Chapter 17: The Skirmish

The territory of the December Sect was vast, spanning mountains and rivers as far as the eye could see. As the pillar of the sect and the leader of the sword cultivators, Lord Wanghua resided in an equally expansive environment.

The Void Grass Cave was his place of seclusion. From the outside, it appeared to be a narrow cave entrance, but once inside, one realized it held a world of its own—a vast domain carved out within the inherent boundaries. Outside the cave, lush trees offered shade, streams flowed incessantly, and the forest echoed with the melodious sounds of springs, with an air of vibrant vitality filling the entire woods.

A figure stood outside the cave, head lowered in respectful waiting. Turi Qi was dressed in pale green, her light lashes lowered, a sword at her back that shone like the brilliance of spring.

A sparrow perched on a branch suddenly flapped its short wings and flew off. At that moment, a brilliant light erupted from the cave entrance, and a formation materialized, spinning with complex, golden-yellow runes that moved and aligned like clicking gears. When the formation vanished, a person appeared at the entrance.

His white robes were as pure as snow, and his features were as beautiful as a painting. However, his narrow eyes held the chill of cold stars, looking at things as if they were beneath his notice. His pale, crystalline pupils were too indifferent and heartless; one met only a transparent chill in his gaze, without a shred of warmth.

"Master," Turi Qi said respectfully, her eyes downcast. "Your disciple welcomes Master back from seclusion."

"Mhm."

As was their routine, one was deeply respectful while the other gave a faint response. Lord Wanghua walked straight past her.

Turi Qi stared at the hem of his robes, her face calm and her manner polite, yet her fingernails bit into her palms as she clamped her teeth down on the flesh inside her lip. As the head disciple of the Sword Gate, she cared for its internal affairs day and night, constantly sacrificing her time to live up to the reputation of being the Sword Sovereign’s first student.

Think of it—the Sword Sovereign, whose single strike could cleave a thousand mountains, had taken a disciple who, despite her talent, lacked killing intent and possessed a soft, weak sword-will. How much criticism must she endure—even if they never spoke of it to the Sword Sovereign himself?

Back then, she thought:

Since I lack talent in swordsmanship, I must at least be useful to the sect.

She was grateful to the sect for raising her since she was seven, and even more grateful to her master for the resources and guidance he provided.

He had taken her as a disciple when she was fourteen. Turi Qi had tested as a Dual-Element Root before the entire sect, stunning everyone. The peerless Sword Sovereign had merely glanced at her and said, with an air of indifference, that he would take her as his disciple.

And then... and then...

—"Master... I..."

Now fully grown and aware of the social boundaries between men and women, the girl with blushing cheeks had been startled by the sudden intimacy of his posture while he was teaching her sword techniques. That faint, cold aura surrounding her had sparked a delusion. Since joining his lineage, her master had never been so close to her.

—"Master, may I... with Master..."

The Sword Sovereign’s eyes had suddenly filled with a look of struggle, which eventually turned into coldness: "We are master and disciple."

Everything shattered in an instant. Embarrassment, shame, and a chaotic mix of emotions tore at her heart. Was it all one-sided? Then why had he been so intimate, giving her such fantasies?

She had forced herself to bow her head in acknowledgement, the immense self-loathing and shame dampening the corners of her eyes. Her slender shoulders, which usually stood straight under the weight of her heavy duties, suddenly tensed and trembled.

Afterward, the Sword Sovereign entered seclusion and had only just emerged. It was as if nothing had happened between them; everything was back to normal.

Turi Qi followed behind him, saying carefully, "Master, three people were selected for the Sword Gate this time. Among them are two Dual-Element Roots—one uses a spear and the other a sword."

The man stopped, his chilling gaze sweeping down. "What of it? I will only ever take one disciple."

"...Yes."

Classes were boring. Very, very boring.

Unless someone performed a bone-reading, the Puppet Threads would never be discovered, let alone the private covenant. Consequently, Zora used them without the slightest caution.

Page after page was smeared with black ink, crumpled into balls, and tossed away. Before long, a pile of paper balls had accumulated beneath her desk. Vane had finished writing long ago, but his calligraphy with a brush was still poor, so he practiced over and over.

Suddenly, a ball of paper was tossed onto his desk, covering the character he was writing and touching the soft tip of his brush. He glanced over. Zora was propping up her cheek and staring at his brush-tip, looking very much like she had simply missed her target when throwing the paper.

After a moment of silence, the paper ball was moved to the corner of the desk.

The long tolling of a bell sounded outside.

"Alright, you may all leave," Xu Tan announced, stroking his long beard as he walked out leisurely.

