CHAPTER 13 — THE TWELVE DRAGONS IN CHAINSTHE MEDICAL PAVILION
Incense burned in silver braziers.
Moonlight filtered through paper screens.
Dozens of healers moved between beds, weaving techniques, controlling bleeding, stitching qi pathways together.
And in the center…
Two beds stood apart from the rest.
Jian Wuying
and
Tentō Narukami
— the brightest stars of the new generation —
lay unconscious beneath talismanic quilts, their breathing shallow but steady.
The remaining ten candidates stood around them, bandaged, bruised, exhausted.
Liang Xue pressed a palm to her forehead.
Liang Xue:
"…This is not good.
I did NOT expect them to go this far."
Her gaze sharpened.
She turned toward Black Willow.
Liang Xue:
"You!
WHERE were you during the attack?!
Isn't this EXACTLY the kind of filth your Unorthodox scum pull?!"
Black Willow didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
Didn't even bother lifting her head.
Her voice was flat.
Black Willow:
"Do not amuse me, Plum Blossom.
This is not our doing.
If anything, it smells more like one of your sects' enemies trying to frame us."
Her eyes narrowed behind her mask.
Black Willow:
"If it were us…
You would all be dead."
Liang Xue nearly drew her sword—
—but a thunderous clap shook the room.
BOOM—!!
Brother Shan had struck his palms together, creating a concussive shockwave.
Brother Shan:
"ENOUGH!"
His calm eyes swept over everyone.
Brother Shan:
"We are injured.
Two of our comrades have not yet woken.
Arguing like children will not help them."
Yun Shoufeng lounged against a wall, bandages everywhere, but still smirking.
Yun:
"Relax, ladies.
The tension's thick enough to cut with a butter knife."
Bai Hanjun nodded, arms crossed.
Bai:
"No point blaming each other.
Not until we have answers."
Yao Lingyin fidgeted, raising a shy hand.
Yao:
"Um…
Yes… we should rest.
Fighting now will… make recovery… harder…"
Fu Long grunted from his corner.
Fu Long:
"None of it matters until we're healed.
Explosions shook half the arena — we're lucky any of us are alive."
Ashen Blade Shen said nothing.
Just crossed his arms and nodded once — cold, silent agreement.
Prince Jinren sniffled loudly.
Prince Jinren:
"Um… I wanna go home…"
(begins crying)
Lian Huoyan rolled her eyes.
Lian Huoyan:
"Shut that little mouth before I burn it shut."
The prince cried harder.
THE ARENA — WHERE THE GIANTS STAND
Far from the younger generation, the titans of Murim gathered.
The arena floor was a graveyard:
charred stone, broken formations, collapsed pillars, assassins' bodies stacked in rows.
The Sect Leaders of the Ten Great Sects stood in a circle.
The Mount Hua Ever-Blooming Sword Saint.
The Fire Lotus Crimson Matriarch.
The Storm Valley Tempest Patriarch.
The Heavenly Sword True Edge Immortal.
The Golden Dragon Empire's Four Warlords.
The Azure Cloud Great Monk.
And others whose names alone could split mountains.
A doctor bowed deeply.
Doctor:
"The attackers…
Their bodies were bound with talismans."
The Heavenly Sword Saint's eyes narrowed.
Heavenly Sword Saint:
"Talismans?
That sounds like—"
He turned toward the monks.
The Great Monk raised a brow.
Great Monk:
"Even you possess talismans, Heavenly Sword.
Why glare at us?
Do you seek a fight?"
The Heavenly Sword Saint rested a hand on his blade.
Heavenly Sword Saint:
"…Perhaps."
But the Mount Hua Sword Saint slammed her scabbard on the floor.
Mount Hua Saint:
"ENOUGH!
Not here.
Not now."
Around them, tensions simmered.
The Fire Lotus Matriarch and Storm Valley Patriarch glared at each other — two elemental sects, rivals for generations.
Then the Golden Dragon Sect Warlords stepped forward.
Golden Dragon Warlord:
"The Prince nearly died today.
Be grateful we do not march to His Majesty and demand WAR on the Murim this instant."
His voice echoed like thunder.
Golden Dragon Warlord #2:
"We must unite.
Or we will tear each other apart."
But even THEY mistrusted the other sects.
The air was thick with danger —
one spark away from plunging the entire empire into chaos.
BACK IN THE MEDICAL PAVILION
The younger generation slowly calmed…
…until a soft hiss filled the room.
No one noticed at first.
Then the air grew sweet.
Sticky.
Heavy.
A sleeping toxin.
The first to collapse was Fu Long.
Then Yao Lingyin.
Then Lian Huoyan.
One by one…
THUD
THUD
THUD
THUD—
Even Brother Shan's immense physical strength couldn't resist it.
Only Black Willow remained conscious for a heartbeat longer.
She muttered:
Black Willow:
"…Clever bastards…"
Then she, too, fell.
The room went silent.
The smoke faded.
And shadows moved in.
THE TWELVE DRAGONS IN CHAINS
The world returned in darkness.
Metal.
Cold.
Unforgiving.
Each of the twelve youths awoke separately — sealed in individual metal coffins, talismans carved into the walls, chains binding their arms and legs.
Their qi pathways burned.
Their dantian felt sealed shut.
Their bodies were weak.
The air tasted wrong.
Predatory.
Like beasts roamed nearby.
Liang Xue trembled inside her sealed box.
Liang Xue:
"…Where are we…?"
Yun Shoufeng snarled and kicked the metal.
Yun:
"Tch… Not orthodox territory.
Feels like… a beast forest."
Bai Hanjun kept calm.
Bai:
"They kidnapped all twelve of us.
This is coordinated.
Purposeful."
Black Willow whispered from her own box, voice icy.
Black Willow:
"We are not prisoners of the orthodox sects."
A roar echoed in the distance — deep, ancient, shaking the coffins.
The candidates froze.
Because that wasn't a human roar.
Nor a beast they recognized.
It was something older.
Something forbidden.
And every one of them felt it:
They were far, FAR from civilization…
Deep in enemy territory…
And the real nightmare was only beginning.
END OF CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14 — THE TWELVE DRAGONS IN CHAINS
Six hours later the coffins opened.
The cold lids slid aside like gates lifting at dawn. Metal breathed. A smell like wet iron and earth crawled in. The twelve of you — bound, dull-eyed, half-dead — were dragged into a cavern that smelled of old rain and the breath of monsters.
A torch burned on a spike. Figures stepped forward from the shadow and the torchlight named them: white mask, black mask, grey mask… and others — twelve faces behind twelve visors, voices like knives.
