Flint stood steadily on Sage South Rain's sword as they soared through the air. The Legend cultivator, mindful of her novice passenger, maintained a smooth and steady flight that barely disturbed the hem of Flint's robes. Rain's ethereal presence seemed to merge with the surrounding mist, her flowing black hair adorned with silver hairpins catching the occasional glint of sunlight.
As they descended within the sect's boundaries, Rain gracefully dismissed her sword. The two transitioned to walking, their footsteps echoing through the pristine corridors of the Heaven-Piercing Grand Hall. Rain led the way with the same measured grace that characterized her flight, her plain white robes a stark contrast to the ornate architecture surrounding them.
The Inner Sect chamber they entered radiated ancient power, its space occupied by Master and Legend level elders whose mere presence made the air heavy with spiritual energy. In the center of the chamber knelt Spark, his dark gray hair neatly tied back in its wolf-tail style, performing the formal discipleship ceremony before Sage North Thunder. The elder's ethereal demeanor was amplified by his neatly trimmed black goatee and the dignified way he received his potential disciple's respects.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, all eyes turned toward the entrance. Spark's golden wolf-like eyes widened the moment they landed on Flint, the carefully maintained formality of his expression cracking. "Flint..." The name escaped his lips before he could stop himself, hanging in the ceremonial silence of the chamber. His face flushed with embarrassment as he caught himself, still kneeling before his potential master. He pressed his lips together, acutely aware of how his momentary lapse had disrupted the solemn atmosphere of the ceremony.
The discipleship ceremony drew to its close as Sage North Thunder helped Spark to his feet, his ethereal bearing softening with the hint of a mentor's pride. "From this day forward, you are my disciple," he declared, his resonant voice carrying the weight of tradition. "You must cultivate diligently and never grow complacent in your practice."
His gaze then shifted to Sage South Rain, noting her tranquil presence at the chamber's entrance. "What brings you here, Sage South Rain?"
A gentle smile graced Rain's features, her clear eyes holding a quiet warmth. "This is Flint Winter," she gestured elegantly to her companion. "She has become my Bloodbond Beast through a Blood Contract. I wish to keep her here at the Celestial Sword Sect to assist with her training."
The elder in charge of disciple admissions nodded in understanding. It was a common practice within the Celestial Sword Sect for elders of Master rank and above to bring their contracted spiritual beasts who had achieved human form to train alongside regular disciples. The sect's rules permitted each elder to sponsor one such beast, allowing these rare beings to cultivate their powers within the sacred grounds just as any other disciple would.
The admission elder's eyes swept over Flint with renewed interest, recognizing that her presence here wasn't merely as a visitor but as an extension of Sage South Rain's own authority within the sect. Meanwhile, Spark's golden eyes darted between his new master and Flint, his expression a complex mixture of surprise and something deeper he couldn't quite conceal.
Flint and Spark followed the Adept Level disciple through the sect's corridors, their footsteps echoing in the shared silence between them. Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Spark turned to Flint. "You're a spiritual beast?" His golden eyes searched her face intently.
Flint shook her head, her calm demeanor unchanged. "No, I'm not. But Blood Contracts aren't limited to spiritual beasts alone."
"How long did you sign for?" Spark pressed, his voice carrying an undercurrent of concern beneath his usual controlled tone.
"Twenty years," Flint replied matter-of-factly. "Sage South Rain said she hopes I can reach Adept Level before leaving the Celestial Sword Sect."
"Why would she suddenly help you?" Spark's brow furrowed, the question reflecting deeper uncertainties.
Before he could voice the numerous other questions swirling in his mind, the guiding disciple led them to the registration area. Two luminescent panels floated in the air before them, their surfaces shimmering with an ethereal light. Flint and Spark stepped forward to their respective panels, each recording their personal information on the glowing surfaces.
The Adept Level disciple made a few graceful gestures, manipulating the natural aura that powered the registration system. The screens flickered before displaying their dormitory assignments: Male Dormitory Building B, Room 312 for Spark, and Female Dormitory Building A, Room 506 for Flint.
