Beneath the sky-scraping peaks of the Skyrect Sect, Lin Xun sat cross-legged upon a jagged stone cliff, where winds howled like ancient beasts and clouds drifted like lost souls. Spiritual energy swirled around him, drawn from the very bones of the mountain, spiraling into his dantian.
He was deep in meditation, yet not blind to the world.
Since his duel with Zhao Wei, rumors had spread like wildfire. "The dual-core madman." "The emberblood freak." "The frozen flame." Every whisper was a blade. Every gaze—a challenge. But he welcomed it.
Let them come. The more pressure, the sharper the blade.
A shadow flickered behind him.
He didn't flinch.
> "You've made quite the name for yourself," said a calm, cold voice.
He turned. Lian Yue stood there, robes as pure as moonlight, a silver emblem on her chest that shimmered like frost over glass. She carried herself like a mountain range—quiet, powerful, immovable.
> "I didn't ask for attention," Lin Xun replied.
> "But you seized it nonetheless."
They stood in silence, two storms eyeing one another across a sea of tension.
> "Why are you here?" he asked.
She pointed to his chest. "Your fire... it's ancient. And it's incomplete."
Lin Xun frowned. "You keep saying that. What do you mean?"
She looked at him, eyes sharper than swords. "The Emberblood Flame is not merely a cultivation trait. It's a legacy. A bloodline tied to realms that the Skyrect Sect dares not speak of."
> "And how do you know that?" he asked.
She didn't answer.
Instead, she tossed him a scroll. "Open that when the moon turns crimson. And don't die before then."
Before he could speak, she vanished, leaving nothing but a soft shimmer in the air and a strange fragrance like burning snow.
---
Back in the lower disciple quarters, Lin Xun sat staring at the scroll.
Crimson moon? What madness had he stepped into?
Just as he was about to tuck it away, a rumble shook the air.
A sect bell tolled once. Then twice.
Danger.
A black-robed elder burst through the corridor.
> "All disciples—battle stations! The Red Mist Sect has crossed the border!"
Shock rippled through the sect like lightning. The Red Mist Sect—a brutal faction known for poison arts and spirit absorption—had not clashed with Skyrect in a decade.
Yet now, their blades were at the gates.
---
Lin Xun soared to the edge of the sect grounds, where elders had formed a barrier of light. Beyond, the mists were thick, and in them, shadows slithered—figures with glowing eyes and blades dripping with venom.
> "They're testing our strength," murmured a senior disciple.
But Lin Xun knew better.
They weren't just testing the sect.
They were looking for him.
A masked figure stepped forward from the enemy lines. His voice slithered like oil.
> "Skyrect Sect, hand over the boy with the Emberblood lineage. Or we raze your towers."
Gasps followed. Eyes turned toward Lin Xun.
He stepped forward without hesitation.
> "I'm right here."
The elder beside him whispered, "Fool! That's an Elder-level assassin—"
> "I know," Lin Xun replied, stepping beyond the barrier.
---
The enemy didn't expect it.
A boy barely seventeen. One against twenty.
But they didn't see the inferno behind his eyes. The glacier in his breath. They didn't feel the legacy boiling beneath his veins like magma trapped under ice.
> BOOM!
He moved like thunder.
His fist struck the earth, sending molten flame shooting in veins across the battlefield. He spun, releasing a torrent of frost that froze two assassins mid-strike. Then a burst of fire consumed them.
> "This boy… he's still Foundation Realm—how?!" one of them cried.
The masked elder sneered and vanished—only to reappear behind Lin Xun, blade aimed at his heart.
But Lin Xun didn't dodge.
He caught the blade between his palms.
> CRACK!
Frost exploded. The assassin reeled back, hands burning from cold.
> "He fused them again!"
The dual-element burst spread like wildfire through the enemy line.
They retreated—wounded, shocked, defeated.
Lin Xun stood alone, his breath ragged, his robes torn, but his back straight.
---
Later that night, on the highest terrace of the inner sect, a secret council gathered.
Elders whispered.
> "He's the one."
> "The prophecy burns brighter."
> "If the Red Mist seeks him, others will follow."
The sect master, a man with eyes like abyssal wells, spoke gravely.
> "Watch him. Do not cage him. But if the time comes... protect him at all costs."
---
Meanwhile, Lin Xun sat atop a distant peak, the scroll unopened in his hand.
The moon began to rise—its edges tinged faintly in red.
He opened it.
Inside, written in delicate yet burning script, was a single phrase:
> "Your father walks in the Shadowflame Abyss."
His blood froze.
That place… that name… it was forbidden even in ancient texts.
Lian Yue had lied.
She knew far more than she let on.
And his father—long believed de
ad—might still live.
The mountains were no longer just training grounds.
They were the first echoes of a war he didn't yet understand.
But he would.
Because flame remembers.
And frost never forgets.