"Welcome," said the one with the white mask, with a theatrical bow that made the torchlight glitter on his metal. "Twelve dragons and phoenixes — male and female — very poetic. Call me White Mask One."
Another spat the number order like a brand.
"Black Mask Two."
"Grey Mask Three."
"Little brother Mask Four," — the speaker's voice wet with cruelty — "you remember the lightning one? We killed him. He failed spectacularly."
They laughed. The cavern echoed with soft, hungry laughter.
White Mask One's hands folded behind him and he paced in front of the row of coffins. "We took you as hostages. Experiments, really — our lords demanded purpose. Initially we planned to cripple you — but you are all far too entertaining to waste so soon."
Tentō's eyes snapped open. The world narrowed to the sound of his own heartbeat as he pushed the dregs of sleep away.
"TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT FROM US!" he roared.
White Mask One blinked, confused. "Who… are you?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.
Tentō shut his mouth. The words evaporated on his tongue. Yun and Bai, still groggy, exchanged snorts and tried to laugh — a brittle, nervous sound. Fools. Fresh meat.
Black Mask Two stepped forward. His presence pinched the air, like a person who ate silence for breakfast. He raised a finger and all heads bowed involuntarily. For a breath the world folded. Then — as if snapped back to life — the captors jerked their heads and the prisoners staggered.
They all gasped.
Something had come awake inside the cavern: a pressure, a cold killing intent like a blade rising from the dirt. Only Black Willow and Jian stood unmoving; Black Willow's masked face read nothing, Jian's hands trickled blood in weak spasms but his eyes were steady.
White Mask One smiled again, satisfied. "Good. Quiet. That will save the theatrics." He turned, addressing his fellows. "We will remold you into weapons. You will serve the master. If you wait for rescue — laughable. We replaced you with dead doubles, spiked them with Verdant Medicine poison — their bodies will rot and their healers will smell betrayal, blame will spread. The orthodox will stab itself. The empire will grow hungry. It is beautiful."
He paused. The cavern's roof — enormous black stone like a lid — shifted slowly. The crowd craned their necks.
Something massive unfolded above them like thunder taking shape.
A shadow uncoiled — a snake the size of a small mountain, scales like gunmetal, eyes like hot coals. It dropped from the ceiling, thick as a road, its forked tongue tasting the air. Its head unrolled and set itself down in the far chamber with a hiss that shook torch flames.
A collective, animal fear rose in the prisoners' chests. The Prince — still limp from earlier trauma — tried to stand, anger persevering over terror.
"DO YOU NOT FEAR THE ROYAL FAMILY? WE WILL HAVE YOUR HEADS!" his voice trembled and cracked, but it carried.
White Mask One stared at the Prince, startled and then delighted in a different way. "Pff — oh no. What have we done?" he mouthed, mock-horror obvious in the tilt of his head.
Then he shrugged and grinned. "Who cares. You are part of the plan, Prince. You, the Heavenly Sword, and the pretty flower were the primary targets. You three hold the most influence over orthodox affairs because of your masters and the voices that follow you. Your deaths would have tilted the world. Besides — your role is fun. Stay still."
He snapped his fingers. Guards in the shadows forced the Prince back down, bound him with cold chain.
White Mask One turned to the captives with a theatrical wave. "We lock you in place for now."
He snapped again.
A sleep-shade rolled through the cavern like mist. Eyes dulled. Lids fell.
Except for three.
Lian — burning-eyed despite her bandages — spat curses and forced herself awake. Yun Shoufeng's teeth ground; he flexed against his chains and lunged like a coiled spring. Tentō's body crackled, a living wire humming beneath his skin, as a low, slow fury came up from his gut.
White Mask One's face soured. "Ah — damn. Elemental types. They always ruin the nap."
He nodded and a heavy foot connected with Lian's gut. She doubled over as if her ribs were broken. Yun sprang free, a blur — and slammed into the stone wall so hard his skull sang. He fell out cold.
Tentō rose. The metal shackles bit. The talismans were carved deep into the box sides, searing his meridians, but his lightning could not be caged with stamp and string. He closed his eyes, and the thunder inside his blood answered.
White Mask One blinked in real surprise. "You can speak? Who are you that dares—"
Tentō did not answer. He did not need words. The sky in his mouth exploded. Energy leapt along his veins and his aura shook with teeth.
He rose.
White Mask One moved to intercept. Black Mask Two flicked a hand to block the path and the whole cavern held its breath.
Tentō: the world narrowed to the drum of his own chest as he called the name like a prayer and a hammer.
"LIGHTNING DRAGON SACRED ART — THUNDER FIST GOD.
STORM FIST."
He uncoiled and became thunder.
He launched — a single, monstrous collision of motion and intent: Storm Rush, the gauntleted fist of living lightning, the Storm Fist all at once. The air screamed. Stone shattered where his strike landed.
White Mask One did not flinch. The blow met a single black finger that rose like a pike to meet it — and did not break. The impact crashed through the chamber and the sound of it was like two mountains colliding.
Black Mask Two's finger exploded in fire-sparks, blown into shards. The movement, the scorched heat, shoved White Mask One back. He staggered. For a split second the captors tasted doubt.
Black Mask Two laughed — a cold, surprised bark. "Strong," he said at last, voice old and dry. "Top of Supreme Peak, perhaps. A grandmaster's strength in that body. Interesting."
He reached out and the air around Tentō snapped like a struck wire. "This cultivation — I recognize the patterns. Odd. Not like the Lightning Dragon proper… but similar. Dangerous. Where on earth —" His hand sparked and the sparks — a black lightning not like Tentō's white-blue — licked at Tentō's skin.
Tentō's fist touched the black man's finger. For a moment light and dark clashed like two suns. Black lightning spattered backward — a small blaze exploded off the man's sleeve. His fingers smoked; he howled and staggered. White Mask One hissed, furious.
"This cultivation is madness," Black Mask Two spat, voice suddenly small. "I thought it was rumor. A bastardized line. Never thought to see it live."
He raised a hand again to strike. But as he moved a bright white ring of pain rolled across his knuckles and he crumpled — unconscious before Tentō could land a second blow.
White Mask One scowled with his last breath of arrogance and produced a small cudgel from his robe. The world closed like a trap. He struck and Tentō's vision blackened. The blow did not kill — it knocked the storm god straight down into the void.
Tentō hit the metal with all that thunder in him and fell into black.
He woke on a hard floor with a taste of iron. He saw stars through torchlight and heard muffled, triumphant laughter in the dark.