Throughout the process, Spark's golden eyes occasionally drifted toward Flint, his expression suggesting that his earlier questions were far from answered.
The Adept Level disciple informed them that their training would commence tomorrow, suggesting they take the rest of the day to settle in and rest. Their words carried the practiced tone of someone who had guided many new arrivals through this process.
As they walked back, Flint explained the situation to Spark. "Sage South Rain found it intriguing that I have Deficient spirit roots in all six elements," she said with her characteristic calm. "She wants to study this phenomenon."
Spark listened, his golden eyes reflecting thoughtful consideration. Though the reasoning struck him as peculiar—after all, Deficient spirit roots were typically seen as a limitation rather than a point of interest—he nodded in acceptance. The simple gesture carried more weight than his words could have conveyed.
As they continued walking, Spark felt an unexpected lightness in his chest. The earlier heaviness that had settled in his heart at the thought of Flint potentially leaving had begun to dissipate. The knowledge that she would be staying, even under these unusual circumstances, brought him a sense of relief he hadn't anticipated. His mood lifted noticeably, though he maintained his composed exterior as they made their way through the sect's grounds.
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across their path, its golden light reminiscent of Spark's eyes as he occasionally glanced at his companion, his mind already adjusting to the idea of them both training at the Celestial Sword Sect together.
———
As Flint stood before the training puppet, sweat beading on her forehead despite the cool morning air, she tried once again to channel natural aura as her instructor had demonstrated. The practice sword lay motionless on the ground, as unresponsive as a broken compass. Her usually calm demeanor showed tiny cracks of frustration—a slight furrow between her brows, a barely perceptible tightening of her fingers.
Five days had passed since her arrival at the Celestial Sword Sect, and each attempt at cultivation felt like trying to catch mist with bare hands. Even in the Aura Meditation Grounds, where natural aura was supposed to be at its most accessible, she remained untouched by its power. Meanwhile, Spark and Seedling seemed to breathe it in effortlessly, their top-tier spirit roots drawing in streams of natural aura until it wreathed them in ethereal fog. Spark's golden eyes would occasionally drift her way during these sessions, a flicker of concern passing through them before he returned to his own practice.
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The recent arrival of Pierce Everett had caused quite a stir within the sect. A human with a top-tier spirit root was like finding a pearl in a mountain of stones—far rarer than among spiritual beasts. The news that he'd become the Sect Leader, Sage East Cloud's disciple had spread through the sect like wildfire, but Flint could barely muster interest in the gossip. Her thoughts remained fixed on her own predicament, each failed attempt at cultivation weighing heavier than the last.
Flint gazed at the unmoving practice sword, her fingers still resting lightly on the communication jade tablet in her sleeve. Should she contact Sage South Rain? After a moment's consideration, she let her hand drop away. Even Sage South Rain, with all her knowledge as a Legend cultivator, seemed puzzled by the phenomenon of six Deficient spirit roots. If her new master had discovered anything meaningful about this unusual condition, she would surely reach out to Flint directly.
In the bustling sect dining hall, Flint sat across from Spark, her chin propped on her hand as she drifted in thought. Though she had no spirit stones to purchase food—nor any real need for sustenance—she found herself here regularly as Spark always brought extra portions to share. She could taste the flavors just fine, but her troubled thoughts about her cultivation struggles made even the most carefully prepared dishes seem bland.
Spark's golden eyes flickered between his food and Flint's distant expression. While his coin purse had been stolen recently, the mundane currency meant little compared to his true wealth. A jade pendant ring hung at his waist, its circular form containing what appeared to be a luminescent blue liquid—his spirit stones in their pure essence form. The fluid nearly filled the ring's interior, with just a small gap at the top, testament to his considerable savings. As he watched Flint push her food around listlessly, his fingers absently traced the smooth surface of the jade pendant, a habit he'd developed when deep in thought.
His calm tone carried an undertone of concern as he stated instead of asking, "You're thinking about the training again."
Flint's eyes refocused, meeting his gaze. "Is it that obvious?" A slight smile touched her lips, though it didn't reach her eyes.
