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The assembly ground smelled of sweat, cheap armor oil, and barely suppressed panic.
Hundreds of outer disciples and low-tier clan guards had been herded into neat ranks under the shadow of the eastern gate tower. Above them, the spatial tear had fully bloomed during the night: a jagged vertical wound in the sky, thirty meters tall, leaking violet mist that hissed when it touched the ground. The edges pulsed like breathing flesh.
A horn sounded—three short blasts.
The first wave was coming.
Lin Hao stood at the front of the elite vanguard, silver armor gleaming, high-grade metal-root qi already coiling visibly around his blade. A dozen sycophants flanked him, laughing too loudly, pretending this was just another training exercise. Behind them, the conscripted fodder—people like Lin Feng—were pushed forward to form the disposable first line.
Lin Feng stood near the edge of his assigned squad, face blank, borrowed sword still at his side. No one had bothered to give him proper armor; he wore only the patched robe and a thin leather bracer someone had tossed him out of pity.
Wei Shun was three men down the line.
The needle-wielder's hands shook slightly as he gripped his spear. Sweat beaded on his brow despite the morning chill. Every few seconds his eyes darted toward Lin Hao, then away—as if seeking reassurance that the job had been done years ago and couldn't possibly come back to bite him now.
Lin Feng didn't look at him.
He didn't need to.
The black mark inside Wei Shun had spread during the night: a faint, invisible rot that now reached the man's lower dantian. Another twenty-four hours and the first symptoms would appear—subtle fatigue, a whisper of doubt in his own strength. By the time anyone noticed, it would be far too late.
[Ding! Devour Progress: Wei Shun – 18%. Estimated full assimilation: 48 hours remaining.]
Lin Feng exhaled once, slowly.
Then the gate tore wider.
A low, wet ripping sound filled the air.
The first monsters spilled out—dozens of them.
They were called Rift Hounds: lean, six-legged things with obsidian hides and maws that split sideways like broken zippers. E-rank at best, but fast, and in numbers they could overwhelm even mid-grade cultivators if the formation broke.
Screams erupted immediately.
The conscript line buckled in three places within seconds.
Lin Hao surged forward with a shout, metal qi flashing in a crescent arc that cleaved three hounds in half. His followers cheered as if he'd already won the war.
Lin Feng moved.
Not forward. Not back.
Sideways—slipping between two panicking disciples who were hacking wildly at nothing.
A Rift Hound lunged at him, jaws wide.
He didn't raise his sword to block.
He stepped into the lunge, rotated his hips a fraction, and drove the blade's pommel—not the edge—straight into the soft palate behind the hound's fangs.
The beast's momentum carried it forward; the pommel punched through cartilage and brain. It collapsed in a twitching heap.
Two more came.
Lin Feng pivoted, letting one overshoot, then brought the flat of the blade across the second's skull with casual precision. Bone cracked. The creature dropped.
He didn't celebrate. Didn't even breathe harder.
He simply kept moving—flowing through the chaos like water finding cracks.
From the corner of his eye he saw Yue Li.
She was thirty paces away, assigned to the left flank. Her sword danced in tight, economical arcs—each cut precise, each kill clean. Blood flecked her gray training robes, but her expression never changed: focused, almost serene.
Then a hound broke through her line.
It went straight for her back.
She spun, too late by half a heartbeat.
Lin Feng was already there.
He didn't shout a warning. Didn't call her name.
He simply appeared between her and the beast, sword raised in a high guard he hadn't used since watching her practice months ago.
The hound slammed into him.
He took the impact on the crossed blades—metal screeching—then twisted, using the creature's weight to flip it over his shoulder. It crashed into the dirt. Before it could rise he drove his heel down through its eye socket.
Crunch.
Silence followed—for the space of one breath.
Yue Li stared at him.
Her sword was still half-raised; a thin line of blood trailed from a shallow cut on her forearm where she'd tried to turn.
She lowered the blade slowly.
"You…" Her voice was quieter than the surrounding screams. "That was my form."
"I paid attention."
She searched his face—really searched this time.
Something shifted behind her eyes.
Not gratitude exactly.
Recognition.
The kind that makes the chest tighten.
A second hound barreled toward them both.
She moved first this time—stepping forward in perfect sync with him without a word spoken.
He went low. She went high.
His blade severed tendons; hers took the head.
The body collapsed between them.
They stood back-to-back for a heartbeat—breathing the same blood-scented air.
Then the wave ebbed.
The remaining hounds retreated into the tear, whining.
The conscripts who survived stared in stunned silence.
Lin Hao's voice cut through it—loud, triumphant.
"See? The vanguard held! The Lin Clan stands!"
His eyes swept the field.
They landed on Lin Feng.
For the first time, something flickered in that arrogant gaze.
Confusion.
Then dismissal.
But the seed was planted.
Yue Li turned to face Lin Feng fully.
Her voice stayed low—meant for him alone.
"You could have let it hit me. No one would have blamed you."
"I know."
"Then why?"
He looked at the shallow cut on her arm.
Then at her eyes.
"Because I wanted to see what happens when you're the one who needs saving."
Her lips parted—barely.
No words came.
Instead she reached out—slowly—and pressed two fingers against the leather bracer on his wrist. Not a caress. Not quite a touch of concern.
Just contact.
Long enough to feel pulse.
Then she withdrew her hand.
"After this gate closes," she said, "meet me at the frost pond behind the sword platform. Tonight. When the moon is highest."
Not a question.
An invitation.
With consequences neither of them had named yet.
Lin Feng inclined his head once.
"I'll be there."
She turned away then—toward the medics, toward the cleanup.
But she glanced back once.
Just once.
And in that glance was everything unspoken:
Jealousy from others who had seen.
Longing she hadn't admitted even to herself.
And the quiet promise that this—whatever this was—would not end with one gate.
[Ding! Emotional Resonance: Yue Li — 21%]
[Anchor of Restraint Effect Strengthened: Devour Instinct suppressed by 15% when within 50 meters of target.]
[Warning: Resonance approaching threshold for secondary bond formation.]
Lin Feng sheathed the borrowed sword.
He didn't smile.
But the black thread inside him… paused.
As if even it understood that some hungers could wait.
For now.
The gate began to knit itself closed—violet mist receding.
Survivors cheered.
Lin Feng walked away from the cheers.
Toward the shadows.
Toward the next mark.
Toward the frost pond at midnight.
And toward whatever came after.
**To be continued...**