Gathering Storm
The drums of the tournament thundered outside, but in the Hall of Green Flames, a different battle brewed.
Sect Master Hei Zong sat upon the serpent-bone throne, his expression unreadable, green firelight dancing across his face. Elder Mo Xuan stood to the side, silent, his sleeves folded, eyes half-closed.
One by one, the other elders entered, their robes whispering against the stone. Their faces were grave, their voices sharp.
"Sect Master," Elder Han barked, slamming his cane. "This Shen Lian cannot remain. What we witnessed today was heresy!"
Another elder hissed, his lips pale. "I saw black tendrils along his arm. I heard whispers when he struck. He devours qi as no Serpent disciple should. Kill him now, before his demon seed spreads."
A third added quickly, "If the Pavilion learns we harbor such an art, they will brand us corrupted and strike the Hall down."
Their voices overlapped—urgent, fearful, venomous.
⸻
The Sect Master's Questions
Hei Zong raised one hand. Silence fell like a blade.
His eyes swept across them, hard as steel. "You plead for his death. Fine. Then answer me this: which of your disciples will take his place when he is gone?"
The elders faltered.
Hei Zong's voice grew heavier, like thunder in a storm. "When was the last time one of yours drew fear in this Hall? When was the last time your line produced a name that rivals whispered in dread?"
Elder Han opened his mouth, then shut it. His cane trembled faintly.
Hei Zong leaned forward, his glare searing through them. "You call Shen Lian demon—but is it demon you fear, or is it the shadow of your own mediocrity?"
The chamber went still.
⸻
Fear and Hypocrisy
The pale elder licked his lips. "Sect Master, we… we only think of the Hall's safety. If the Pavilion's spies saw—"
"Then where were you when Zhao Yunhai crushed ribs into powder on the platform?" Hei Zong snapped. "Where were you when Wei Jing suffocated her opponent with powders that no one could resist? Where were you when Jiang Fei cut a boy down with nine strikes before he could breathe?"
The elders lowered their eyes.
Hei Zong's voice dropped, colder than before. "You fear Shen Lian not because he breaks our rules. You fear him because he breaks them more perfectly than your own disciples ever could."
⸻
Mo Xuan's Silence
Through it all, Elder Mo Xuan said nothing. He watched with the faintest smile, as though the entire chamber were already caught in his coils.
When Hei Zong's gaze briefly flicked toward him, Mo Xuan inclined his head slightly, saying only: "The Sect Master speaks truth."
Nothing more. Nothing less.
And somehow, his silence weighed heavier than all the others' words.
⸻
The Sect Master's Verdict
Finally, Hei Zong straightened in the serpent-bone throne, his face a mask of stone.
"Shen Lian fights again soon. You demand his death? Then let the arena decide. If he is weak, he will fall. If he is strong…" His lips thinned. "Then Black Serpent Hall will bear that strength, no matter how venomous."
The elders stirred uneasily, but none dared press further.
Hei Zong's gaze swept them one last time, sharp as fangs. "Enough. Return to your seats. Watch. And remember: a serpent that cannot strike has no right to hiss."
The elders bowed stiffly and retreated, their whispers trailing like smoke.
⸻
Cliffhanger
Only after they were gone did Hei Zong's hands tighten on the arms of the throne. His face remained composed, but his knuckles whitened.
Outside, the drums thundered again, announcing the next round.
Shen Lian's name would be called soon.
And in the silence of the hall, Hei Zong whispered to himself, "Show me what you are, boy. Monster… or heir."