Author: Kitsunee
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The horizon bled with an eerie crimson light, casting a sickly glow over the once-pristine plains now overrun by a feral onslaught. The Beast Tide, an endless surge of monstrous creatures, had poured forth from the very cracks of the earth itself, a curse upon the land. It seemed as though the heavens had forsaken this world, leaving behind only carnage and the desperate cries of cultivators fighting to hold their ground.
But amid the chaos, there was a figure — Xu Wenyuan.
He stood still as a solitary tree in a storm. His long, dark robes billowed in the wind, yet he was utterly calm, his gaze unwavering despite the madness around him. In his presence, it was as if time had slowed. He wasn't merely watching the destruction unfold; he was becoming one with it.
A massive beast, a Storm Boar, charged through the battlefield, its tusks like jagged mountains and its body armored with thick, stone-like hide. The ground quaked beneath its steps. Cultivators scattered, shouting commands, but they were like insects before this titan. None could stand against its rage.
Wenyuan tilted his head slightly, his expression still untouched by fear or urgency.
The boar charged him, its eyes burning with unrelenting fury.
A flicker of light danced in Wenyuan's palm.
With a single step, he vanished from the spot.
In the blink of an eye, Wenyuan appeared before the Storm Boar, his hand raised, fingers splayed out like the petals of a lotus in bloom. The beast's massive tusks came crashing down, but Wenyuan's hand met them with grace, not force. He pressed his palm gently to the tusk, and in that instant, a sharp, ethereal light emanated from his touch.
The tusk shattered like glass, splintering in every direction. The boar roared in pain, but before it could retaliate, Wenyuan's other hand moved. He didn't strike the beast with any blade or fist, but with an elegant flick of his wrist.
The air itself seemed to split open.
A silent, cutting wave of energy surged outward, moving faster than the eye could follow. The boar's body seemed to freeze in place for a heartbeat, its expression locked in terror, and then, with a terrible sound like thunder cracking the earth, it disintegrated into dust and ash, scattered by the winds.
For a moment, there was silence.
The battlefield, once filled with the din of destruction, fell still.
Wenyuan took a breath, and with it, his aura deepened — as if he were an eternal river, untroubled by the storms of time. His gaze turned upward, beyond the chaos, toward the heavens that seemed so distant now.
"One who seeks to master the way of the Dao must first master himself." Wenyuan's voice was soft, but it carried across the battlefield like a whisper on the wind, cutting through the madness with its calmness.
It wasn't a boast or an arrogant claim, but a quiet truth, buried beneath the violence of the moment.
He raised his hand, fingers forming a slow, deliberate gesture in the air. His expression remained impassive, but his eyes held the wisdom of ages.
"Like the still waters of a lake, the world finds balance only in stillness. One who reacts in fear only feeds the chaos."
Another wave of beasts charged, a mixture of serpent-like fiends and towering behemoths, their red eyes blazing with the hunger of a thousand storms.
But Wenyuan didn't move to strike. Instead, his form seemed to blend with the surroundings, the very air around him becoming thick with spiritual energy. His body radiated a deep, quiet power, one that came from his understanding, not from force.
He took a step forward.
And the entire battlefield seemed to shudder.
The beasts stopped in their tracks, their eyes wide with confusion. They were not afraid of the man who stood before them, but there was something... unsettling in the very air around him. The ground beneath them began to tremble, the sky above seemed to darken — as if the natural order itself was warping, bending to his will.
Wenyuan did not need to strike, for he had already become the storm.
His aura flared, and the tide of beasts was no more.
With a simple thought, a wave of energy — pure and unrelenting — spread out, ripping through the creatures. It wasn't an explosion of power, not a violent wave. It was far more subtle.
Like the steady flow of a river carving through a canyon, it swept across the battlefield, erasing all that was in its path with a quiet inevitability. The beasts howled as their bodies were disintegrated by the sheer force of Wenyuan's presence, as if their very existence was too small, too fleeting, against the vastness of his power.
And yet, he did not revel in the destruction.
