Shouts split the forest, tearing through what should have been stillness. Steel rang against air as Xiao Lei twisted, eight figures pressing in from every side. Sweat sprayed from his jawline, scattering like sparks each time he slipped past an attack. His robes hung in tatters, shallow cuts marking his skin, yet his movement remained sharp—driven less by strength than precision.

  A sword arced from the girl in dark-grey robes, the edge flashing as it sought his throat. Xiao Lei bent low, the strike hissing past his ear. He darted left, but the way was sealed—a spear thrust forward, its point aligned with his chest, while a water orb the size of a human head swirled into being beside it. The shimmering sphere pulsed with restrained force, blocking the last thread of escape.

  His breath rasped, rough in his throat. He slipped past the spearhead by a hair and struck with his clawed glove. The jagged talons split the water orb in a burst of droplets that sprayed across his face. Shoulders heaving, he exhaled hard. His rhythm faltered—fraying.

  The eight exchanged quick, uneasy glances. For all their numbers, for all their coordination, they had failed to break him. He had carved paths through gaps that barely existed, slipping through spaces as if he could read their intent before it formed. They were not a trained unit, only a pack of survivors bound by need and desperation, forced together to gather essence qi. Even so, this single boy should not have lasted this long.

  “Don’t delay. End it quickly!” the girl in grey barked, her teeth bared. She raised her hand, qi surging as she prepared to summon her echo.

  But then she stilled.

  Something pressed at the edges of awareness—a disturbance not born from any of them. Her head snapped to the treeline. One by one, the others felt it too. A shift in the forest. A ripple in the silence.

  Figures emerged from between the trees.

  ‘Finally.’ The word stirred in Xiao Lei’s chest like a sigh of release. He dropped to one knee, spitting blood into the dirt.

  The attackers froze, caught in a moment of dissonance. They had marvelled—resented—that despite their combined assault, they had barely scratched him. Why collapse now? The answer struck like a blade sliding free of its sheath.

  “Xiao Lei!”

  The call came sharp and familiar. A girl’s voice—Shi Mai—rising from the approaching group. Xiao Lei lifted his gaze, first to her, then beyond her. A youth walked at the head of the newcomers, his presence pulling every glance, his bearing heavy as a shadow across the clearing.

  Recognition rippled through the ambushers. Their eyes widened. The robes of several among the newcomers confirmed what their instincts already screamed.

  Royal Academy.

  The words did not need to be spoken. They hung in the air, heavy as thunder, drowning every thought but one: their luck had run out.

  In a handful of breaths, Shi Mai was already at Xiao Lei’s side. Her steps were light yet urgent, her face tightened with worry as she slipped an arm beneath his shoulder.

  She did not so much as glance at the circle of enemies still hovering nearby. Her focus was fixed only on him, guiding his staggering frame toward safety. The attackers, though greater in number, did not move to interfere. Something in the moment’s weight—perhaps the shift in the air, perhaps the forest’s dark edges pressing closer—held their blades in check.

  Xiao Lei’s gaze swept past them, sharp even through exhaustion. His eyes skimmed across the figures until they stopped on one particular youth. Recognition stirred. He had seen this face before—on the academy’s stage. Yet memory felt inadequate. Then, the figure had been polished, restrained, like a blade hidden in its scabbard. Here in the valley, the restraint was gone. The same person now stood unsheathed, calm yet carrying a presence that pressed outward like steel against flesh.

  When Shi Mai eased Xiao Lei into the protective line of their companions, that man finally spoke. Zhen Du’s lips curved into the faintest smile. His voice was measured, unhurried.

  “Are you alright?”

  Xiao Lei straightened enough to cup his hands, his tone respectful. “Many thanks.”

  Zhen Du’s eyes lingered on the cuts tracing Xiao Lei’s arms, the torn fabric clinging to his sides. His expression flickered with quiet surprise. Battered and bloodied, yet steady beyond reason. Eight opponents of equal rank had surrounded this boy, and still no grievous wounds marked him.

  Zhen Du recalled the youth at the entrance examination, the newcomer who had climbed three—no, nearly four—stages in so short a time. A rare spark among countless peers. Now, seeing him endure against overwhelming odds, the impression deepened. Not merely talent, but edge honed in battle. His verdict was simple, spoken in a single word.

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  “Good.”

  He inclined his head, the faintest nod to Shi Mai, who guided Xiao Lei further back into the ranks. Only then did Zhen Du turn fully toward the eight attackers. The earlier trace of warmth vanished from his expression, his tone hardening into iron.

  “I must say,” he began, his voice carrying like a drawn blade, “you must have the gall of a shadow bear to raise your hands against one of the Royal Academy.”

  The words struck harder than any weapon. The eight froze where they stood, faces paling, throats constricting under the weight of his presence. One youth’s grip slackened on his spear; another’s lips parted, no sound escaping. Zhen Du was not merely a cultivator—he was a name whispered through the Shanli Kingdom, a star of their generation. To have provoked him was to have already stepped off the edge of survival.

  Desperation flickered in their eyes. Explanations formed on their tongues. But before sound could escape, Zhen Du’s voice cut across them.