When the sounds reached the city they were a different kind of thunder: rage, confusion, accusations.
Two weeks had passed.
Word had traveled slow through mountain paths and imperial posts. The Ten Great Sects' council was already awake with anger. Old grudges flared like dry fuel.
"In two weeks, the twelve have been missing," one leader growled. "We are done with guessing games."
Heavenly Sword Saint's voice was like a blade. "Where is the top seed's master? If the intelligence is true, he should be the only disciple of that school — and the man who raised Jian's match must answer."
Accusations volleyed like spear tips. The Unorthodox argued and swore they had no part — watching with a thousand shades of offended calm. The Golden Dragon lords, who represented imperial interests, leaned forward with the posture of men ready to pull empire into action.
The message reached the mountain.
Rano ran like a child possessed, breath burning. He clambered the old paths, shouting the name everyone feared and loved.
"Old man Raiken! Old man Raiken! Big bro Tentō — he's missing! The orthodox alliance says he's been kidnapped by an unknown enemy!"
Silence. One look and the mountain breathed. Then a wind rose as if someone whispered to the clouds themselves. Old Raiken — stooped, ragged, a shadow with a cane — felt something in the marrow of his bones and spat a single, furious word.
A storm rolled across the range like a living thing. Far beyond the valleys and hamlets the sky darkened and the whole mountain range filled with the sound of a single, terrible exclamation.
"WHAT?!"
It was not a question that echoed.
It was a command from the mountain itself.
And somewhere, in a cavern of chains and snake-guts, the captors cheered as their prisoners slept — unaware that the world above them was already answering with thunder.
CHAPTER 15 — THE MASTER OF A THOUSAND EYESTHE CELL OF THREE
Tentō woke to darkness.
Not the comfortable dark of the Lightning Dragon Hall.
Not the soft dark of meditation.
This was cavern dark — wet, cold, suffocating — lit only by a dying ember in a rusted torch holder far down the hall. The floor was stone, rough and raw, and the walls were iron bars thick enough to hold beasts.
He sat up, groaning.
Two familiar shapes lay beside him.
Tentō kicked the first one.
Tentō:
"Hey. Get up."
He kicked the second.
Tentō:
"Up. NOW."
Yun Shoufeng shot up with a yelp.
Yun:
"Aaagh—!! What the—?! They hit like a TRUCK!
Tch… those masked freaks… their strength is at least Grandmaster level!"
Brother Shan rose more steadily, dusting himself off with calm annoyance.
Brother Shan:
"I agree. Their bodies were tempered beyond reason."
Tentō shook his head.
His voice was low. Serious.
Tentō:
"No.
They're stronger than Grandmasters."
Both Yun and Shan stiffened.
Tentō continued:
Tentō:
"They're at the level of the Top 100 Martial Masters in the world.
They hid it… but the aura doesn't lie."
Yun went pale.
Yun:
"I ALREADY had enough to worry about!
NOW we have Top 100 monsters guarding us?!
DAMMIT—now it'll take even longer to get home!"
Shan frowned.
Brother Shan:
"…If we regroup with the others — all twelve of us — can we ambush them?"
Tentō answered without hesitation.
Tentō:
"No.
Not as we are now."
A heavy silence settled over the cell.
THE CELLS OF THE NINE
In a larger chamber nearby, the rest of the candidates were tied to stone posts — except Jian Wuying, Lady Liang Xue, and Prince Jinren, who were held separately.
Fu Long growled under his breath.
Fu Long:
"We need a plan. NOW."
Bai Hanjun nodded, eyes sharp despite the bruises covering him.
Bai:
"Guards rotate every two hours. The chains weaken when they drag us.
If we coordinate—"
Ashen Blade Shen cut in with a low grunt.
Shen:
"It won't work unless we all move at once."
Yao Lingyin nodded timidly.
Yao:
"Yes… and we need someone to strike first."
Black Willow was silent.
Watching.
Waiting.
Listening.
Lian Huoyan paced, snarling.
Huoyan:
"Well, THIS sucks."
THE CELL OF THREE ELITES
Farther down, the final cell held:
Jian Wuying,
Liang Xue,
and Prince Jinren.
The prince, for the first time since the kidnapping, dropped his childish attitude.
His eyes sharpened into something cold — royal.
Prince Jinren:
"…If what they said is true, our sects don't know where we are.
We were replaced by fakes.
And by the feel of the qi outside… we're in the Northwestern Mountains."
Liang Xue blinked.
Liang Xue:
"I… didn't know you had this kind of knowledge.
Or that you could make that face."
Jian Wuying spoke quietly, hand pressed to his wounded abdomen.
Jian:
"He's a prince.
The imperial heirs are all… trained.
They hide it under arrogance."
The prince continued, voice steady.
Prince Jinren:
"If we want to survive, we need ALL of us.
Especially Tentō and Jian.
Those two can punch their way out of anything."
Jian exhaled.
Jian:
"Tentō is strong.
But I don't know if our teamwork will be good enough to escape.
He and Yun can move together — wind and lightning."
The prince nodded.
Prince Jinren:
"We find Tentō.
We regroup.
We strike."
Jian's eyes hardened.
Jian:
"…Agreed."
THE GATHERING IN THE GREAT CHAMBER
The next day, chains rattled.
Doors slammed open.
Guards dragged all twelve candidates into a single, massive stone chamber. Torches burned green. The ceiling was high, lost in shadow. A ritual circle was drawn across the floor in blood and powdered bone.
Tentō was thrown into the center.
He rolled, spat blood, and rose with lightning crawling under his skin.
White Mask One stepped forward, arms wide.
White Mask One:
"WELCOME, brothers and sisters!
The Master has called us all here,
to witness what these children can do!"
A deep rumble echoed.
White Mask One continued.
White Mask One:
"And now—
WELCOME THE MASTER!"
An altar was dragged forward, its stone etched with ancient runes.
On it rested a single mask—white bone, curved, and covered with one thousand eye holes.
White Mask One gestured.
White Mask One:
"You. Come forward."
A random guard was shoved to the altar.
White Mask One removed his mask…
and placed the Thousand-Eye Mask onto the guard's face.
The guard screamed—
—then did not scream.
The mask dug into his flesh.
Twisting.
Burrowing.
Drinking him.
His body spasmed.
His limbs snapped into unnatural angles.
And then—
He stood.
But he was no longer a man.
His voice came out in one thousand voices —
male, female, young, old, high, low, human and not.
The Master:
"No worries, my faithful White… Black… Grey…
You served well.
This host is acceptable."
