The Veil churned around him. With the whisper finally bound within his soul, Yan Zhi strode forward. Every step he took split the mist apart, opening a path before him.
But the calm did not last. From the distance came the clash of steel, the desperate cries of disciples still struggling within this layer.
Yan Zhi pressed on. What met his eyes made his breath hitch.
A vast arena stretched out—woven entirely from solidified shadow. At its center, hundreds of disciples from different sects were trapped, some collapsed in exhaustion, others locked in battle.
Their opponents? Shadows that mirrored them perfectly.
Every movement, every technique, every ounce of intent—reflected back at them like a merciless echo.
A battle against themselves.
Yan Zhi's brow furrowed. "So this is the next trial… shadows that deny our very existence."
Voices filled the air:
"I can't beat myself…"
"Why does it know every technique I use?!"
"This is impossible…!"
Panic spread like fire, suffocating their will to fight.
Then, one of the shadows turned. Its gaze was no longer fixed on its opponent—it stared directly at Yan Zhi.
It did not move. Yet, one by one, the other shadows followed suit, halting mid-battle to turn their dark eyes upon him.
Hundreds of shadowed gazes bore into him at once.
Yan Zhi's heart pounded—not from fear, but from recognition. Something within those shadows resonated with him.
"They're all fragments of the same wound…"
The voice he had locked away stirred faintly. Not struggling, not rebelling—just laughing, as if waiting.
The arena floor trembled. From its center rose a towering shadow, taller than any of the rest. Its form was indistinct, but the shape was unmistakable: it was him.
Darker. Colder. Crueler.
A deep voice thundered from the figure.
"The shadow you nurture will be the stage of your ruin, Yan Zhi."
The mist coiled tight, sealing the arena. Disciples were hurled to the edges, barred from interfering—forced to watch.
Now, at the heart of the shadow stage, Yan Zhi faced himself—an incarnation stripped of mercy.
He exhaled slowly, clenching his fists.
"Fine… if this is the stage, then I'll be the one to write its end."
And with that, the duel began.
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