The room instantly became noisy as everyone packed up. Zora put down her brush immediately. Not yet having entered the Dao, everyone used mortal methods to arrange their books. After Vane finished, he stood up, and the paper ball caught in his robes fell slowly to the floor.

"..."

Zora also stood up, letting out an imperceptible sigh of relief, and then stared at him.

Several people in front were stealing glances.

"Are those the Dual-Element Roots like the Sword Sovereign?"

"Definitely. I have contacts in the inner gate. The news is everywhere."

"Do you think I could become close friends with them right now?"

Yiling Ke snickered inwardly, feigning composure, though her movements in packing her books were noticeably as slow as possible.

Finally, her random deskmate finished packing and asked in surprise, "Yiling Ke, why are you being so slow?"

Yiling Ke covered her mouth in feigned shock. "How did you know Zora only said hello to me just now?"

Her deskmate, interrupted mid-sentence, twitched a corner of their mouth. "..."

Are you sick?

However, the next classes were separate. The sword users stayed together, while her path as a formation master naturally led to a different place.

Yiling Ke stood up and called out to the back, "I'm leaving first, Zora! See you!"

The deskmate saw the girl named Zora take a moment to react before slowly nodding, her face remaining entirely unmoved.

Deskmate: "...Is this the legendary heartless sword cultivator?"

The two at the center of the chatter sat in the back. For some reason, several people felt they couldn't look directly at the youth in black martial attire. Whenever he looked their way, they would hurriedly turn their heads to avoid his gaze. Despite being mortals of flesh and blood just like them, his aura was overwhelming.

The lingering crowd eventually finished packing and left with their new companions, glancing back at the door one last time. There, the youth who looked like trouble was... picking up paper balls.

...Wait, what??

After a beat, Zora finished waving back to Yiling Ke and turned her head back to quietly stare at his profile. Vane, who was about to leave, looked down and met her gaze.

"..."

"Clean up."

"...Yes."

The messy paper balls on the floor were picked up one by one by the youth. He even tidied her desk; she had used the brush so forcefully the bristles were splayed.

They were the last to leave the courtyard. Lunch consisted of fasting pills.

Next was the training ground. Zora arrived on her white crane to find Zhang Mo already there, tensely polishing his sword over and over.

"Ah... Miss... Miss Zora..." Zhang Mo nodded timidly, though his head was bowed so low it almost touched the ground. Zora nodded back in response.

What was his name again? Never mind.

The training ground was a clearing of yellow earth surrounded by woods, with rows of wooden and bronze swords standing on racks.

"Two people this year?" A vigorous-looking old man arrived at the training ground, looking at the two in the cold wind with surprise. "I am Ding Wanren. Enough talk. First, a horse stance for half an hour, followed by a thousand sword swings. Begin!"

Zhang Mo looked like the world was ending as he took up the horse stance with a heavy heart.

He was the worst at this stuff!

Zora didn't know how to do a horse stance, so she looked at Zhang Mo and imitated him.

The sun beat down overhead, the temperature rose, and the yellow earth before her eyes seemed to distort in the heat. Drops of sweat slid down her temples. Zhang Mo collapsed on the ground in less than fifteen minutes; when he resumed the stance, his legs wouldn't stop shaking.

As the sun began to slant, the two were practicing swings with wooden swords, repeating the same movement. Ding Wanren occasionally barked a correction. Suddenly, the sound of fighting came from the other side of the woods—the dull sound of fists hitting flesh, followed by the laughter of several disciples.

"Faster! Is that all you've got!"

"You can't even beat us at the Qi Condensation stage? Pathetic!"

Ding Wanren glanced over, let out a cold snort, and turned back to the sweat-drenched pair. "Hear that? That’s the combat practice after your swings. Some outer disciples at the Qi Condensation stage will come to spar with you, without using spiritual power. Every year, the new recruits return covered in bruises. The lucky ones make immense progress; the unlucky ones just get beaten. That’s why your rooms are stocked with medicine."

During the first month of induction, many skills had to be honed through actual combat. Sword Gate disciples would call upon several outer disciples who volunteered to serve as sparring partners. However, such sessions depended on the disciples' intentions and the teacher’s character. Many were simply beaten and learned nothing, while others were truly taught many techniques. Bruises were inevitable in a fight.

The sect didn't lack people. Although they lacked geniuses, the cases of geniuses falling early were everywhere. After all, they were only brought under the sect's wing after formal apprenticeship. In a grand sect like the December Sect, there were many people with many different hearts. A person’s path is their own; the heart to cherish talent was far less important than one's own affairs. The path of cultivation wouldn't offer shortcuts just because of talent.

"Aside from you two, there’s only one left in the Sword Gate this year..." Ding Wanren remarked.