Heat crept into Spark's ears as he realized his attempt to hide his feelings had failed. He coughed, trying to regain composure and maintain his usual cool demeanor. "Well, you've been staring at that same piece of vegetable for the past five minutes. Either the cooking is particularly fascinating today, or something's bothering you."
A commotion erupted from across the dining hall, drawing Flint's attention from her contemplation. She listened carefully—it seemed Seedling and the newly arrived Pierce Everett were in some sort of altercation.
"What's going on?" Spark's curiosity was piqued as well. He turned to a passing disciple to inquire about the situation.
The disciple explained eagerly: Pierce had been dining when Seedling passed by his table. He'd haughtily accused her of letting her fox tail hang out, claiming fox fur had gotten into his food. He'd gone on to complain about why the Celestial Sword Sect would allow such uncouth spiritual beasts to join their ranks.
Spark's expression darkened at hearing this. He hadn't yet revealed his spiritual beast traits since arriving at the Celestial Sword Sect—only the elders who had escorted him, a few disciples, and Flint knew of his true nature. While this had kept his identity as a spiritual beast from becoming common knowledge, Pierce's disparaging remarks about spiritual beasts stirred anger within him.
Flint noticed the subtle tension in Spark's jaw, the way his fingers had stilled their tracing of the jade pendant. His golden eyes, usually maintaining their aristocratic composure, now held a carefully controlled flame of indignation. She watched as he struggled to maintain his dignified bearing while clearly fighting the urge to confront Pierce's prejudice.
"Such narrow-minded views from someone supposedly talented enough to be the Sect Leader's disciple," Spark finally remarked, his voice carrying the practiced neutrality of someone used to masking their true feelings behind courtly manners. Yet there was an edge to his words, sharp as a wolf's fangs beneath silk.
Flint observed the scene with her characteristic calm, though her eyes held a glimmer of concern as they shifted between Spark's controlled anger and the ongoing confrontation across the hall. She knew all too well how deeply such prejudices could cut, especially for someone like Spark who took such care to maintain his noble bearing despite his spiritual beast nature.
The dining hall's atmosphere had grown thick with tension, the usual peaceful meal time transformed by the clash of pride and prejudice. Through it all, Spark's golden eyes never left his food, though his knuckles had grown white around his chopsticks—a subtle tell that only those who knew him well, like Flint, would notice.
The next moment, a voice cut through the hall that made Flint's entire body tense.
It was Pierce Everett's arrogant drawl: "Not all spiritual beasts have high affinity for natural aura. There's that worthless one with Deficient spirit roots in all elements who was let in, wasn't there? What was the name... Flint?"
The sound of splintering wood punctuated his words as the chopsticks in Spark's hand suddenly snapped. He rose from his seat, all pretense of composure abandoned, and strode toward the source of the commotion. Something dangerous flickered in his golden eyes—a glimpse of the wolf beneath his human form. Flint, recognizing the barely contained fury in his movements, quickly followed after him.
As they approached, Seedling stood her ground before Pierce, her white fox tail bristling with indignation. Her purple eyes narrowed at Pierce's sneering face, while her modified sect robes rustled with the agitated movement of her tail. The surrounding disciples had created a small circle around them, drawn by the spectacle of the Sect Leader's disciple confronting the openly proud Wind-Charm Fox.
Pierce's refined features twisted with disdain as he noticed Spark's approach. The cold pride in his silver-blue phoenix eyes met the burning gold of Spark's gaze. The aristocratic tilt of his chin became more pronounced, his partially swept-up black hair catching the light as he turned to face this new challenger.
"You speak of things you don't understand," Spark's voice came out low and controlled, but with an underlying growl that made several nearby disciples step back instinctively. His noble bearing remained, but now it carried an edge of predatory grace that was impossible to ignore.
Flint moved closer to Spark's side, her calm exterior masking her concern. She could sense the tension radiating from him—the careful control he'd maintained since arriving at the sect was dangerously close to shattering. While Pierce's words about her had stung, she worried more about what Spark might do in his anger. His carefully hidden identity as a spiritual beast hung by a thread, and Pierce's prejudiced remarks were pulling at that thread with dangerous force.
