The Ye Clan estate stood resolute under a sky washed clean by the fading storm, its stones glistening with wet defiance. A brittle noon sun pierced the clouds, casting stark shadows across the courtyard. Ye Hua knelt by a makeshift loom, her fingers weaving coarse thread into a patchy cloth, her gray eyes flicking to the gate where the elder's horn had blared. Ye Qing sharpened his spear nearby, the scrape of stone a steady heartbeat, while Ye Jun and Ye Mei hauled twigs to the fire, their small faces tight with focus. Ye Chen sat on a log, etching a ward into a jagged rock, his twisted leg forgotten in his precision. Ye Ling prowled the barricade, her dagger a restless gleam, her braid swinging with each step.
Lin Feng stood atop the gatehouse, his silhouette a dark sentinel against the pale light. Liao Mei's defeat had forged the Ye Clan into a blade, its edge keen but untested against true steel. His muddy-brown eyes swept the horizon, calm yet piercing. Inside, Zhan Tian's divine soul roared, the seal's fracture a molten abyss spilling golden qi into his core. Each battle tore it wider—a tempest breaking its chains, hardening this mortal frame into a weapon. He rolled his shoulders, rain's chill lingering in his bones, the power surging beneath—not yet the god's might of old, but a reckoning for the bold.
Ye Ling climbed up, her boots slipping on wet stone, her voice sharp. "That horn," she said, dagger spinning. "Trouble?"
"Big trouble," Lin Feng replied, descending. "Iron Fang's sending an elder."
Her eyes glinted, a predator's thrill. "Good. I'm tired of small fry."
"Small fry bleed," he said, meeting her gaze with ice. "Elders bite. Get them ready."
The clan converged in the courtyard, their movements a thread of iron through their fear. Ye Qing planted his spear, Ye Chen tucked his rock into a pouch, and Ye Hua stood with the kids, her hands clenched. Lin Feng faced them, his presence a steady flame.
"Iron Fang's done playing," he said, voice cutting the air. "An elder's coming—stronger than enforcers. They want us broken. We don't bend. We shatter them."
Ye Qing's grip tightened, his voice gruff. "An elder? That's sect steel, Lin Feng."
"Steel cuts both ways," he said, eyes glinting. "Woods to slow them, walls to hold. I'll take the lead."
Ye Chen's sharp gaze flicked up, probing. "You again. What's driving you?"
"Winning," Lin Feng said, unyielding. "Move."
The clan sprang into motion. Ye Ling darted to the woods, rigging snares with a hunter's cunning—barbs woven into twine, stakes sharpened to maim. Ye Chen etched wards along the walls, his strokes swift, the air humming with unseen force. Ye Qing and the kids piled logs into a jagged choke point. Lin Feng worked alone, carving a deeper array into the gate's keystone—a web of qi, invisible but deadly. The seal surged as he channeled power, pain spiking through his ribs, but he pressed on—a trap for the proud.
Dusk fell, a heavy shroud pierced by the low hum of power—not thunder, but qi. Shadows shifted on the road—five figures in Iron Fang gray, their armor etched with silver runes. At their center stood an elder, his presence a furnace—Foundation Establishment, early stage, a league beyond Liao Mei. Huo Shan, his name rumbled through the enforcers, his iron-gray hair tied back, scars mapping his face, a longsword slung across his back pulsing with crimson qi. Four enforcers flanked him, their qi a disciplined hum—Core Formation peaks, each a honed edge.
He stopped short of the woods, his voice a rasp of command. "I'm Huo Shan, Iron Fang's Blade Warden. You've spat on our honor, Ye vermin. Give up the wanderer, or I'll grind your bones to dust."
Ye Qing emerged, spear steady, his voice a growl. "He's ours. Cross here, and you'll taste steel."
Huo Shan's laugh was a dry crack. "Steel? You wield twigs, old fool." He drew his longsword, crimson qi flaring—a wave scorching the air. The enforcers advanced, their steps a synchronized beat.