He stood amidst the fading chaos, his expression unreadable, his aura still like the deep, serene ocean. The world around him seemed to return to stillness, the dying sounds of the beasts fading into silence.
Wenyuan's gaze lifted again, now fully understanding the balance of the moment.
"Even the strongest storm must, in time, fade. It is not the wind that endures, but the mountain." His words were soft, spoken as though he were conversing with the heavens themselves.
There was a finality to them, a quiet peace.
As the last of the beast tide crumbled to dust, Wenyuan stood unmoved, his robes fluttering gently in the breeze. He was not a hero, not a savior. He was simply a force of nature, as old as time itself, standing silently in the aftermath of a storm.
Xu Wenyuan's Voice echoed through the silence, as his gaze swept over the battlefield, the dying roars of beasts fading into the wind.
The warriors, cultivators, and civilians who had witnessed the annihilation of the Beast Tide now stood in awe, their faces a mixture of disbelief and reverence. Wenyuan, still untouched by the chaos, turned to face them, his expression serene, as though the storm had never been.
He raised his hand slowly, the movement deliberate and calm, as if pulling the very air into focus. His voice, quiet but firm, carried across the silent battlefield.
"This day, the storm has passed, but such darkness will rise again." His eyes scanned the horizon, where the last of the creatures lay smoldering in the wind.
"In this world, there is no peace without war, no growth without struggle." He spoke each word with weight, as if they were not merely words, but the principles upon which the universe itself was built. "The Beast Tide you have witnessed is but a shadow of the greater trials to come. When it returns, you will not face it with fear, but with the wisdom and strength you cultivate today."
He paused, his gaze settling on the gathered people, those who had witnessed the calamity and survived.
"To stand in the face of the storm, one must first become the storm." His voice grew soft, but his words seemed to sink into their hearts like seeds in fertile soil.
"Prepare yourselves, for the tide will come again, and only those who have learned to embrace the chaos within will survive it." His eyes gleamed, a quiet, profound certainty in them. "The Dao is not kind to those who are unprepared. It is an endless cycle of growth, struggle, and rebirth. Know this now, and train with the same intensity with which you would face your last breath."
With that, Wenyuan turned, his robe flowing like a river in the wind. Without another word, he stepped into the distance, leaving only the echoes of his words behind.
As Xu Wenyuan walked away, his footsteps were soft but deliberate, as though each step carried the weight of a thousand battles. The survivors, still standing amidst the smoking remnants of the battlefield, remained motionless for several moments, their gazes fixed upon him, as if fearing that a single blink might cause his presence to vanish like a fleeting shadow.
The wind picked up once again, stirring the ashes of the fallen beasts, scattering them across the earth. It was as though the very world had taken a deep breath after the storm, and now, even the heavens seemed to hold their breath in reverence. The survivors, their faces still marked by the dust of battle, began to stir. Slowly, they turned to one another, the weight of Wenyuan's words settling upon them like the mantle of a king.
A young cultivator, barely past his adolescence, found his voice first. His hands shook slightly as he spoke, but his words rang with a sudden resolve. "He is right… we've only seen the beginning. We must prepare."
An older warrior, his face worn from years of service, nodded in agreement, though his eyes reflected an exhaustion born not only of battle, but of the years spent living in the shadow of conflict. "I've lived through many battles, but none like this. The Beast Tide was no mere attack. It was a herald of something worse, something that will return."
A woman, who had fought alongside the others and carried the blood of her fallen comrades upon her hands, stepped forward, her voice raw but filled with clarity. "Wenyuan speaks the truth. We have survived, yes. But survival is not enough. He is right: we must become stronger, not just in power, but in spirit."
The murmurs of agreement spread quickly, the fire of determination igniting in their hearts. It was clear now. This battle had not been an end, but a warning, a harbinger of a greater darkness to come.
And yet, among the growing voices, a single figure remained silent, her eyes locked on the horizon. Her heart, still heavy from the loss of comrades, felt a stirring within it—an ancient pull, a calling. Her name was Li Yue, and though she had never before considered the Dao, the words Wenyuan had spoken now seemed to reverberate through her very soul.
