The arena at Shang Academy brimmed with young cultivators, their eyes fixed on the center stage. Today's Elite Sparring Match was more than tradition—it was a show of dominance.
And Zhen Zenin had arrived.
He stepped into the ring silently, dressed in simple black robes. His eyes swept across the crowd, calm but piercing. Most looked at him with ridicule. A few with unease.
Among the participants stood Yu Liang, the top outer disciple of the Elite Class—Qi Gathering Stage 8, known for his Wind Cleave Technique.
Yu smirked. "You? The beggar of Zhen Clan dares walk among us?"
Zenin said nothing. His silence was his sword.
---
The bell chimed.
Yu launched forward, blades of wind hissing from his palms. "Kneel!"
Zenin side-stepped fluidly, dodging every strike with unnatural precision. He raised his hand—white flame sparked at his fingertips.
Gasps erupted.
"That's soul fire!" someone shouted.
Yu's expression faltered. "Impossible!"
Zenin whispered, "Soulflame Pierce."
A single white flame darted forward, spiraling like a needle. Yu tried to block, but the flame passed through his blade—burning directly into his shoulder.
"Aaaargh!!" he screamed, clutching his arm as smoke poured from his wound.
The match was over.
But Zenin didn't move.
He turned toward the spectators. "Next."
None stepped forward.
Not one.
---
From the balcony above, several inner court elders watched in silence.
"His technique is forbidden," one whispered.
"No," another said. "It's long lost. But it's not evil—yet."
Elder Qing said nothing. But deep inside, unease stirred. He's becoming too visible.
---
Back in his room, Zenin sat cross-legged, flame gently pulsing around him.
He whispered to himself, "Let them talk. Let them fear."
But the final words that slipped from his lips held no arrogance—only certainty:
"Soon… they'll beg to forget my name."
---