White Mask One bowed so low his forehead touched stone.
White Mask One:
"Welcome back to the world of mortal men, Master."
The Master waved lazily.
The Master:
"Bring forth the child of the Beast.
Ah yes…
'Tentō.'
Such a funny name. It sounds like a name I heard—
ah—
540 years ago.
But no matter."
His voice sharpened.
The Master:
"Release… the Snake Child."
A heavy gate slammed open.
The colossal serpent — the one large enough to swallow a town — slithered into the arena, its fangs longer than swords, its breath hot as a furnace.
Every candidate felt their legs shake.
Every candidate felt death watching them.
White Mask One raised his arms.
White Mask One:
"Let the trial begin!!"
END OF CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16 — THE CIRCUS OF MONSTERSTHE FIRST TRIAL — TENTŌ VS THE TITAN SERPENT
The colossal serpent lunged at Tentō with enough force to break mountains.
Tentō didn't brace.
He jumped.
A whip of lightning ran through his legs as he leapt over the snake's head, landing on its scaly crown with perfect balance.
The masked figures leaned forward.
The Master's thousand voices hummed with interest.
Tentō cracked his knuckles.
Tentō:
"Sorry, master.
I know you told me never use this trick on people…
but this ain't a person."
He slammed both palms down.
And released everything.
Lightning surged from his core outward—
not a technique,
not a sacred art,
just raw KI dumped into a living creature.
The snake convulsed violently.
ZZZZZZZZT—!!!
Its entire titan-length body twisted, buckled, spasmed—
Then threw Tentō off with a violent thrash.
He hit the stone wall hard.
Lightning sputtered across his skin.
His breath came ragged.
Inside his chest, something hurt in a way it wasn't supposed to.
His master had warned him:
"Dumping ki into a living creature damages YOU too, idiot."
Tentō staggered to his feet.
Sweat dripped.
Muscles twitched in brief spasms.
His ki was dangerously low.
But he still smirked.
Tentō (thinking):
Punching that thing won't do shit.
I just need… to make it tired.
So he ran.
Lightning flickered around his legs in tiny, unstable sparks as he blurred around the chamber.
The serpent chased relentlessly—
jaw snapping—
fangs slamming into stone—
tail carving trenches through the ground.
Tentō slid under attacks, rolled across the floor, sprinted up stone pillars, vaulted off walls—
Always just one step ahead.
Yun and Bai were cheering from their restraints like idiots.
Yun (cupping hands):
"WOOOO! GO ZAPPY SNAKE!!!"
Bai:
"RUN FASTER OR DIE FASTER!!"
Everyone else facepalmed in unison.
Liang Xue (muttering):
"…I cannot believe these three represent the future of Murim."
Lian Huoyan:
"I swear I will punch Yun later."
Even Black Willow sighed.
The serpent, after minutes of relentless pursuit, finally slowed.
Its tongue flickered sluggishly.
Its movements lagged.
Then…
THUD.
It collapsed and fell asleep, twitching occasionally from lingering lightning.
Tentō dusted off his hands.
Turned to the altar throne.
And bowed dramatically.
Tentō (loudly):
"WELCOME, WELCOME, ONE AND ALL—
TO SNAKE BASTARD'S CIRCUS!"
He pointed at the masked elite.
Tentō:
"WHERE SNAKES PERFORM—
AND BASTARDS WATCH!"
The Eyed Master—
—laughed.
A horrible, many-layered laugh that echoed like madness bottled in a skull.
The other masked figures glared so hard the air vibrated.
If the Eyed Master hadn't raised a finger, Tentō would've been executed on the spot.
The Master:
"Delightful.
Reckless.
Blasphemous.
…Entertaining."
Tentō smirked.
Tentō (thinking):
Good.
Laugh now.
Because I'm going to tear your mask off eventually.
They were dragged back to their cells.
But this time, everyone else knew:
Tentō had just declared war.
THE NEXT TRIALS — THE OTHERS FACE THE BEASTS
Over the next several days, the masked men repeated the tests.
The snake beasts ranged from large to absurd—
some venomous,
some armored,
some with multiple heads.
Yet none of the candidates were badly hurt.
Only the snakes suffered.
YUN SHOUFENG — WIND OVER FANG
The moment Yun was shoved into the arena, he rolled his shoulders.
A giant, spiked serpent hissed at him.
Yun:
"Alright, big guy. Let's dance."
The serpent lunged—
Yun vanished.
Wind exploded across the chamber as he used his movement arts to literally run around the snake's body.
He flicked its nose.
Yun:
"Boop."
The serpent tried to crush him; he vaulted off its head.
He slapped its tail.
Yun:
"Bad snake."
Eventually the beast tied itself into a knot trying to catch him.
Collapsed.
Snoring.
White Mask stared.
White Mask:
"…Are you mocking us?"
Yun:
"I mock everyone equally."
BAI HANJUN — WHITE SPEAR VS ASP FANG
A long, slender serpent with needle fangs rushed him.
Bai simply sighed.
Bai:
"I am injured.
Tired.
Hungry.
And annoyed."
He snapped a spear of ki into existence.
Bai:
"So let's finish this."
The snake attacked—
Bai swatted it.
Once.
The serpent crashed into the far wall and fainted.
Every masked figure stared in silence.
Yun shouted from his cell:
Yun:
"BAI! STOP ONE-PUNCHING EVERYTHING! IT MAKES THE REST OF US LOOK BAD!"
LIANG XUE — FLOWER THAT CUTS
A serpent covered in emerald scales slithered toward her.
Liang Xue drew her Plum Blossom blade.
Soft petals of qi floated around her as she moved.
In one breath—
SHNK—
She sliced the serpent's whiskers.
It froze.
Then coiled shyly and backed away.
Liang Xue sighed.
Liang Xue:
"…I didn't even cut it."
The masked men wrote notes furiously.
BROTHER SHAN — MONK VS DRAGONKIN SNAKE
A thick serpent, nearly dragon-blooded, lunged.
Brother Shan bowed.
Shan:
"Forgive me, creature."
He caught the serpent mid-charge—
—and flipped it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.
The beast landed upside-down, wriggling helplessly.
Shan placed a hand over its head.
Chanted a calming mantra.
The snake fell asleep.
Yun applauded.
Yun:
"BROTHER SHAN PETTED IT TO DEATH!"
Shan:
"To sleep.
Not death."
LIAN HUOYAN — FIRE LOTUS BRAWLER
When her serpent spat venom at her—
She spat back.
Huoyan:
"Oh yeah?! TAKE THIS!!"