She had heard tales of the Dao, of cultivators who transcended the limitations of mortal existence. But never had she felt the truth of those stories until now. In the silence of the aftermath, the storm in her heart began to settle, the seed of understanding slowly taking root.
She turned to the others, her voice cutting through the growing buzz of conversation. "We must not merely prepare for the return of the tide. We must embrace it. We will be its harbingers, its tempest. We must be as unrelenting as the storm itself."
Her words hung in the air, striking the hearts of those who heard them like a bolt of lightning. They had fought the beasts, yes, but had they truly faced the storm within themselves?
Li Yue stepped forward, her eyes burning with newfound purpose. "There are no easy roads in cultivation. No simple paths to strength. We must seek the storm, embrace it, and become it. Only then can we stand against what is to come."
The others gathered closer, their faces no longer filled with fear, but with a determination that was stronger than any fear. The Beast Tide had come, yes, but what Wenyuan had shown them—and what Li Yue had awakened within them—was the understanding that strength was not found in avoiding chaos, but in mastering it.
Xu Wenyuan had not only driven away the storm, but he had also shown them how to face the inevitable return of it. They would not be passive in the coming trials. They would not wait for fate to strike. They would rise, prepared and unwavering.
As the sun began to dip beneath the horizon, casting a golden glow over the scorched earth, the survivors stood together, their hearts filled with the resolve to endure whatever storm might come next.
Wenyuan's words echoed in their minds, unyielding: "The Dao is not kind to those who are unprepared. It is an endless cycle of growth, struggle, and rebirth."
And so, under the fading light of the day, they made their vow. They would face the storm—and become it.
The air crackled with tension, the faint echoes of distant beast roars lost beneath the oppressive silence that blanketed the Blackstone Ridge. Xu Wenyuan stood alone at the edge of a once-grand structure—the remains of his former sect's sanctuary. Broken stone pillars and shattered statues lay scattered like forgotten memories. This place, where he had once trained, meditated, and called home, now stood as a hollow reminder of the brutality that had torn it asunder.
His gaze was unyielding as he surveyed the wreckage, his eyes narrowing slightly. His connection to this place, to the people who had once shared in his cultivation, was now severed, like a thread snapped by the cruel hand of fate. But there was no time for sorrow. His thoughts hardened into purpose.
"You've come," Wenyuan muttered under his breath, his voice as cold and steady as the steel of his blade. The familiar presence of his enemy rippled through the air like a dark cloud—an unmistakable aura of malice and power that stained the very ground beneath his feet.
From the shadows, a figure emerged—tall, draped in a cloak of dark crimson, its hood obscuring the face. But Wenyuan could feel the eyes upon him, cold and calculating, a gaze he had once known all too well. It was his old comrade, his once-brother in cultivation, who had turned against everything they had stood for. The man who had helped orchestrate the destruction of their sect.
"Xu Wenyuan," the voice was soft, mocking, laced with venom, but the words still carried an undeniable weight. "How foolish it is to return here. Do you not realize that everything you once knew has been buried beneath the ruins of your past?"
Wenyuan's fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword, his stance firm. "I return not for memories," he said, his tone sharp and unwavering, "but to settle what was left unfinished."
The air between them grew thick, charged with the power that both cultivators wielded, the energy crackling like the prelude to a thunderstorm. The enemy's smile was cruel, his aura expanding, distorting the very space around him. His cultivation had flourished after betraying his sect—dark and twisted like a corrupted root buried deep within the earth.
"You were weak," the enemy sneered, stepping forward. "You always were. That's why you failed, why your sect fell. You couldn't even protect your own. You think I would let the path to power slip from my grasp?"
Wenyuan's gaze hardened, his voice colder than ever. "You were never part of our path. You were always driven by your own lust for power, for destruction. I will not let your taint continue to poison this world."
Before the last word left his lips, the enemy struck. A slash of energy, like a razor-sharp blade made from pure darkness, shot toward Wenyuan at blinding speed. The cultivator's movements were swift, a blur of grace and power, but Wenyuan was faster. He drew his sword in a single fluid motion, deflecting the strike with a crash that rang through the ruins. The shockwave from the collision shattered nearby stones, sending dust and debris swirling through the air.
