Chapter 14: Quiet Days, Hidden Ripples
The days following the Mistlotus mission passed in a gentle rhythm.
Training, meditation, sparring.
Clinton found himself waking up earlier, his body already adjusted to the Outer Sect's harsh routines. Each morning, he performed the Wind-Cleaving Slash fifty times before breakfast. His technique had become smoother—almost second nature.
Instructor Feng even grunted a vague nod of approval during drills. That, Clinton assumed, was the Sect equivalent of a standing ovation.
Suyin often sparred with him in the evenings. Their movements mirrored each other—fast, precise, playful. The others began noticing, whispering about the foreigner and the top disciple growing close.
But nothing changed between them. No confessions. No promises.
Just steel on steel, and silent trust.
Jiro, still jumpy from the fog valley, took to gardening in the Spirit Herb Courtyard. "Peaceful," he said one day, rubbing his hands in the dirt. "Plants don't whisper your childhood secrets at you."
Ren focused harder than ever on sword drills. He'd lost twice to Clinton since the mission and clearly wasn't happy about it.
Mei returned to studying formations, sometimes roping Clinton in to "test trap arrays." He was now very familiar with what it felt like to be launched six feet into the air.
Still, everything remained… calm.
> "Too calm," Narvek said one morning, as Clinton meditated near the cliff's edge. "No more tests. No new missions. No sudden crises. Suspicious?"
"Can't I enjoy the quiet without you looking for conspiracy?"
> "Statistically, prolonged periods of peace in cultivation sects precede either inner sect trials or hidden politics. Enjoy the calm. Just don't trust it."
Clinton opened one eye. The sun hung low over the mountain, casting soft gold on the valley below.
He smirked. "Still. Beats fighting fog-demons."
Later that week, the Mistlotus was officially recorded as "successfully retrieved." No mention of the altered formation. No mention of whispers.
Just a note in the archives.
Suyin came to him that night with a sealed letter. "You're on the ranking board now," she said. "Top 30 of the Outer Sect."
He blinked. "What?"
"You beat two high-tier disciples in sparring. And the Mistlotus mission gave you merit points. You're rising fast."
Clinton looked at the seal on the envelope. The character for "Potential."
He wasn't sure whether to be proud… or worried.
> "Now you're being watched," Narvek said. "Not just by curious mists. But by humans with ambition. Eyes that smile in daylight and strike at night."
"Great," Clinton sighed. "Just what I needed."
But for now… no assassins came. No dark beasts crawled from the forest. No hidden elders summoned him to secret chambers.
Just normal days.
Training.
Swordplay.
Laughter.
And the slow, silent ripples of fate... moving beneath still waters.
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Clinton didn't let the ranking get to his head.
Instead, he doubled down on discipline.
Morning sword practice turned into full martial routines—paired with breathing techniques Narvek optimized each week. The AI fine-tuned Clinton's stances, calculated strike angles, and even adjusted muscle tension in real-time. It was like having a thousand years of martial experience packed into every swing.
By the end of the week, his Wind-Cleaving Slash could cut clean through stone pillars, and he began experimenting with Qi-threaded footwork to add bursts of speed.
> "You're approximately 12 days away from mastering Wind-Cleaving Slash at the Intermediate level," Narvek said. "After that, you'll need a new form to grow further."
"Any recommendations?"
> "Several. The Sect holds a library of low-tier techniques for Outer Disciples. I suggest visiting soon."
Clinton did.
The Technique Archive was a quiet place—cool stone walls, humming with faint protective runes. Disciples moved in silence, some copying scrolls, others whispering about what to try next.
He chose a movement technique called Shadowleaf Step—a swift footwork style based on forest animals that emphasized fluid motion and misdirection. Perfect for someone still learning how to balance offense and defense.
Learning it the normal way would've taken weeks.
Narvek trimmed that down to three days.
Suyin noticed the difference in their next spar.
"You're faster," she said, catching her breath. "Still sloppy, but… faster."
Clinton grinned. "Blame nature. I've been studying squirrels."
They kept sparring every few days. Mei and Jiro sometimes joined. Occasionally, Ren did too—always quiet, always focused.
By the end of the month, Clinton had moved to rank 23 in the Outer Sect.
No fanfare. No enemies. Just silent recognition.
> "At this rate, you'll hit Inner Sect eligibility before the season changes," Narvek noted.
"Will that make things harder?"
> "Undoubtedly."
Clinton laughed, sitting on a flat rock and wiping sweat from his brow. "Good. I was starting to get bored."
> "That's dangerous to say in a cultivation world."
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End of Chapter 14 (continued)