The night was supposed to be peaceful. Instead, it was painted in blood.
A Silver Lotus disciple patrolling the outer perimeter never had the chance to scream. His body stiffened mid-step, his Qi violently disrupted from within. A split second later, he collapsed, lifeless. His soul had been shaken out of his body, severed before he could even react.
A second guard found him moments later. His eyes widened in horror, but before he could raise an alarm, a shadow lunged from the darkness. He barely managed a strangled gasp before he, too, fell.
The Shengong Sect had begun their assault.
The silence shattered as a third guard saw the bodies and ran, screaming toward the Grand Hall.
"We're under attack!"
The sect erupted into chaos. Doors flung open, disciples stumbled out of their rooms, half-dressed, scrambling for their weapons. Within minutes, warriors were assembling, forming defensive lines as the enemy flooded into the sect grounds.
Layla, jolted awake, already on her feet, gripping her sword.
Meyu, who had been sleeping beside her, groaned, blinking sleep from her eyes.
"What is happening?"
Layla was already moving. "Get your weapons. We're at war."
Despite the ambush, Layla was fast.
Her mind clicked into strategy mode.
She divided their forces instantly, Jiang & Bao were Sent to hold the frontline, engaging the strongest fighters. Meyu & the Ryl Trading workers were positioned defensively to hold key locations. Lin Wuye & Elders to ngaged the strongest Shengong masters and for New Recruits to reinforced wherever needed.
"Defensive lines! Keep your distance!" Layla barked.
Shengong fighters rushed in, brutal and efficient. Their Qi struck like needles, unravelling Silver Lotus warriors from the inside. Some fell instantly, their bodies convulsing. Others barely held on, struggling against the attacks.
The war has begun.
Amidst the chaos, Layla found herself facing one of the stronger Shengong fighters—Xun.
His attacks were relentless, each strike sharper and faster than the last. Layla parried and countered, their blades clashing in a deadly dance.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
But as their swords met, a strange sensation flooded her body—her soul wavered, as if being ripped from within, then violently snapped back into place.
Layla barely managed to parry in time, gritting her teeth as the unnatural disturbance surged through her.
She understood it.
"Their Qi disrupts the soul!" she shouted over the battlefield. "Don't let them hit you directly!"
Xun adjust his blade as he pressed forward. Layla's movements became sharper, faster—Gale Step One, Whispering Breeze, made her footwork elusive, allowing her to narrowly evade his strikes. Her body twisted like flowing wind, avoiding his blade by mere inches.
She countered with Gale Step Two, Rushing Wind, her speed doubling as she forced Xun onto the defensive. He barely had time to parry before Layla seamlessly wove her Rot Qi into her blade, her strikes leaving faint, decaying embers in the air.
Xun's smirk faltered as his sword vibrated in his grip, corroding from the Rot's touch.
Layla saw the advantage, feinting left before twisting her blade upward, sending a slashing shockwave of compressed wind. Xun dodged, but Layla was already there, her blade carving toward his exposed ribs.
Then—she felt it again. That sickening pull inside her.
Her soul wavered. Her vision blurred for a second as Xun's Qi assaulted her from within.
As if her body was no longer hers. Well as if it was anyways
Gritting her teeth, Layla forced herself back into control, parrying just in time.
"You're good" Xun admitted, shaking out his tingling hand.
"But how long can you fight when your very soul is against you?"
Layla exhaled sharply, her grip tightening. ''Then I just have to kill you before that happens.''
Xun raised his blade, his Qi swirling violently around him. "Then try. Soul-Rending Claw."
A chilling aura burst forth as his fingers curled into a claw-like stance, dark Qi spiralling around his hand like wisps of shadow. He lunged, his strike aimed not at her body—but at her very soul.
Layla sidestepped, feeling the distortion in the air as his claw nearly grazed her shoulder. Even without direct contact, a wave of nausea hit her. It felt like something inside her was being pulled out.
She had no time to process it. Xun was already moving again, blade flashing toward her throat.
Layla met him head-on, her instincts and training taking over. Two minutes of pure, relentless combat followed.
Sparks flew as their swords clashed over and over, both refusing to give an inch. Layla moved like the wind, her Gale techniques making her footwork impossible to track, but Xun countered every maneuver with his own brutal efficiency.
His claws lashed out again, forcing Layla to pivot mid-air, barely escaping the consuming void of his attack. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
I can't drag this out.
Then, she saw it—a single opening and she took it.
Layla unleashed Gale Step Three: Gale's Kiss, a powerful wind pressure erupting around her sword. But instead of simply launching it forward, she infused it with her Rot Qi.
A sickening howl filled the battlefield as her blade tore through the air, the sheer force ripping apart the ground beneath them. The very atmosphere twisted as a violent shockwave detonated behind Xun, blasting apart the battlefield behind him.
Xun's eyes widened in horror as he tried to leap away, but his body was already failing. She stabbed him in that opening and withered his body.
His flesh began to wither from the inside, his veins darkening as decay rapidly spread through his limbs. He gasped, dropping his weapon, his strength failing him as his body collapsed onto the ruined earth.
He looked at her, realization dawning in his fading eyes. "How…?"
Layla exhaled, lowering her sword. "You talk too much."
Then, Xun's body rotted away completely, leaving nothing but dust on the wind.
Near the courtyard, Zhu Fen, the youngest disciple, was cornered. He had been helping evacuate non-combatants when a Shengong warrior spotted him.
"No—" Zhu Fen stumbled back, his small hands trembling as he raised his blade.
The enemy's sword flashed but Elder Jian Bo was there first.
The old man stepped in front of the blow, taking the strike directly to his chest. Feeling his soul being ripped out
Why did I do it?
Jian Bo had lived sixty long years, surviving wars, betrayals, and hardship. He had seen empires rise and fall, watched men break under the weight of their ambition, and endured pain far beyond what most could imagine. And yet, here he was, throwing himself into a strike he could not withstand.
He had only recently begun to grasp mathematics and business, studying under Atlas's influence, a strange but amusing distraction from a lifetime of battle. Numbers made sense in ways people did not. There was always an answer, an equation to solve, a balance to maintain.
But there was no equation to measure the worth of a life.
Zhu Fen is still young. He still have time to become something greater, to carry on what I could not.
So, for the first time in sixty years, he didn't think. He simply moved.
As the blade sank into his chest, pain blossomed like fire, but Jian Bo did not fall. He stood, firm as the mountains, his grip on his weapon steady.
His old eyes met Zhu Fen's wide, horrified gaze.
The boy still had so much to learn.
"Live, boy" he rasped, forcing a smile. "Become stronger than me."
Zhu Fen's scream was drowned in the chaos.
AGHHHHHHHH!!!!
Jian Bo coughed, blood spilling from his lips, but he did not fall. His grip on his weapon was steady. He turned, his old eyes meeting Zhu Fen's eyes and died with a faint smile in his lips.
And he died. Zhu Fen was frozen in shock.
Jian Bo had always been a little odd—strict but never cruel, wise yet prone to the occasional long-winded lecture about things Zhu Fen never fully understood. Despite that, he had been kind.
When Zhu Fen arrived at Silver Lotus as an orphan, barely able to hold a wooden sword, it was Jian Bo who took him in, who taught him the basics of combat, discipline, and survival. The elder had become his father when he had none.
Jian Bo made sure he ate when he forgot, scolded him when he slacked off, and praised him—quietly—when he did well. Zhu Fen knew he wasn't the strongest disciple, but under Jian Bo's guidance, he had felt like he had a place. Like he belonged.
And now, his father figure lay bleeding before him.
The enemy warrior raised his sword for the final strike to kill Zhu Fen.