The Unbreakable Shield: Chen Ruipeng
At the Martial Arts College, within the Cavern of Thousand Juns, the dull impact sounds reverberated like heavy drumming.
Chen Ruipeng stood stripped to the waist. His bronze skin was covered in deep blue contusions and a fine spray of blood where small capillaries had burst.
He was standing at the core of an array designed to constantly emit spiritual energy shockwaves imbued with immense physical force. His arms were crossed defensively over his chest, his muscles bulging like forged iron, as he endured one wave of crushing impact after another, pushing past the threshold of pain.
His mentor, a giant of a man as physically imposing as a fortress, stood outside the array, his voice booming like a great bell:
"If you can't take it, speak up! The Heavy Weaponry discipline does not teach you to be a mere punching bag! It teaches you to become the most formidable bulwark and the most savage warhammer! Where is your battle-axe? Why are you not using the axe to block? Are you doubting your weapon, or are you doubting yourself?"
Chen Ruipeng clenched his jaw, a thread of crimson blood escaping his lips. He squeezed the words out through gritted teeth: "I... I am the shield... I must first be able... to hold!"
"Nonsense!"
The mentor roared back, his voice thick with thunderous disapproval. "The best defense is to make the enemy afraid to attack! The best defense is to destroy the enemy's attack before it lands! Look at you now, you are curled up like a timid tortoise! Think back to the marsh—if your axe hadn't been a passive block, but an active, devastating strike aimed at the Leech King's skull, would the result have been different? The shield is not an excuse for passivity! It is the absolute confidence that you can intercept and shatter every single threat before it touches those behind you!"
Chen Ruipeng's body shuddered violently. In his mind, the image of the Leech King lunging for Lin Yan flashed, clear and agonizing. If he had not instinctively resorted to mere blocking, but instead executed a furious, proactive counter-strike... He let out a primal yell of rage and renewed commitment, no longer purely focused on absorbing the impact. He identified the brief moment between shockwaves, and his massive battle-axe, which had been resting on his back, snapped into his hands. With an unstoppable, determined momentum, he brought the axe down in a mighty cleave aimed directly at the array's core!
BOOM!
The array of lights flickered wildly, and the spiritual shockwave abruptly diminished.
The mentor allowed a hint of satisfaction to cross his weathered face: "Now, that is something worthy of the name Shield." Chen Ruipeng understood: his shame was rooted in his failure to be the absolute, active barrier the team needed. He needed to be the weapon that ensured the attack never reached the others.
The Sanctity of the Quiet Room
In the Medical Hall, within the Quiet Heart Chamber, the daily ritual of visiting Lin Yan maintained a palpable sense of gravity. The air, perpetually thick with the scent of medicinal herbs, was now mixed with the faint, honest odor of sweat and spiritual fatigue from the trio's relentless training.
Li Shulai, normally the most volatile, had achieved a rare state of stillness. He sat on a stool by the bedside, holding a finely graded Spiritual Fruit, clumsily trying to peel the skin with a small knife—his movements stiff and awkward, a sharp contrast to his usual sword fluidity.
He kept his head bowed, his voice lower than usual, speaking half to Lin Yan, half to his own tormented conscience: "Lin Yan, today... while practicing my sword, I think I... I felt a small, different kind of sensation. My mentor said my heart was too turbulent, and brute strength isn't enough... Everything you said back in the Illusion Array, It was true. Observation, insight... It's truly important."
His voice caught, trembling with unmistakable remorse and deep, heavy guilt. "If... if I could have been a little bit stronger, a little more composed, if I had seen the situation more clearly... would you... would you not have had to..."
He couldn't finish the sentence, but the crushing weight of his self-reproach hung heavy in the air.
He Lingxuan stood silently beside the bed, her fingertips lightly tracing Lin Yan's still pale, bloodless wrist, feeling the weak but steady rhythm of his pulse.
Her voice was cool and collected as always, yet soft as a feather, as if fearing to disturb the hidden power within him: "Physical stability confirmed. Toxin residue detection... still zero. Self-repair is underway; efficiency... lower than expected, but the trajectory is correct."
She paused, her gaze settling on Lin Yan's tranquil, sleeping face. She continued to speak in a low murmur, delivering a report that was also a vow:
"I have cross-referenced classified texts within the Pill Arts College's secret archives. I have identified three theoretical compound formulae that should possess significantly stronger penetrative power against the external shells and energy resistance of aquatic, mucous demonic beasts... I have also derived two methods for instantaneously augmenting spiritual energy, though the temporary side effects still require optimization for battle use..."
Her eyes, usually focused on crystalline logic, held a painful vulnerability. "Next time... I will never again allow you... allow any of us... to fall into a dead-end where we can only endure passively."
Her words maintained the frame of rational science, yet the slight tremor in her fingertips and the fleeting flicker of deep sorrow in her eyes betrayed the turmoil beneath her calm exterior. She was eternally grateful for Lin Yan's selfless act, but the greater burden was the shame of her own "powerlessness" and "dereliction of duty" as the team's vital support cultivator at the crucial moment.
Chen Ruipeng still chose to stand near the door, a silent, imposing shadow, like a statue carved from guardianship.
His massive battle-axe rested quietly against the wall, its sharpened edge reflecting the cold, setting sunlight filtering through the window.
He silently observed the quiet face of his sleeping teammate. His eyes, usually as steady and solid as the mountain itself, now held a complex turbulence—profound gratitude for the sacrifice, heavy guilt for his failure as the designated shield, confusion regarding the unknown force involved, and, most importantly, an iron resolve.
His lips moved slightly, as if he meant to speak, but finally, his attempt dissolved into a barely audible, weighty sigh, and the sight of his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, and his veins bulged. He owed Lin Yan a promise: the promise of a "Shield" that had failed to hold.
The Unanswered Question
Little was exchanged verbally between the three, yet an invisible, tenacious bond was being forged in the quiet chamber. They were undergoing a profound transformation, driven by the memory of powerlessness, and by the hope that, in the future, they could truly stand shoulder-to-shoulder.
The three had noticed, with growing unease, the subtle but frequent traffic outside Lin Yan's room. Every day, without fail, at least two senior medicinal masters or respected spiritual array mentors would pass through the Quiet Heart Chamber, their faces set in expressions of deep, scholarly puzzlement.
They would observe Lin Yan using various specialized spiritual tools—delicate jade plates for reading his Qi flow, or faint golden threads tracing his meridian lines—before departing with hushed, frustrated murmurs.
The trio had, individually, dared to ask Physician Qin Bo or the attending disciples for an update, only to receive the same unsettling, rote response.
"The Vital Essence is stable. The body is secure. The poison has been completely purged by an internal force," the disciples would state, their voices hollow and rehearsed. "But precisely when the young master's spirit will rouse itself from its protective slumber... that remains beyond our current methods of prognostication."
The consistency of the answer and the fact that the most knowledgeable minds in the Medical Hall offered no timeline for recovery only deepened the fear and the mystery surrounding Lin Yan. He was physically fine, yet unreachable. This chilling uncertainty was the final, heavy factor driving the three friends into their self-imposed, brutal training regimens. They realized their battle was not over; it had merely shifted to a waiting game, one for which they desperately needed to be prepared.