"You dare challenge me?" The enemy's voice was like a snake's hiss, filled with fury. "You should have stayed buried with your fallen sect!"
Wenyuan's eyes flared with a cold fire. His sword moved with a life of its own, each strike clean and precise. The blade cut through the air with a resounding hum, its edge glowing with the brilliance of his cultivation, while his enemy matched him in speed and ferocity. The battle was a deadly dance, both of them moving with such precision that it was almost impossible to follow their movements.
Wenyuan's sword flashed, carving through the darkness, but the enemy parried and countered with a vicious arc of his own energy, their attacks colliding with a deafening crash. The force of the strike sent Wenyuan skidding back, his feet scraping against the cracked earth.
"You're weak, Wenyuan," the enemy hissed. "You're nothing but a remnant of the past."
With a snarl, the enemy unleashed a devastating blast of energy, a swirling vortex of darkness that tore through the air with unstoppable force. Wenyuan didn't hesitate. He met the oncoming attack head-on, his sword raised high, the blade glowing with the power of the heavens themselves.
"No path is free from sacrifice. But I will never bow to someone who seeks to destroy for power."
The clash between them was like a cataclysm, a brilliant burst of light and shadow that threatened to tear the world asunder. Wenyuan's sword glowed brighter, cutting through the enemy's dark energy like a beacon of light. With a single, final strike, he pierced through his enemy's defenses, his sword finding its mark with deadly accuracy.
The enemy's body jerked as the blade cut through him, his eyes wide with shock. His body began to crumble to the ground, his power dissipating like smoke in the wind.
Wenyuan stood over him, his breath steady, his eyes dark and unwavering. "Power is not gained by betrayal," he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of all the years of suffering. "It is earned by the strength of your heart."
As the enemy's form disintegrated, leaving only the whisper of darkness behind, Wenyuan turned his gaze toward the horizon. The ruins of his old sect loomed in the distance, a symbol of both the past's failure and the future's potential.
With a quiet resolve, he sheathed his sword and stepped forward, his voice carrying across the battlefield, soft but firm:
"The Dao does not forgive. But I will rise again—stronger than before."
And as the wind carried his words into the distance, Xu Wenyuan knew that his battle, though won, was only one of many to come.
Xu Wenyuan's sword sliced through the air as he descended from the heavens, his blade gleaming with ethereal light. The wind rushed around him, his movements so smooth, so practiced, that it seemed as though the very sky itself bent to his will. Below, the forest stretched endlessly, a sea of trees that whispered secrets he'd long since learned to ignore. But today, as his sword carved a path across the sky, something unusual caught his attention—an unmistakable scent of blood, mingled with the acrid tang of beasts.
His sharp gaze swept over the land, narrowing as he spotted the source of the commotion. A circle of monstrous wolves, each one a hulking nightmare of fur and fangs, surrounded a lone figure. A young woman, her clothes tattered, her face stained with blood, was standing firm in the center of the circle. Her weapon—a half-broken sword—was held tightly in her grasp, though it looked more like a token of defiance than a means of survival.
Wenyuan's instincts flared, and in the span of a breath, he was already descending, the winds at his back singing the song of battle. With a single sweep of his blade, he cut through the first of the wolves. The others hesitated, sensing his overwhelming power, but not yet retreating.
His movements were fluid, effortless, a deadly dance as his sword slashed through beast after beast, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. He wasn't merely fighting to kill—he was fighting to protect, to preserve something he hadn't realized he still cared for.
As the last wolf fell, its blood staining the ground beneath his feet, Wenyuan stood tall, his sword still humming with the energy of the strike. He looked down at the woman, her wide eyes locked onto his with an intensity that matched his own. She was trembling, not from fear, but from the aftermath of the battle—the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Wenyuan could feel the weight of the silence between them, the quiet tension in the air. The princess—he could tell now by the regal bearing she carried even in the face of death—was not one to break that silence first. She was looking at him as if she, too, felt the pull of something unspoken, something dangerous.