Pierce's arrogance didn't waver at Spark's arrival. "I don't understand?" His phoenix eyes slid dismissively to Flint standing beside Spark. "So this is Flint? Don't tell me she's the wolf prince's little girlfriend?" His silver-blue eyes glittered with malice. "A worthless one who got in through connections. The Celestial Sword Sect has truly fallen from its former glory... I wonder who proposed such a ridiculous idea... Sage North Thunder, wasn't it?"
The double insult—against both Flint and his master—sent Spark's fury to new heights. His breathing became rapid and shallow as natural aura began to gather around his hand, coalescing into light energy. But just as he prepared to strike, a gentle breeze brushed against his hand.
Strange—Pierce stood with his arms crossed, clearly not the source of that wind. Spark looked up to find Seedling behind Pierce, subtly shaking her head in warning. Her purple eyes, still fierce with her own anger, nonetheless held a clear message of restraint. Her white fox ears twitched slightly, catching sounds that the human disciples couldn't hear.
The dining hall had grown deathly quiet. The natural aura Spark had gathered still swirled around his hand, reflecting the golden fury in his eyes. Yet Seedling's warning gave him pause—she, another spiritual beast who had chosen to live openly with her true nature, seemed to be trying to tell him something important.
Pierce remained oblivious to this silent exchange, his aristocratic features arranged in a mask of cultivated disdain. The jade hairpin in his topknot caught the light as he tilted his head, regarding Spark's barely contained rage with the detached interest of someone watching an insect struggle.
Flint observed the scene with her characteristic calm, though her eyes darted between Spark's tensed form and Seedling's warning gesture. Something in Seedling's demeanor suggested she had a deeper reason for preventing this confrontation—perhaps something beyond mere sect rules about fighting.
The natural aura in the hall continued to fluctuate with the emotional tension, creating subtle disturbances that only the more sensitive cultivators could detect. The situation balanced on a knife's edge, with Spark caught between his fury at Pierce's insults and the mysterious warning from a fellow spiritual beast.
However, in that dangerous moment of tension, something unexpected shattered the balance. Seedling moved behind Pierce, gathering natural aura until it coalesced into a fierce whirlwind. The sudden tempest lifted Pierce into the air, his aristocratic composure finally breaking as he was unceremoniously hurled out of the dining hall. Tables and chairs toppled in the chaos, food scattered across the floor, and nearby disciples braced themselves against the powerful gusts.
The violent surge of natural aura immediately triggered the sect's warning puppets. Several Adept-Level disciples rushed in, followed by a contingent of defensive puppets. Rather than try to hide or make excuses, Seedling stepped forward from the crowd with characteristic directness, her white fox tail swaying confidently behind her.
"I did it," she announced to the approaching Adept-Level disciples, her purple eyes clear and unwavering. "I'll accept whatever punishment is due."
She paused as she reached Flint's side, her white wavy hair still dancing from the residual energy of her wind attack. Turning to Flint with a bright smile that lit up her fox-like features, she added, "Wait for me. I promise I'll help you find a way to cultivate."
The sincerity in Seedling's voice carried through the chaos of the aftermath. Her fox ears stood proud and alert, showing no sign of regret for her actions. The natural grace of her Wind-Charm Fox heritage showed in every movement as she prepared to follow the Adept-Level disciples, her modified sect robes flowing around her as if still caught in a gentle breeze.
Spark stood frozen, his earlier rage replaced by surprise at Seedling's decisive action. His golden eyes tracked between the hole in the dining hall wall where Pierce had exited and Seedling's retreating form, a new respect dawning in his expression for their fellow spiritual beast who had chosen such a direct method of dealing with prejudice.
Flint watched this unfold with her usual calm demeanor, though something flickered in her eyes at Seedling's promise—perhaps a spark of hope, or maybe just appreciation for this unexpected ally who had defended her in such a dramatic fashion.