  “Kill them.”

  The command fell like a verdict.

  From behind him, the swarm moved as one. Shadows surged forward, the air splitting with the rush of coordinated slaughter.

  Xiao Lei sat with his back pressed against the trunk of a towering tree. Bark scraped faintly against his robes, grounding him, yet his eyes remained shut. Sight was unnecessary. Each shift of air, each whisper of strained breath from the battlefield, unfolded clearly in his awareness.

  The clash had burned out quickly. What resistance remained among their assailants withered the instant Zhen Du’s group arrived. Numbers alone tipped the scales—desperation against sharpened skill. Their foes struck wildly, Echoes tearing free in frantic defiance, but every summon, every technique only stretched the inevitable by ragged breaths. Coordination pressed them from all sides, sharp discipline cutting deeper than blades. Their fate had been sealed before the first strike landed.

  Silence reclaimed the valley, the low hiss of dispersing qi, boots pressing into soil. Zhen Du broke from the front line, his figure cast in the wavering afterglow of dissipated techniques. His voice, calm and practical, cut across the hush.

  “We’ve gathered around two hundred and fifty drops of essence qi.”

  He approached Xiao Lei, a flask in hand. Its surface caught the dim light, drawing the last embers of battle into itself. Zhen Du pressed it forward. “Yours.”

  Xiao Lei accepted, feeling the cool weight settle in his palm. Around twenty drops shimmered within—a full tenth of the harvest. His old flask had been shattered; even so, this generosity went beyond necessity.

  Shi Mai appeared at his side, voice steady but edged with relief. “I searched for you after entering the valley. Where were you sent?”

  Xiao Lei let his eyes open, forest shadows swimming into focus. He spoke without hurry, recounting the split from the group, the clash with the lightning beast, the fight that ended with blood on his hands. Zhen Du’s composure barely shifted, but the flicker in his gaze betrayed a moment’s surprise. Few novices would survive such prey, let alone kill it. He hid the thought as quickly as it came, smoothing his features into calm again.

  Then Xiao Lei mentioned Mu Pei.

  The air shifted. Shi Mai’s lips parted, eyes flashing, but she masked her reaction. Zhen Du was less restrained. His jaw tightened, teeth grinding until the sound was almost audible.

  “Mu Pei…” The name emerged as a low growl. “Connections or not, coming to this valley is one thing. But colluding with outsiders to settle academy grudges—” His hand flexed at his side. “That is filth.”

  Xiao Lei added almost idly that he had lured Mu Pei’s trio away out of pity for the Radiant Sword group.

  Zhen Du let out a short, humourless chuckle. “So naive. Even had they died caught between, it would have been a better fate.”

  The words lingered, edged with steel.

  Xiao Lei stilled. For a heartbeat, he wondered—was this man righteous to the bone, or simply a blade too sharp to tell the difference?

  Zhen Du did not linger. The sharp lines of his figure receded into the forest, moving with the silent precision of one attuned to the hunt. Tasks waited, strategies demanded attention—the next wave of beasts would not pause, and neither could they. Time pressed on; more than half of the allotted hours had slipped past, and their collection was still far from sufficient.

  Shi Mai stayed behind, her presence quiet yet steady, a counterweight to the restless air Zhen Du left behind. Xiao Lei’s gaze drifted toward her. Casually, though with subtle curiosity, he asked how she had fared since entering the valley.

  Her voice was calm, each word carrying the weight of narrow escapes and harsh lessons. She spoke of encounters with other academy students, hunts that had begun with cautious hope but quickly descended into chaos. A Core Formation-level lightning beast had erupted in a rampage, half the participants falling under its strikes. From the devastation, a fragile alliance had formed beneath Zhen Du’s guidance, linking survival to obedience and cooperation.

  Xiao Lei’s eyes twitched at the mention of the beast, unease passing over his controlled expression. Every detail was noted, filed. Yet he remained outwardly composed, mind weaving between facts and implications. Shi Mai seemed to sense the shift, her next words anticipating his thought. She revealed, softly, Zhen Du’s devotion: orphaned and raised by the previous academy headmaster, he treated the academy as family, its students as his own siblings. Protective, uncompromising, unwavering.

  Xiao Lei’s gaze returned to where Zhen Du had gone, mind unreadable but calculating.

  Hours bled together. The group moved again, formation taut and purposeful. Kills came with grim efficiency—each encounter swift, beasts felled before they could strike fully.

  Yet the spoils were meagre, scattered among seventy hunters. Ten from the Royal Academy claimed thirty percent of the haul, leaving the remainder to the majority. No complaints arose. Silent, they moved with mutual caution; survival depended on each step. Should a beast strike without warning, their gathered essence qi would serve only as a token of insurance.

  Xiao Lei moved quietly. Observation and calculation guided him; each breath became a shield against the valley’s hidden perils. Others relied on fear and loyalty. He measured currents of thought, flickers of instinct in every companion and adversary. In this world of life and death, the difference between survival and obliteration was subtle—an edge as fine as the glint of a blade in morning light.

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  Destiny Reckoning. It’s set in the same universe, and you definitely don’t want to miss it, because the stories will eventually crossover.