Zhang Mo’s face went pale. Could the person over there be...

—"Vane! Get up!"

It really was him! Zhang Mo’s face grew even paler. Even someone as powerful as Vane was getting beaten... but it made sense; they had no cultivation yet, so they couldn't win no matter what.

Thinking that he would also have to spar soon, Zhang Mo stole a glance at the girl. She was still swinging her sword without pause, as if she hadn't heard the dull thuds from the other side, nor Ding Wanren’s words.

Truly... truly...

Zhang Mo couldn't find a single word to describe her.

As expected of her.

After the swings, Zhang Mo’s arms were limp and his legs were shaking. Two or three disciples in white approached and bowed to Ding Wanren.

"You must only use basic sword techniques. If you fall and don't stand up within five breaths, you lose."

They needed to switch to wooden swords, so the three disciples went to fetch them. Zora’s hair was already messy, her cheeks flushed, and sweat dampened the stray hairs at her temples. Yet her eyes remained bright, seemingly knowing no exhaustion or fear—and likewise, no battle-lust.

Zhang Mo was trembling with fear. He hurried to speak to a disciple who looked kind and different from the other two. "Senior Brother, may I practice with you?"

The disciple was startled, then smiled. "Certainly. First, you must grip the hilt tight. We will use the sect’s basic sword techniques. Every day, until you are used to them. You haven't learned them on this first day, so just consider it getting familiar. In a month, you should have learned them all and be able to hold your own for a few moves."

Looks like my luck is good,

Zhang Mo thought with a sigh of relief. He agreed quickly, while glancing uneasily toward Zora’s side.

"You're Zora?" A man with a frivolous expression and a mocking look took up a wooden sword and stood diagonally across from her.

Zora gripped her hilt. "Yes."

"...Not much to look at," he sneered, eyeing her up and down. "Maybe you're like the head disciple—no talent for the sword. If that's the case, a Dual-Element Root is truly wasted on you."

He wasn't afraid of any future revenge from a "genius." On the surface, the sect forbade the killing of fellow disciples, and those who considered themselves geniuses usually considered themselves upright as well. The most they would do for revenge was give someone the cold shoulder, or at most strike back when they grew powerful. They wouldn't actively dig up old grudges. Besides, he was in the outer gate; after this meeting, he might not cross paths with them for hundreds of years.

Zora turned a deaf ear.

"Tch, a block of wood."

He started with a ruthless overhead slash. No spiritual power was allowed, but a Qi Condensation disciple’s strength was still immense. Zora didn't know how to use a sword; she was better with a short blade. Her parries were executed in a short-blade style.

"What kind of stance is that? Ha!"

While Zhang Mo’s side was slow and harmless, Zora’s side was a storm of strikes as fast as thunder. The disciple gradually grew surprised; this girl clearly had excellent physical skills, and every move was a killing strike, with not a single move being gentle.

But what of it! His eyes flashed with ruthlessness as he applied more force.

Clack!

Her wrist was struck, and her sword fell to the ground. "A sword cultivator without a sword is as good as dead," the man laughed, glancing at the fallen blade.

Zora’s entire body had been hit by the wooden sword, sending waves of intense pain through her. She set her wrist bone back into place, didn't go for the sword, but instead closed the distance.

"What...!"

Even with an unfamiliar sword, the girl was like a fish in water. With a few evasive maneuvers, she landed a kick in the man's abdomen.

"Argh!" The man was hit in the eye, his face turning red with rage as he panted heavily. "You... you..."

He performed the basic sword techniques again. Zora dodged as she had before, but suddenly felt the sword swinging from the side was a thousand times more dangerous than before.

He had infused it with spiritual power.

The air rippled with force. Zora switched entirely to evasive moves, gradually being forced into a corner. The wooden sword struck her back, slamming her into the ground.

"Ugh...!"

The scent of earth filled her nose as she frowned, drenched in cold sweat, too pained to move. The gap in strength was too large. Zora swallowed the metallic taste of blood, her fingertips digging into the yellow earth.

The man laughed. "Get up, then!"

Ding Wanren hadn't been watching the whole time. He had gone to throw out some discarded wooden swords, and when he returned, he was incensed by the spiritual power fluctuations on the sword. He pointed a finger. "You! It was agreed no spiritual power allowed. Have you forgotten the rules?"

The disciple argued, "I saw Elder Ding didn't call us, so I went to the other side first. That was also Sword Gate training; they were all using spiritual power, and that person was practicing very quickly."

Ding Wanren sneered, "They may let it slide, but I won't! Get out!"

The disciple didn't dare speak back. "...Yes."