She punched the venom cloud so hard it dispersed.
Then she grabbed the serpent by the tail and swung it around like a flail until it went limp.
Everyone, including the villains, stared.
Grey Mask:
"Why is she like this?"
ASHEN BLADE SHEN — SILENT EXECUTIONER
A serpent glided toward him, silent and deadly.
Shen drew no weapon.
He simply stepped once.
Then once more.
The serpent collapsed.
No one saw what he did.
Even Tentō was impressed.
FU LONG — IRON TOAD'S ENDURANCE
A massive anaconda-like serpent wrapped around him.
Everyone gasped—
But Fu Long didn't move.
He let it squeeze.
Tighten.
Crush.
Then he sighed and flexed once.
CRACK—!!!
The serpent fainted from the recoil.
Fu Long shrugged.
Fu Long:
"Good exercise."
YAO LINGYIN — VERDANT MEDICINE PRINCESS
Her serpent slithered toward her cautiously.
Yao panicked.
Yao:
"Please don't fight—!!"
The serpent blinked.
Sniffed her.
Then lay down and rolled over like a puppy.
Yao blinked, hands shaking.
Yao:
"O-Oh… it wants medicine."
She healed its bruises from prior battles.
The serpent started following her everywhere.
BLACK WILLOW — THE UNORTHODOX
His serpent was massive, armored, and murderous.
Black Willow simply raised his hand.
A shadowy wave pulsed.
The serpent collapsed instantly.
No one breathed for a moment.
White Mask muttered:
White Mask:
"…right. Note to self: do not provoke him."
JIAN WUYING — THE HEAVENLY SWORD
When his serpent lunged—
His sword flashed once.
The serpent split in half.
Yun screamed in horror.
Yun:
"BRO WE'RE SUPPOSED TO NOT KILL THEM!"
Jian sheathed his blade calmly.
Jian:
"It attacked."
PRINCE JINREN — RELUCTANT ROYAL
His serpent hissed at him.
The prince held up a hand.
Prince:
"Sit."
The serpent… sat.
Everyone stared.
The prince wiped sweat.
Prince:
"I—I have a way with animals…"
Yun whispered:
Yun:
"The royal family is terrifying."
THE CHAPTER ENDS WITH—
The Master observing all twelve with one thousand shifting eyes.
The Master:
"Good…
Good…
GOOD."
His voices quivered with delight.
The Master:
"These children…
may become useful after all."
END OF CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17 — DEAD MEN WALKINGTENTŌ RETURNS TO THE CELLS
They dragged Tentō back to the prison chambers and tossed him inside the cell shared by Lady Xue, Heavenly Sword Jian Wuying, and Prince Jinren.
He landed on one knee, winced, then looked up with that same reckless grin.
Tentō:
"Lady Xue… how have you been?"
Liang Xue:
"Alive. Surprisingly."
Tentō:
"And Golden Boy? Still shiny?"
Prince Jinren (instantly cheerful again):
"Hello Tentō! I didn't die!"
Tentō smirked—then his expression soured as he glanced sideways.
Tentō:
"…Oh.
Hello… YOU."
Jian Wuying nodded without a flicker of emotion.
Jian:
"…Hello."
Lady Xue pinched the bridge of her nose.
Prince Jinren giggled.
Meanwhile, in another cell—
Yun Shoufeng groaned loudly.
Yun:
"WHERE'S ZAPPY SNAKE?! I'M DYING OF BOREDOM!
I can't talk to Brother Monk forever! He keeps telling me to 'breathe deeply'!"
Brother Shan:
"…Perhaps you should."
Yun:
"I WILL SLEEP IN THE RIVER."
TENTŌ SLEEPS — AND CULTIVATES
Tentō finally lay down.
The moment his eyes closed—
Lightning flickered across his skin.
His breathing changed.
His body shifted into a deep cultivation rhythm… in his sleep.
The others noticed immediately.
Liang Xue opened her eyes and stared.
Jian Wuying froze mid-meditation.
Prince Jinren noticed only because everyone else went quiet.
Jian whispered first:
Jian:
"He is… cultivating in his sleep."
Liang Xue folded her arms.
Liang Xue:
"I suspected it.
He barely stops cultivating.
Even during the fights, he only pauses when he transforms."
Jian's eyes narrowed.
Jian:
"If one cultivates without posture… without environment… without focus…
they risk crippling their meridians forever.
Yet he—
He cultivates as naturally as breathing."
He looked down at Tentō, asleep with sparks flickering around him.
A monster sleeping like a cat.
Jian (quietly):
"He may be a greater monster than I."
Liang Xue rolled her eyes.
Liang Xue:
"Well, at least he has a personality.
Unlike someone."
Jian blinked.
Prince Jinren burst out laughing.
THE NEXT DAY — TORTURE TRAINING
Morning came with chains and shouts.
The youths were dragged out, one by one.
Today's "training" was an obstacle gauntlet.
Bai Hanjun was thrown in first—
spikes, falling rocks, swinging logs, poisoned mist.
He crushed it in stoic silence.
Yun did it while narrating dramatically.
Huoyan tried to set part of it on fire.
Shen walked through it like he was strolling in a garden.
Lady Xue finished it elegantly.
Prince Jinren tripped twelve times and still survived through sheer luck.
Black Willow simply avoided every trap.
Then—
The worst part began.
Weighted Mountain Climb
They strapped crushing weights to everyone's shoulders.
"Climb the mountain.
Up and down.
Until we say stop."
They climbed for hours.
Yun attempted to escape 726 times.
Yun:
"JUST LET ME RUN AWAY YOU COWARDS—!!"
Every time, Black Mask or Grey Mask appeared from nowhere, grabbed him by the neck, and dragged him back.
On attempt #531, they gagged him.
Tentō tried 12 times.
On attempt #12—
He almost escaped.
They broke his legs.
Publicly.
A warning.
Yun was tied upside-down for an hour just for watching with admiration.
THE PRIVATE COUNCIL OF THE MASKS
In a sealed chamber of stone and dripping stalactites, the three masks knelt before the 1000-Eye Mask on its altar.
Grey Mask:
"Master, perhaps we should kill two or three of them.
Fear will keep the rest obedient."
Black Mask:
"They are prideful.
A display of death will break their spirits."
The Thousand Voices answered as one:
The Master:
"No.
No, no, no.
Weapons forged from fear are brittle…
but a little fear makes them sharp."
White Mask leaned forward.
White Mask:
"What of the lightning boy?
Tentō."
A hum.
A sound like a grave being opened.
The Master:
"Him…
Yes.