Lin Feng stepped from the gate, alone. "Stay back," he murmured to the clan, then moved forward. The enforcers hit the woods—Ye Ling's snares snapped, thorns piercing legs, twine tangling feet. Two stumbled, cursing, as her dagger flashed from the shadows, nicking a throat before she melted away. Ye Chen's wards pulsed, slowing the others, their breaths hitching. Ye Qing hurled a log, crushing a knee with a sickening crunch.
Huo Shan strode through, unhindered, his eyes locking on Lin Feng. "You're the thorn," he said, sword rising. "Let's pluck you." He slashed—a crimson arc tearing the earth.
Lin Feng danced aside, the strike grazing his sleeve, singeing cloth. The seal erupted, golden qi flooding his veins—a wildfire unleashed. He darted in, fist a blur—qi hardening it to stone. Huo Shan parried, blade meeting flesh, but it skidded off, sparks flying. The elder's eyes widened, doubt piercing his calm.
"Not possible," Huo Shan growled, swinging again—faster, a storm of crimson. Lin Feng wove through, his movements fluid, palming a runed stone. He tossed it at Huo Shan's feet—the array flared, a cage of force pinning the elder's legs. Huo Shan roared, qi surging to break free, but Lin Feng closed in, striking his chest—a golden pulse cracking ribs.
The elder staggered, blood flecking his lips. "You're no mortal!" His sword flared brighter, a desperate slash. Lin Feng caught it—bare hands gripping the blade, qi a shield against the crimson edge. The seal screamed, its golden flood breaking fully free. He twisted, snapping the sword in two, then drove a fist into Huo Shan's jaw. The elder flew back, crashing through a tree, crumpling in the dirt.
The enforcers froze, their formation shattered. Ye Ling pounced, her dagger a whirlwind, while Ye Chen's stones rained down, precise and lethal. Ye Qing charged, spear piercing armor, his roar a battle cry. Ye Mei peeked from the hall, rope in hand— "Now!" Lin Feng called. She tossed it, tripping an enforcer mid-step, and Ye Ling finished him, her blade sinking deep.
Huo Shan coughed, clutching his chest, glaring up. "Who… are you?"
"Lin Feng," he said, voice a blade's edge. "Tell your sect I'm here. Next time, I take more."
Huo Shan snarled, dragging himself up, limping into the dusk. The Ye Clan surged—Ye Ling's fierce grin, Ye Qing's booming cheer, Ye Chen's quiet nod. Lin Feng turned, the golden qi fading, his hands trembling from the strain.
Ye Qing thumped his back, rain-soaked and jubilant. "You're a titan, lad! Broke an elder like a twig!"
Ye Ling laughed, spinning her dagger. "That old bastard didn't see it coming. You're a beast!"
Ye Chen stepped close, his gaze dissecting. "You snapped a Foundation blade. That's no trick."
Lin Feng flexed his hands, shrugging. "He overestimated himself. That's his fall."
That night, the clan gathered in the hall, the fire blazing with looted wood. Ye Hua bound Lin Feng's grazed knuckles, her voice soft. "You're our shield," she said, tears brimming. "We'd be ash without you."
"Shields hold," he said, letting her work. "We're cutting deeper."
Ye Ling sat near, her tone hushed. "You burned gold—bright as day. Don't dodge."
He held her gaze, steady. "Earn it. Fight with me."
She chuckled. "Deal."
Later, alone in the woods, Lin Feng knelt by a stream, washing blood from his hands. The seal's fracture glowed in his mind—a golden inferno he could barely leash. Huo Shan's Foundation qi had torn it wide—a mortal's peak clashing with a god's essence. He channeled the power, forging his frame—muscles hardening, senses sharpening, pain a crucible.
Ye Chen found him, his shadow flickering. "You're not one of us," he said, direct. "You're older—bigger."
Lin Feng rose, meeting his eyes. "I'm what you'll become. Keep up."
Ye Chen nodded, a spark igniting. As silence fell, a tremor shook the earth—not thunder, but footsteps. Lin Feng's head snapped up—shapes loomed in the mist, massive, their roars a chorus of primal fury.