"And leave your Rejuvenation Pill behind as punishment."

"...Yes."

Before leaving, the disciple looked at the girl who showed neither anger nor irritation and thought maliciously:

Is she a fool? Can't laugh, can't cry, can't feel anger or shame.

Ding Wanren stood before her. Zora had stood up after she recovered, looking quite wretched, with a faint red stain appearing on the back of her robes. He handed her a pill. "Eat it. Wounds caused by spiritual power cannot be fully removed by ordinary medicine."

Zora didn't hesitate, tipping one out and eating it. Two remained in the bottle.

As moonlight began to spill across the land, the class finally ended. Ding Wanren left, and Zhang Mo approached hesitantly, mumbled an apology, and ran off in shame. Zora watched him in confusion.

What was he doing?

She stayed to practice a bit longer. Unable to vent her internal emotions, a hint of resentment finally appeared on the girl's face while she swung her sword alone. Panting from the effort, Zora put down the wooden sword and walked toward the lawn where the white cranes were waiting.

A figure slowly emerged from the woods. His face was bruised, dotted with fresh blood, and his body was covered in wounds and dust. In the moonlight, Zora could see it was Vane. He seemed to have been dismissed earlier yet moved so slowly—perhaps he had been unable to move from the pain and could only start walking after he recovered. His ponytail had come undone, there was blood at his lips, and his pace was slow, his expression terrifying.

Zora asked, "Are you about to die?" She tossed the bottle containing the two remaining pills to him. "For your life."

Vane lifted his eyes, raising a hand to catch the bottle perfectly in his palm. Zora wasn't much better off; the Rejuvenation Pill was low-tier and had only removed the effects of the spiritual power. A wound was still a wound; her robes at the back were stained red, and there was a bruise at the corner of her mouth. Yet her face was calm and her eyes clear—unlike his, which were shadowed and swirling with darkness.

He blinked, and his usual expression returned. "I can still breathe. They wouldn't dare kill anyone." He paused. "Thank you."

Zora simply stood there waiting for him to walk over, showing no intention of supporting him. As he drew near, she asked, "Do you remember the faces?"

Vane was startled, then laughed, not caring that it tugged at the wound on his lip. "I never forget a face."

She gave a small nod.

He added, "I heard your Elder Ding scolding someone for using spiritual power. Do you remember his face?"

"Three people were watching while you were being beaten."

"..."

"The tallest one—do you remember what he looked like?"

"I do." He had memorized the onlookers as well—just like in the Demon Realm, he was very much one to hold a grudge.

Zora felt a bit happy now. "Then you keep them in mind. I'll ask you when I want to find someone."

"...Fine."

They walked together toward the grazing white cranes. Vane had indeed lain on the grass for a long time before he could move, his body heavily injured by spiritual power. In that moment, he had wanted to tear them limb from limb and feast on their flesh; countless dark thoughts surged, even harboring hatred toward the sect. Now, he was much calmer—not that the darkness had vanished.

Vane glanced at Zora beside him. It was just that the thoughts had shed their outer shell of rage. The core remained unchanged.

Then, Zora began walking at a normal pace, quickly leaving the heavily injured Vane behind. Although he grit his teeth to walk faster, Vane was eventually forced to give up and stared at her departing silhouette. "..." He no longer had any mind to think about the "flesh and blood" stuff.

Upon reaching their destination, Zora found the two white cranes looked exactly the same. She glanced back at Vane, who was moving at a snail's pace. She had to leave first; after all, a crane wouldn't carry someone who wasn't its master, right? She picked one and climbed on. The crane tilted its head submissively, showing no rejection—it even seemed happy the person on its back was her, nuzzling her palm without minding the dirt.

Alright, this must be it.

When Vane reached the lawn, he saw a grazing crane suddenly lift its head and flap its wings, crying out as it prepared to chase the girl who had flown off.

—

I'm your crane!

It seemed to be screaming this phrase. Just as the crane was about to take flight, its wing was suddenly caught in a ruthless grip. Residual blood on the youth's hand stood out vividly against its white feathers. Vane didn't bother smiling at an animal, his face cold. "Take me to catch up."

Blood specks dotted the youth's shadowed face, highlighting his innate ferocity. With his eyes lowered, a wave of cold danger washed over the crane. He was merely expressionless, without any true killing intent or desire to bully an animal, but the crane—sensitive to the Demonic Seed—shivered in terror and submissively lowered its body for him to mount.

...

The moment Zora landed, she stared at the unfamiliar cottage in silence. The crane, exceptionally happy to have switched masters, let out a long cry and began nuzzling her. Zora paid it no mind, her brow furrowed in utter confusion.

...Where was she?