Him.
Send him against…
the dead men.
With broken legs."
The three masks bowed deeply.
Masks (together):
"YES, SUPREME ONE."
THE DEAD MEN
They dragged Tentō into a circular chamber and dropped him.
His legs had been crude-healed but still throbbed with pain—barely functional.
White Mask snapped his fingers.
The walls opened.
Corpses—
dried, preserved, reinforced—
slid out, standing upright.
Each corpse wore a single-eye mask.
Each corpse trembled—
Then shuddered to life, limbs cracking, veins glowing black.
Unlike the crude corpse puppets of demonic sects, these had…
Skills.
Technique.
Reflex.
One charged.
Tentō hopped aside on one leg and countered.
THUNDER FIST
Lightning erupted across his knuckles as he punched the corpse's skull—
CRACK—!
The corpse staggered.
Then stood back up.
Two more rushed him.
Tentō gritted his teeth.
LIGHTNING PALM STRIKE
He thrust both palms out, blasting them back with arcs of lightning.
They fell—
Then stood.
A fourth corpse caught him from behind and slammed him into the ground.
His broken legs screamed.
He elbowed its jaw.
LIGHTNING DRAGON CLAW
He ripped at its mask, tearing half its head off—
But it crawled after him, still fighting.
Tentō spat blood.
Tentō:
"Great.
Dead men with cardio."
Five corpses surrounded him.
He blocked one strike with his forearm—
Agony shot up his arm.
No movement arts.
No sword arts.
No footing.
No stance.
Just fists.
Palms.
Desperation.
His lightning dimmed.
His bones creaked.
His breath cracked.
But still—
He fought.
One corpse stabbed forward—
He parried with Thunder Fist.
Another lunged—
He ducked and struck with Lightning Dragon Claw.
A third grabbed him—
He blasted it with raw ki, damaging himself again.
The chamber filled with the sound of fists on bone.
Lightning flashing.
Blood dripping.
Tentō gasping.
The corpses advancing without fear, without fatigue, without pain.
Tentō stood in the center.
Barely.
One eye bruised shut.
One leg useless.
Lightning flickering weakly across his hands.
Tentō (grinning through blood):
"Come on then…
dead men."
And the corpses charged again.
Darkness closed in as they overwhelmed him—
A losing battle.
A storm dying out.
And the masked men watched with satisfaction.
END OF CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18 — CAST INTO THE ABYSSTHE FALL
The dead men did not stop.
They did not tire.
They did not hesitate.
They did not care.
Tentō's fists were swollen beyond recognition. Lightning flickered weakly across cracked skin, sputtering like a dying flame. His broken legs dragged uselessly behind him as corpse after corpse slammed into his body, bone against bone, technique against instinct.
A fist crashed into his ribs.
Something broke.
Another blow landed against his jaw, snapping his head sideways.
His vision blurred.
The chamber echoed with the sound of fists, feet, and dead flesh colliding—until finally—
Tentō collapsed.
His body twitched once.
Then lay still.
A scream tore through the prison halls.
Yun Shoufeng's voice, raw and cracking, echoed from the cells.
"No—! NO—STOP—!!"
Chains rattled violently as Yun threw himself against the bars.
Liang Xue's breath caught in her throat.
Brother Shan dropped to his knees.
Bai Hanjun stared, unmoving, his hands clenched so tightly blood ran between his fingers.
Even Jian Wuying's calm shattered.
His eyes widened.
For the first time in years—
He took a step forward.
The dead men froze.
White Mask stepped into the chamber, clapping slowly.
"Well," he said mildly, tilting his head,
"that was… disappointing."
He nudged Tentō's unmoving body with his foot.
"Strong? Yes.
Durable? Certainly.
But tamable?"
He shook his head.
"No."
White Mask straightened and raised his voice so all could hear.
"He is not worth anything further.
He cannot be bent.
So we will dispose of him."
The stone beneath Tentō cracked open.
A massive hatch split the floor, yawning wide into absolute darkness.
Cold air surged upward, carrying the stench of rot, ancient water, and death.
White Mask lifted Tentō's limp body by the collar.
"Well then, Lightning Brat," he said cheerfully,
"you served your role as a sacrifice."
And he threw him in.
Tentō fell.
And fell.
And fell.
MEMORIES IN FREEFALL
The darkness rushed past him.
Wind tore at his ears.
Pain faded.
Thoughts sharpened.
He remembered—
Not parents.
Never parents.
He remembered chains.
Hands that shoved him forward.
The smell of fear and sweat.
He had been five.
A slave caravan.
Then the storm.
A real storm.
Lightning splitting the sky.
Screams.
Bodies burning.
And a single man standing amid it all.
The other slaves were older.
They were freed.
The boy had nowhere to go.
So he followed the man.
The man gave him a name.
Tentō.
And then did something stranger.
He shared his own name.
Making the boy his heir.
His son.
That man was the Lightning Dragon's Master.
The only user of the school.
Because the school allowed only one disciple.
Only one heir.
Five years of movement.
Five years of hunger.
Five years of brutal training.
Then stillness.
They settled in the eastern mountains, at the very edge of the mainland.
Beyond it—only sea.
The master once said:
"At the far end of the sea lies where our founder came from.
The Lightning Dragon's homeland.
Ja—"
The memory cut off.
THE BONE CAVERN
Tentō slammed into something hard.
Bones shattered beneath him.
Human bones.
He groaned.
Barely conscious.
Barely alive.
He lay on a mountain of remains, his body twisted, broken, bleeding.
Darkness pressed in from every side.
He crawled.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Dragging useless legs behind him.
He heard water.
Dripped it from stone.
He drank blindly.
He tore moss from the walls and forced it down his throat.
He had to heal.
He had to live.
Even at full strength, he couldn't beat three masked men.
And the Thousand-Eyed monster.
So he thought.
What do I do…
Something moved in the cave.
He froze.
He couldn't see it.
Only hear it.
Breathing.
Old.
Large.
ABOVE — DESPAIR
In the cells, Yun collapsed.
His voice broke completely.
"We should've broken free…
We should've helped him…"
Brother Shan sat silently, tears soaking into his robes.
Bai Hanjun stared at the floor, devastation etched into his face.
The others mourned differently.
Some with anger.
Some with fear.
All with the same realization:
Escaping just became nearly impossible.
Liang Xue closed her eyes.
She remembered the inn.
The thunder fist.
The smile.
"A pity," she whispered.
"To lose such a man."
Jian Wuying said nothing.
But inside—
Something shattered.
For the first time, someone his age had stood beside him.