Her voice finally broke through the stillness, steady and unflinching despite the horrors she'd just faced. "I was never meant to die here," she said softly, though her eyes were still fierce. "But now I know why."
Wenyuan tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady on her, yet something flickered within him, something deep and unsettling. He had fought so many battles, felt the sting of countless blades, but this—this moment felt different. The quiet strength in her words, the raw fire in her eyes—it stirred something in him he hadn't expected.
Without thinking, his lips parted, and the words escaped him, a quiet murmur to the winds.
"A heart like yours... can never be extinguished by the flames of fate."
The words were ancient, a reflection of the dao that flowed through him, the very essence of the world he had devoted himself to understanding. Yet in that moment, they felt out of place, as though they were more than just a statement—they were a confession. His gaze lingered on her, and he could feel the strange pull of his own emotions, too complicated and wild to name.
The princess looked at him, the corners of her mouth twitching in the barest hint of a smile. "And what is it you seek, Xu Wenyuan? The same fire?"
For a heartbeat, he said nothing. The world seemed to narrow to the space between them, the forest, the mountains, the battles—none of it mattered. Only she did.
Finally, he spoke again, his voice softer now, almost as if testing the words on his tongue before he let them go. "To seek fire without knowing the heart of the flame is to be consumed. But perhaps... in seeking, we discover what burns most brightly."
Her eyes met his again, deep and knowing. She said nothing, but in that gaze, he saw something—the same fire, the same understanding, as if she, too, recognized the truth of his words.
She raised her sword, the broken blade held firm despite the odds. "Then, let's burn together," she said, her voice now steady and strong.
Wenyuan stared at her, his heart still unexpectedly racing. He had faced countless enemies, but now he faced something far more dangerous—a woman whose heart was as untamed as the storm he had once learned to master. And in that storm, in the fury of battle, he felt something shift. Something deep, as if the universe itself had subtly, quietly, reshaped the path he had been walking alone for so long.
The winds howled again, but this time, they whispered of a new journey—one that would burn brighter than anything he had ever known.
As the sun began its descent beyond the horizon, painting the sky with hues of crimson and gold, the world seemed to slow. Xu Wenyuan guided his sword down to rest on the earth, the metallic hum of its edge dissipating as he dismounted. He stood tall for a moment, watching the shadows stretch across the land, the firelight flickering in his chestnut-colored eyes as he took in the peaceful sight. The journey had been long, and the weight of his thoughts had followed him like an ever-present fog. But tonight, there was a rare stillness in the air, a break from the chaos that seemed to haunt his every step.
He turned to the princess, her figure framed by the dying light of the sunset. Her regal presence remained steadfast despite the bloodshed of the day. Sitting by the fire, her back straight, her face illuminated by the crackling warmth of the flames, she looked like something caught between the mortal and divine. The golden light softened her features, but her eyes—those fierce, dark eyes—remained unyielding.
"Stay here," Wenyuan said, his voice a low murmur, carrying an unexpected gentleness. "I will find something for us to eat. Don't move from this spot."
She nodded silently, her hand tightening around the hilt of her broken sword. Her kingdom, her life, had been threatened more times than she cared to count, but in his presence, there was something familiar. Something safe. It was a feeling she hadn't known for a long while.
With a slight nod, she made no protest, watching him as he melted into the shadows of the forest. His movements were like those of a predator, graceful, poised, and dangerous, disappearing from her sight as he ventured deeper into the woods in search of food.
The last traces of sunlight faded into the horizon, and the night crept in. The crackling fire seemed like a feeble thing against the vastness of the dark, but the princess remained vigilant. A sharp gust of wind rustled the trees, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. For a moment, the world around her felt alive, watching, waiting.
Then, a shift. A subtle tremor in the air that sent a chill up her spine. Her hand instinctively tightened around the broken hilt of her sword, eyes scanning the darkened edges of the camp. Something wasn't right. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and the sense of danger was palpable. It wasn't the wild things of the forest—no, this presence was different. It was calculated, deliberate.
