The morning sun bled gold across the jagged peaks of the Azure Flame Sect. Disciples crowded the alchemy ground, their voices buzzing like a swarm of hornets. The sect had not seen this much excitement in years, and all for one reason: the inner competition had begun.
At the heart of it all stood two figures fated to clash.
Shen Rong, the so-called prodigy of the younger generation, stood tall with his arms crossed, his robe crisp, his cauldron polished to a mirror shine. His lips carried that familiar sneer that every disciple knew too well. He was the favorite, the expected champion.
And across from him was Lin Jinhai, the furnace idiot, whose very presence on the platform drew laughter. His robe was worn, patched in more places than whole, and the cauldron before him was cracked bronze that should have been retired long ago. Yet his eyes were steady, sharper than steel, carrying a weight that none of them could quite name.
Whispers spread like fire.
"Why bother? Shen Rong will crush him."
"Lin Jinhai's luck ran out the moment he stepped here."
"Watch closely, this will be the idiot's farewell performance."
The gong thundered, and silence fell.
Both disciples moved in unison, lighting their cauldrons. Shen Rong's flame roared to life immediately, bright and stable, casting a proud glow across his cauldron. He smirked, turning slightly so the crowd could see his control.
Jinhai's flame sputtered at first, uneven, weak. Snickers rippled through the disciples, but his hands didn't falter. He coaxed the flame gently, feeding it breath by breath, until it steadied, thin but precise.
The attendants brought forth herbs: Spirit Grass, Bitterroot, Mistleaf. Standard materials for the Grade-1 Healing Pill. Shen Rong snatched his set with a flourish, slicing and preparing them with confidence, every motion exaggerated for the audience.
Jinhai accepted his herbs quietly. His Spirit Grass was frayed at the edges, Mistleaf yellowed, Bitterroot brittle. Shen Rong's cronies had made sure of that. He felt their mocking stares, but he did not waver.
The Furnace System hummed in his mind.
[Materials: Low-quality detected]
[Simulation Module engaged]
[Recommended Adjustment: Flame +0.2, Mistleaf delay 4 seconds]
[Estimated Success Rate: 54%]
His lips curved faintly. Fifty-four percent was more than enough.
Shen Rong was already adding herbs to his cauldron, flames dancing in practiced rhythm. The Spirit Grass dissolved neatly, Bitterroot blending into liquid form. Murmurs of admiration rose from the crowd.
"Shen Rong is flawless as always."
"Lin Jinhai hasn't even started, he's already panicking!"
But Jinhai was not panicking. His hands moved calmly, feeding the Spirit Grass at just the right angle, waiting for the flame to lick evenly across the edges. The herb sizzled, threatening to collapse, but he tilted the cauldron, catching the reaction, letting the smoke swirl instead of smother. His movements were small, precise, nothing flashy—yet each one mattered.
Shen Rong glanced up, sneering when he saw Jinhai still working with his pitiful flame. "Pathetic." He tossed Mistleaf into his cauldron with a flourish, his flame flaring brighter. The crowd cheered, already convinced of his victory.
Jinhai waited. Three seconds. Four. Then he slipped the yellowed Mistleaf into his cauldron. Smoke hissed, cauldron rattling violently. Laughter erupted from the crowd.
"It's over! He's going to blow it again!"
"Hahaha, furnace idiot!"
But Jinhai's eyes narrowed. The simulation played in his mind—he remembered every failed reaction, every bitter collapse. He adjusted the flame, slowing it, then struck it hotter at the exact instant the Mistleaf threatened to combust. The cauldron steadied. Smoke thinned. A faint fragrance began to rise.
Gasps replaced laughter.
Shen Rong's jaw tightened. He gritted his teeth, pouring all his focus into finishing quickly. His cauldron glowed, herbs dissolving, liquid condensing. He raised his chin proudly, showing off as three pills formed, dull green but intact. He lifted them high. "Done!"
Cheers erupted. The sect roared approval, already declaring him the victor.
But then a different fragrance drifted through the air. Stronger, purer, carrying with it a vitality that made even the elders stir. All eyes turned toward Jinhai's cauldron.
He lifted the lid. Inside lay three pills, round and smooth, glowing faint green like jade. Perfect Healing Pills.
Silence.
The roar of the crowd died instantly, replaced by disbelief. Eyes widened, mouths fell open.
"No way…"
"Perfect…? From him?"
"Impossible! He must have cheated!"
Shen Rong's face drained of color. He stormed across the platform, snatching one pill from Jinhai's tray. He crushed it in his palm, desperate to expose a trick. The fragments shimmered with healing energy, filling the air with warmth even as powder. The crowd gasped again.
Jinhai finally looked up, meeting Shen Rong's wild eyes. His voice was calm, sharp enough to cut bone. "You call me trash… yet my pill speaks for itself. Tell me, Shen Rong—what does that make yours?"
The words struck like thunder. The disciples erupted, some in laughter, some in shock, some in fear. For the first time, Shen Rong stood speechless, trembling with rage.
Elder Han Zhi leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, the disbelief plain in his expression. "Perfect Healing Pills…" he muttered under his breath.
Shen Rong stammered, trying to salvage his pride. "This… this is a trick! He uses forbidden methods!"
But the Detox Powder formula etched itself in Jinhai's mind, and he knew his next move. Without a word, he crushed one of his own pills, letting the fragments drift toward a disciple who bore fresh bruises. The glow seeped into the skin, closing wounds visibly. Gasps echoed again, louder than before.
No trick. No illusion. Real alchemy.
The whispers shifted. Fear mingled with awe.
"Devil's flame…"
"Alchemy beyond the sect's reach…"
"Is he even human?"
Shen Rong's eyes burned with hate. "You… you won't get away with this!"
But it was too late. The duel was decided. The furnace idiot had shattered the sect's expectations again.
The Furnace System chimed in Jinhai's mind.
[Ding! Duel Victory Achieved]
[Reward: +300 FP]
[New Formula Unlocked: Detox Powder]
He lowered his gaze, lips curving in the faintest smile. They could mock, they could doubt, they could fear him—but from this day forward, no one could deny him.
The sect had just witnessed the birth of a devil in the furnace.