Matched him.
Understood him.
And they took that away.
All of them felt it.
The same thought.
They will pay with their lives.
The masked men wanted to break them.
Instead—
They lit a fire.
THE STORM WALKS
Far from the prison.
Near the city.
Where sect banners snapped in the wind.
A man in simple robes walked forward.
Each step carried thunder.
"Tentō," he murmured.
"My boy… where have you gone?"
Lightning crawled across the sky.
"Do not worry," he said calmly.
"Your master will find you."
The narrator's voice fell heavy as the clouds darkened.
I worry for the masked men.
Because if the old man learns what they did to his student—
To his son—
They will learn why the storm comes from the East.
END OF CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19 — THE WORLD BEGINS TO TURNTHE CHILDREN WHO WAIT
The next days passed quietly.
Too quietly.
After Tentō's fall, no one resisted anymore.
No shouting.
No reckless charges.
No defiance.
That was the first thing the masked men noticed.
The youths obeyed.
They lowered their heads.
They endured.
And inside their cells, when no one watched—
They trained.
Liang Xue practiced footwork in the width of three steps, repeating the same motion until her breathing vanished into silence.
Jian Wuying stood motionless for hours, blade-less hands forming invisible cuts in the air, refining angles, perfecting lines no one could see.
Bai Hanjun pressed against iron bars, tempering his grip until the metal groaned softly in protest.
Yun Shoufeng ran.
In his mind.
Over and over, replaying paths, counting steps, measuring distance. When he lay still, his toes twitched with phantom motion.
Brother Shan sat cross-legged, calming his body, reinforcing what little qi he could gather in such a hostile place.
Even Prince Jinren trained.
Quietly.
Without complaint.
They had learned.
Strength was useless without timing.
And timing required patience.
THE TRIALS OF WEAPON-MAKING
Each morning, chains rattled.
They were dragged from their cells and thrown into new trials.
Not to kill them.
To shape them.
They were forced to fight beasts with sealed qi.
To endure poison that numbed the mind but sharpened the body.
To carry crushing weights while maintaining breathing techniques.
Failure was punished.
Success was noted.
The Thousand-Eyed Master watched everything through hidden eyes.
These were not tests of survival.
They were tests of utility.
The youths understood now.
They were not prisoners.
They were raw materials.
THE STORM ENTERS THE HALL
Three weeks after the disappearance of the Twelve—
The Murim Alliance was unraveling.
Arguments filled the great hall.
Accusations flew.
Orthodox blamed unorthodox.
Unorthodox mocked orthodox weakness.
Elders shouted.
Sect leaders slammed tables.
Then—
The doors opened.
A soundless pressure rolled in like a tide.
A kind-looking old man stepped inside.
Simple robes.
Wooden staff.
Bent posture.
A guard raised a hand—
And froze.
Couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
The moment the man entered, every sect leader felt it.
Half-drawn blades sang softly as hands hovered near hilts.
Not in aggression.
In instinct.
Because this old man—
Was strong.
Stronger than anyone in the room.
Someone whispered:
"Who… is he…?"
The man tapped his staff gently on the floor.
Tap.
The pressure vanished.
He smiled.
"Forgive me," he said warmly.
"I am Raiken Narukami."
Silence.
Then—
"My disciple is missing."
The room stiffened.
"He is named Tentō."
A ripple went through the hall.
Raiken continued calmly.
"I have reason to believe he is being held near the Northwestern Mountains."
Murmurs erupted.
"How do you know?"
"Who told you?"
Raiken chuckled.
"Our school has… methods."
He did not elaborate.
He lifted his gaze.
"I would normally go alone."
The air trembled slightly.
"But I have a feeling," he said gently,
"that you will all wish to storm the place holding your children."
That word landed heavily.
Children.
Even the unorthodox sects leaned in.
Raiken's smile faded.
"Whoever took them did so under your noses.
Such a force will not be small."
The Fire Lotus and Storm Valley leaders exchanged dark looks.
"So," Raiken said,
"gather your forces.
Orthodox.
Unorthodox.
Even imperial."
"In two months, we march."
A sect leader snarled:
"And why should we trust you?"
Before Raiken could answer, laughter filled the hall.
The Heavenly Sword Saint leaned back.
"Hahahahaha!"
He wiped a tear.
"It is the nature of humans in distress to follow the strong."
He looked at Raiken with interest.
"We should spare some time after this is over."
Raiken stroked his beard.
"Hohoho—yes. We should."
THE EARS THAT HEARD TOO MUCH
Back in the prison—
During a trial—
Yun's head snapped up.
"…What?"
He tilted slightly, breathing shallow.
Whispers.
Footsteps.
Voices through stone.
His hearing was exceptional.
Too exceptional.
That night, he whispered to the others.
"They're moving."
"…Who?"
"Everyone."
He swallowed.
"They're coming for us."
Hope stirred.
Quietly.
Dangerously.
THE MASTER'S ANSWER
Deep within the stronghold, the Thousand-Eyed Master listened.
"So… they move."
He chuckled softly.
"How quaint."
He rose from the altar.
"Poison the footmen's food."
"Release beasts along the mountain paths."
"Delay them."
The masked servants bowed.
"I have waited five hundred years."
He spread his arms.
"I will not abandon this place because they noticed."
His thousand voices whispered together:
"Soon… we will no longer need to hide."
THE ABYSS STIRS
Far below.
Where light did not reach.
Where bones lay piled like forgotten histories—
Something crackled.
Faint.
Unsteady.
A thin sound like lightning crawling through stone.
The narrator's voice fell low.
In one month—
They would all have fun.
END OF CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20 — WHEN THE WEAK ARE FORGEDTHREE WEEKS REMAIN
The trials no longer resembled training.
They became executions that failed.
Each day, one of them was supposed to die.
Each day, none did.
Instead, the youths adapted.
They learned to endure poison longer than their lungs wanted.
They learned to fight while exhausted, starving, bleeding.
They learned that pain was not an enemy — hesitation was.
The Thousand-Eyed Master watched with mounting unease.
This was not how weapons were supposed to be made.
YUN SHOUFENG — THE DAY HE STOPPED RUNNING
The mutated tiger was faster than anything Yun had ever faced.
Its body twisted mid-air.
Its claws cut through stone like cloth.
Its roar bent the air itself.
Yun ran until his legs screamed and his breath tore his throat raw.
He slipped.
For the first time in his life.
The tiger leapt.
In that frozen moment — claws inches from his spine — Yun realized something horrifying.
He had always relied on speed.
Always reacted.
Always fled forward.
