Dawn crept slowly over the Azure Sky Sword Hall, washing the courtyards in pale gold. The disciples began their morning training, unaware that the balance of the hall had shifted while they slept. Only a faint tension lingered in the air—an unease no one could explain, but everyone felt.
Lin Xuan stepped out of his residence, his expression calm as always, but the Dao in his body pulsed quietly. His senses were sharper than yesterday. Every fluctuation of Qi felt clearer, every movement of the disciples easier to predict. The night had advanced him more than several normal days of cultivation.
He paused at the edge of the courtyard, letting his breathing synchronize with the subtle pulse of the world around him.
[System Update: Silent Sword Step Mastery 32%]
[Shadow Blade Perception Integration 20%]
[Dao Comprehension +20% retained]
His mind sharpened further.
The Sword Hall was already reacting to last night's events. He could feel the whispers. Disciples walked in uneasy clusters. Even the senior instructors exchanged silent looks. No one knew who the intruder had been. No one knew why he fled so quickly.
No one knew that Lin Xuan had orchestrated the entire outcome with three precise touches and a perfectly timed silence.
As Lin Xuan walked toward the training grounds, those around him unconsciously moved aside. They didn't understand why. They simply felt they should. His presence pressed lightly on the air—not threatening, but unnerving, like a blade sheathed but ready.
He scanned the courtyard.
Lin Feng wasn't present.
Not surprising.
A desperate man didn't come to morning training.
Still, Lin Xuan's attention drifted to the shadows of the outer hall. Someone was watching him. Whoever it was, they were far more skilled than the average disciple.
He ignored it.
When the weak attempted to hide, they feared being seen.
When the strong ignored you, it meant they had already measured your worth.
Lin Xuan let the watcher remain.
Instructor Zhao arrived shortly after, his sharp gaze sweeping the disciples. His eyes paused—just briefly—on Lin Xuan. The hesitation was new.
"Begin your forms!" Zhao barked.
The disciples obeyed immediately, drawing their swords and stepping into the familiar opening stance. Steel flashed, feet moved, breaths synchronized.
Lin Xuan joined them, his motions fluid, but something was different today.
Everything slowed in his perception.
He could see the tiny imperfections in the disciples' forms—the uneven steps, the shaky wrists, the wasted breath. He could even sense the faint cracks in their Sword Intent.
Instructor Zhao's brows knit as he watched Lin Xuan. The boy's movements were simple, basic stances—yet there was a clarity in them, a precision that no ordinary outer disciple should have.
Lin Xuan stepped.
His sword followed.
The air trembled slightly.
Instructor Zhao stiffened.
That wasn't normal.
"Lin Xuan," he called suddenly. "Repeat that movement."
Lin Xuan obeyed without a word.
A single step forward.
A slight twist of the wrist.
A clean swing.
No aura.
No flashy Sword Qi.
But the space around him tightened, converging briefly, as if drawn by an invisible thread.
Instructor Zhao exhaled slowly.
"That… was Sword Precision. Intermediate level."
He stared deeply.
"You should not have this."
The other disciples froze, staring wide-eyed. Outer disciples did not comprehend Sword Precision. That was something inner disciples struggled with, something even most 5th-stage cultivators rarely mastered.
Lin Xuan remained silent.
He didn't need to explain that the System had integrated the movements into his body during the night, refining his basic forms into condensed, lethal techniques.
What others practiced for years, his body absorbed in hours.
The Dao was a river, and he flowed with it.
Instructor Zhao stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Lin Xuan… last night, something happened in the Sword Hall. Our guards reported a fleeing intruder. Did you—?"
"No."
Lin Xuan shook his head calmly.
"I was cultivating."
A simple statement.
No emotion.
No deception in his tone.
Instructor Zhao hesitated. He sensed no lie, yet the timing was suspicious.
Still, he didn't press.
Lin Xuan turned away, resuming his practice, yet the whispering among the disciples swirled like a rising storm.
Some admired him.
Some feared him.
Some simply didn't understand him.
But one person watching from afar understood perfectly.
Hidden behind a pillar, face pale from lack of sleep, Lin Feng watched Lin Xuan with dawning dread.
Lin Feng had spent the entire night preparing another poison—one more potent, more subtle, one he believed could kill without leaving a single trace.
But now…
As he stared at Lin Xuan's precise movements, his silent grace, the pressure he exerted without a single word, his confidence crumbled.
This is wrong, Lin Feng thought.
He wasn't like this before. How did he change so quickly?
Fear prickled down his spine.
Did he know about the poison? Did he set me up?
Lin Xuan paused mid-swing and slowly turned his head.
Across the courtyard, their eyes met.
Lin Feng froze.
Lin Xuan didn't move.
He didn't glare.
He didn't smirk.
He simply looked.
A calm, quiet gaze that saw through everything.
Through the lies.
Through the schemes.
Through Lin Feng himself.
Lin Feng stumbled back, heart racing, breath unsteady. His hands trembled, nearly dropping the vial hidden in his sleeve.
He fled.
Lin Xuan watched him leave with the faintest exhale.
[System Alert: Observation Complete]
[New Passive Unlocked: Predator's Gaze — 5% chance to induce fear in weaker targets]
[Emotional Influence: Successful]
He sheathed his sword.
The morning had only begun, but the ripples were spreading.
Lin Feng was breaking.
Instructor Zhao had taken notice.
Senior disciples were whispering.
And someone stronger—someone from the inner sect—had begun watching him from the shadows.
Lin Xuan turned toward the deeper halls.
Today, the Sword Hall was changing.
And he walked at the center of its shift.
The shadow from last night had left its mark.
And it was only the beginning.