Before she could react, the soft whisper of movement behind her broke her concentration, and in the blink of an eye, her breath was stolen. She was caught.
A figure, tall and cloaked in darkness, moved swiftly from behind, his hand clamping over her mouth before she could cry out. His grip was iron, pulling her backward, toward the shadows where the firelight could not reach. She struggled, her mind racing, but his hold was too strong.
The world seemed to slow, the distant echo of her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. The figure, masked by shadows, hissed something in a voice as cold as death itself. "You are a thorn in the side of those who seek to claim your throne, princess. Tonight, that thorn shall be pruned."
Her heart lurched. This was no ordinary assassin. This was someone who knew her well—too well.
But just as quickly as her fear rose, something else flared within her—a fire that had never truly gone out, despite all the darkness that had consumed her life. She tried to struggle, her broken sword now useless in her hand, but her body was growing weak, and the enemy's strength overwhelmed her. She knew that time was running out.
And then—like the sudden crack of thunder in a storm—there was a flash of movement.
Xu Wenyuan.
His figure appeared as if he were the wind itself, slicing through the night with a speed that defied mortal limits. His eyes were fire, molten anger that set his expression aflame with purpose. Without a word, without hesitation, he was upon them, his sword flashing in the dim light.
The first thing the enemy knew was the flash of a blade, sharp and deadly. Wenyuan's strike was a blur, too fast to be seen, his sword leaving a trail of flame behind it. The assassin barely had time to react, his weapon drawn in a futile attempt to block. The force of Wenyuan's strike sent him reeling back, a stream of blood pouring from the wound in his side.
Wenyuan's eyes were ice, his movements deliberate, deadly. With a second slash, the assassin's weapon was sent flying from his hand, and the enemy fell to his knees, gasping for breath.
"You dare to touch what is mine?" Wenyuan's voice was like the crack of thunder, sharp and unforgiving.
The princess, still struggling to free herself, looked up to see him—his silhouette looming over her, a protector. But there was something more in his gaze, something deeper. Something she hadn't seen before.
He was angry, but it wasn't just the anger of a warrior—it was the anger of a man who had something, or someone, he would protect at all costs. His sword remained poised above the assassin, and for a moment, the air between them crackled with raw intensity.
The enemy, bleeding and broken, hissed again, a final, desperate attempt to fight. But Wenyuan's expression remained unchanged. His blade descended with a single, precise motion.
The assassin was no more.
Wenyuan turned toward the princess, his eyes softening slightly as he held his hand out to her. She took it instinctively, her breath still shaky, but the fear was beginning to fade. In its place, a deep warmth spread in her chest, a gratitude she couldn't yet put into words.
His voice, low and steady, broke the silence. "The storm has passed, princess. But you... you are no longer alone."
The princess met his gaze, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to still around them, the night frozen in that moment. She felt something stir deep inside her, something that had been buried beneath years of running, hiding, and surviving.
And then, without realizing it, she whispered the words that had remained unspoken for so long.
"I am not alone... because of you."
Wenyuan's eyes softened as the princess stood before him, her hand still clasped in his. The night air seemed to pulse with a quiet, lingering energy, as if the stars themselves held their breath.
He gazed at her for a long moment, the weight of their shared experiences filling the space between them. There was a stillness now, a calm that belied the storm of battle they had just weathered. His lips parted slightly, as if the words were born from the very depths of his soul.
"Love," he murmured, his voice quiet but resolute, "is like the river that flows beneath the mountains—unseen, yet constant. It is the force that shapes all things, even in the face of the fiercest winds."
The princess's heart skipped a beat, her chest tightening as his words washed over her like the gentlest of caresses. She had heard the proverb before, in whispers, in ancient texts—about how love could be both a force of creation and destruction, much like the Dao itself.
But in that moment, in his presence, she understood.
As the fire crackled beside them and the world drifted into silence, the two stood there, intertwined by fate, yet knowing that the trials ahead would be even greater than those they had already faced. The air was thick with the promise of what was to come, and though the night felt as if it could stretch on forever, they both knew that their journey had only just begun.
To be continued...