

They exchange a look, a silent agreement passing between them. Azreal, followed by Xiara, while Lilith still helps Darian move further behind, they move towards the sound, their pace quickening with each step. As they draw closer, the sounds of battle grow louder, shouts and cries of pain.

They burst into a small clearing, similar in size to where they fought the Bloodvine Ent and the scene that greets them is one of chaos and carnage. A team of outer disciples, their robes torn and tattered, are engaged in a bitter battle with a figure clad in black robes, hardly a scratch on them. The figure's face is hidden beneath a hood, but the Qi emanating from him is dark and corrosive, the waves of dark Qi exude from his body in time with his breath.

And there, at the centre of the clearing, is a young man with fiery red hair, wearing the Crimson Sword Pavilion's robes, his hands wreathed in flames as he faces off against the black-robed figure.

"Yan Renshu," Azreal breathes, recognizing the Flameborn disciple from the whispers he's heard around the Sect, activating his Celestial Gaze.

Azreal, surprised by the cultivation level of Yan and the fear on his face, turns his Celestial Gaze to the man clad in black robes.

"Fuck, he is at least mid realm Martial Warrior and mid realm Soul initiate," Azreal warns his team. The black-robed figure turns at the sound of Azreal's voice, his hidden face seeming to focus on the newcomers. "More little roots to be ripped from the ground," Kollik Zhian says, his voice sharp and cold that sends shivers down the team's spine.

Yan, his face streaked with sweat and dirt, glances towards Azreal. "Get out of here!" he shouts, his voice strained with effort. "He's too strong!" But Azreal and his teammates are already moving, their weapons drawn and their Qi surging. Darian, placed against a tree once again, "Stay here, there is no use fighting to save someone if you die before we even begin. Only join if we are at our absolute limits," says Lilith, a firmness in her tone. She readies her massive axe, joining Azreal and Xiara, they know they can't leave Yan to face this threat alone, no matter the risk.

Kollik Zhian, the black-robed man laughs, the sound harsh and vindictive. "Fucking idiots, I have no idea why, the Masters want any of you. You're all useless!" he sneers. "You think you can stand against the Chosen of Echos? You make me sick" Raising both his hands high above his head, his black Qi pulsates and begins to pour from his body, wrapping around his arms and beginning to spill across the canopy, turning the dim bioluminescence into darkness.