A week passed in the blink of an eye.
The Embercloud Sect, usually humming with the rhythm of cultivation, settled into a tense stillness. Rumors had become whispers, whispers became debates, then silence. Outer and inner disciples alike held their breath. The Secret Realm would soon open. Who would be chosen to enter it?
And more importantly, who had caught the eyes of the peak elders?
Then, on the seventh morning, the bells tolled.
Three deep, resonating chimes echoed across all nine peaks. As if carried by the wind itself, identical notices appeared simultaneously at each peak's central square.
Disciples flooded the plazas, clustering beneath jade bulletin stones that now shimmered with golden script.
Selected Participants for the Secret Realm:
Lan Yue – Verdant Sigil Peak.Personal disciple of Elder Lin. Chosen for exceptional talent in talisman crafting.
Yan Mu – Swordwind Peak.Personal disciple of Elder Zhao. Selected for outstanding sword mastery and combat potential.
Wei Shan – Formless Array Peak.Third disciple of Elder Zhao. Known for rapid advancement in mid-grade two formation arrays.
Mu Xuan – Pillfire Peak.Inner disciple renowned for swift and accurate pill-refining techniques.
Zhou Fan – Starforge Peak.Forged a top-tier Grade Two spiritual weapon while still in mid Foundation Establishment.
Tie Han – Ironbody Peak.Possesses a rare brute-force physique and extraordinary body refinement talent.
As the disciples finished reading, murmurs burst into full-blown discussions.
"Lan Yue made it? She's strong, but not the strongest..."
"Zhou Fan? He's still refining spirit ores, but I heard his last saber weighed half a ton!"
"Even Wei Shan? Formation disciples rarely get picked!"
The selections caused waves of debate- not all those chosen were the strongest. They were the most promising. The elders had clearly prioritized potential, not raw power.
Back in the herbal garden, Li Yao stood quietly at the edge of Deacon Bai courtyard.
The scent of crushed herbs lingered on the warm spring breeze. But today, something in the air felt heavier. His master's simple garden, once a place of solace, now seemed like the threshold to something greater.
He had questions about power, about the path he was meant to walk.
He stepped forward.
Under the familiar peach tree, Deacon Bai sat cross-legged, a cup of tea steaming in one hand. The sun filtered through the blossoms, scattering dappled light across his weathered robes. Though calm, a quiet pressure emanated from him today, like a bowstring drawn just before release.
"Sit," Bai Renshu said without opening his eyes.
Li Yao obeyed, kneeling with reverence.
The old man finally looked at him. "You've taken your first step- refined your body, stabilized your qi. That's the foundation of cultivation."
He set the teacup down gently.
"But now, it's time to begin walking a path of will."
Li Yao blinked. "Will?"
Bai Renshu didn't answer with words. Instead, he waved a hand.
From a nearby rack of old weapons, a black-fletched arrow floated into the air. It looked ordinary- ironwood shaft, simple steel tip, worn fletching.
"This is just a hunting arrow," Bai said. "No formation scripts. No Qi infused."
He tossed it lazily at a thick stone target just outside the courtyard.
The arrow hummed through the air, not fast, not glowing and yet-
CRACK.
The stone shattered. Not cracked- shattered, fragments exploding in all directions.
Li Yao's mouth fell open.
"But… Master! You didn't use any Qi…"
"Correct," Bai said simply. "That was not strength. That was the Intent."
He looked directly at Li Yao.
"Intent is not about the body, nor the qi. It is the spirit of your technique. When your will aligns with your weapon, and your understanding becomes instinct, you start to form something beyond normal comprehension."
He raised one finger. "At Grade One, a technique becomes twice as strong."
Then another. "At Grade Two—four times."
Then a third. "Eight. Sixteen. Thirty-two…"
Li Yao watched, wide-eyed, as his master raised fingers until both hands were fully extended.
"At Grade Ten, your strike can be a thousand times more powerful."
Li Yao felt his breath catch.
"A thousand…"
Bai Renshu's eyes turned serious.
"But listen carefully, Li Yao. Intent cultivation isn't bound to your realm. It's not like Qi Refining or Core Formation. Even a mortal can glimpse Intent with enough understanding. It depends solely on your comprehension and will."
He sipped his tea once more, then continued.
"The greatest cultivator in the Tianyuan Realm was a sword prodigy from the Earthly Sword Sect. He reached Grade Four Intent- sixteenfold power. I, Bai Renshu, have cultivated Grade Three Intent of the Arrow. That is eightfold."
He looked down at his hands, eyes distant for a moment.
"Even I have not touched the edge of Grade Four."
Li Yao's fists clenched unconsciously.
If Elder Bai couldn't reach it… could he?
"To walk the path of the axe," Bai said, pulling him from thought, "you must first connect with your weapon. Not just use it- understand it. Rely on it. Let your struggles pass through it. Over time, if you persist… the weapon will begin to echo your spirit."
A scroll floated from the pavilion shelf and landed softly in Li Yao's lap.
"These axe techniques are simple. But they hold depth. Practice them- not with the goal of mastery, but with the intent to understand."
Li Yao bowed deeply, arms trembling. "Thank you, Master."
"Don't thank me yet," Bai Renshu said with a grunt. "Cultivating intent is more frustrating than advancing a realm. Most disciples give up before Grade One. No shortcuts. No tricks."
Li Yao stood slowly, hands tightening around the scroll.
"I won't give up."
Bai raised an eyebrow.
"Bold."
Li Yao shook his head. "Not boldness. Just… certainty."
The old cultivator's eyes narrowed slightly, then curved into a faint smile.
"Good. Then go. Find your axe's rhythm. Seek danger. Hunt. Bleed. Let the axe become your voice."
Li Yao bowed once more and left, his back straight, the scroll clutched tightly in his hands.
That afternoon, beneath the trees behind the herbal gardens, Li Yao stood with his old axe in hand.
It was the same one he'd brought from Ember City- a simple, worn tool turned weapon. Unadorned. Heavy. Real.
He laid the scroll open on a flat stone, then read it in silence.
Falling Ember Slash – A descending strike designed to maximize fire qi dispersal.
Molten Spiral Slash – A rotational sweep to create outward force and knockback.
Scorching Fang Rip – A hooked strike meant to drag qi through flesh and spirit alike, burning from within.
He began slowly.
One movement at a time.
The axe rose, fell, turned.
Then again.
And again.
He practiced until his arms screamed, his legs trembled, and his breath came in gasps.
When the sun finally sank behind Cloudveil Peak, Li Yao collapsed onto the grass, the axe resting beside him.
Sweat clung to his body like dew.
His chest rose and fell, each breath ragged.
He stared up at the sky.
"The intent of the axe…"
He whispered the words aloud.
"What is it?"
Was it destruction?
Was it protection?
Rage?
Discipline?
He didn't know.
But he wanted to.
He had to.
The stars blinked into view one by one, serene and eternal.
In the silence, Li Yao reached inward. The scroll remained in his mind, the techniques etched deep into his muscles.
His Heavenly Observation System flickered to life briefly- silent, offering no new prompts.
Observation Points: 15[Insight feature available.]
But Li Yao didn't activate it.
Not tonight.
This wasn't about system shortcuts.
Not this part.
Not the axe.
With calloused hands and a burning heart, he closed his eyes and listened to the night—the whispering leaves, the sighing wind, the quiet thrum of his own spirit.
And beside him, silent and heavy, the axe rested.
Waiting to be understood