The dawn after Tian Shen's quiet resolve broke over the Feilun Sect with a muted brilliance. The sky was streaked with pale gold, the mountain ridges catching the first light like blades freshly honed. Though the air was cooler than usual, the disciples stirred early, some already training while others whispered plans in hushed tones. The scars of the previous battle remained visible—craters gaped at the plateau's edge, scorched grass lay in patches across the grounds—but life had resumed with a grim determination.
Tian Shen stood at the edge of the central training yard, his spear in hand. Around him, the Root Division moved with precision, their steps light and controlled. Every movement, every stance bore the stamp of discipline honed under pressure. His silver eyes scanned them without distraction, analyzing subtle misalignments and offering silent corrections with the slightest nod.
"Again!" he barked, the word carrying across the field.