But speed alone meant nothing if the world itself could keep up.
His mind emptied.
Not panic.
Not fear.
Acceptance.
His qi unraveled.
His form loosened.
And instead of pushing forward—
He let go.
The tiger tore through where he had been.
Yun was elsewhere.
Not behind.
Not ahead.
Everywhere the wind touched.
He reformed standing atop the tiger's skull, breathing evenly, hair floating without breeze.
"…So this is it," he whispered.
"I wasn't meant to outrun the wind."
His foot pressed down.
"I was meant to be it."
The beast collapsed without a sound.
BROTHER SHAN — THE STRIKE THAT DOES NOT STRIKE
The demonic bear did not move.
It simply endured.
Shan's palms cracked.
His bones rang.
His qi slid uselessly off its hide.
He fell to one knee.
His training screamed at him to retreat.
Instead, he remembered Tentō.
That moment.
That impossible strike that ignored armor.
Shan stopped pushing.
Stopped forcing.
He placed his palm against the bear's chest — gently.
And listened.
He felt the rhythm of its heart.
The tension of its muscles.
The imbalance of power trapped inside a body too rigid to release it.
Shan exhaled.
And turned the force inward.
There was no explosion.
No spectacle.
The bear froze.
Then collapsed like a mountain losing its core.
Shan bowed deeply.
"…I understand now."
LIANG XUE — THE PETAL THAT FALLS LAST
Liang Xue fought three blade-wolves at once.
Every strike she made was correct.
Every strike was insufficient.
Their coordination broke her rhythm.
She was cut.
Again.
And again.
Her breathing faltered.
Then she remembered something simple.
Plum blossoms do not bloom first.
They bloom last.
She stopped attacking.
Her blade slowed.
Her movements became smaller — almost lazy.
The wolves struck—
And walked into death.
Her blade moved only when necessary.
Petals fell after the bodies did.
BAI HANJUN — THE SPEAR THAT REFUSES TO BEND
Bai was buried under crushing stone.
Weights pressed him into the ground.
His arms trembled.
His legs buckled.
He planted his spear — broken but unyielding.
Instead of lifting the weight—
He rooted himself.
He felt the earth beneath him.
Accepted it.
Let it carry him.
The stone cracked.
He rose.
Not stronger.
Heavier.
THE REST — EACH THEIR OWN HELL
Huoyan learned to burn without heat, refining flame into edge.
Ashen Blade Shen learned to strike without killing intent — only inevitability.
Yao Lingyin forced poison through her own meridians, reforging them from within.
Black Willow disappeared so completely even the shadows lost her.
They emerged different.
Not louder.
Sharper.
TWO WEEKS REMAIN
Only one did not change.
Jian Wuying.
Still perfect.
Still precise.
Still the strongest.
But stagnation weighed heavier than weakness.
He watched as others closed the distance.
And for the first time—
He did not know how to step forward.
ONE WEEK REMAIN — THE PRINCE'S BLOOD
While others trained in daylight—
The prince worked in silence.
Each night, a cut.
Each night, a sigil.
Blood dried into lines no one noticed.
A formation grew.
Slow.
Hidden.
Patient.
White Mask laughed too loudly.
Black Mask radiated death.
Grey Mask was unseen.
No one noticed the prince.
THE WORLD ABOVE — NO DELAY
Poison failed.
The greatest physician lived.
Beasts fled.
Sword Saints walked.
Traps crumbled.
Raiken Narukami walked calmly at the center of it all.
The storm did not slow.
THE MASTER FRACTURES
"No no no—this isn't right—"
The Thousand-Eyed Master argued with himself.
"We need them—"
"I told you this was risky!"
"I want my mommy—"
Three days remained.
Grey Mask was summoned.
He bowed.
And died.
Fuel poured into the altar.
"That will do," the Master whispered.
THE ABYSS ANSWERS
Far below.
Lightning no longer flickered.
It flowed.
Tentō's voice echoed.
"I'm stronger."
"If the others grew too… we can win."
A pause.
"My master is coming."
Lightning surged.
"I just need to finish this."
"And then—"
"I'll crush White Mask."
END OF CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21 — WHEN THE STORM MEETS THE ABYSSONE DAY REMAINS
From the peaks of the Northwestern Mountains, the horizon changed.
Dust clouds rolled like an oncoming tide.
Banners snapped in violent wind.
Footsteps shook the earth.
One thousand strong.
Even from the stronghold carved into the mountain's spine, the masked cult could see them.
At the head of the advancing force marched fifteen figures who bent the air around them simply by walking.
Thirteen represented the Ten Great Orthodox Sects.
Four of them bore the sigil of the Golden Dragon — rulers in all but name, walking embodiments of imperial will.
Beside them strode the Ruler of the Green Forest, leader of the strongest unorthodox faction, his presence feral, untamed, terrifying.
And at the very center—
A simple old man with a wooden staff.
Each step he took caused the clouds above to rumble.
The mountain itself felt uneasy.
THE THOUSAND-EYED DECISION
Deep within the stronghold, the Thousand-Eyed Master stood before his altar, the mask whispering endlessly.
"So… they come."
His voice fractured between amusement and irritation.
"Prepare me a strong vessel," he commanded.
"I will handle their strongest."
White Mask bowed deeply.
"Understood."
The Master continued, pacing.
"Summon every mask.
All of them."
Black Mask's aura spiked.
Grey Mask's absence was noted — ignored.
"Split them up," the Master ordered.
"Outnumber them three to one."
He turned his many-eyed gaze toward the army gathering below.
"As for the lesser forces—"
"Use everything."
"Beasts."
"Dead men."
"Servants."
"Every soul that still moves."
He paused, fingers twitching.
"I need only a few more hours."
"Bring the brats."
"They will serve as—"
THE MOUNTAIN BREAKS
BOOM.
The mountain exploded sideways.
Stone shattered.
Runes collapsed.
Dust and lightning ripped through the sky.
From the ruptured cliff face—
Eleven figures burst free.
No hesitation.
No retreat.
One direction.
Forward.
Their goal was simple.
Reach the approaching force.
At all costs.
The Thousand-Eyed Master froze.
Then laughed.
"…Fuck it."
He waved a dismissive hand.
"Leave them."
"They've already served their purpose."
White Mask stepped forward.
"Master—the brats have reclaimed their weapons. This is not—"
The Master turned.
One hand moved.
The servant collapsed with a hole where his face had been.
"Useless."
Silence returned.
From deep below—
A sword fell.
It vanished into the abyss.
The Master tilted his head.
"Oh?"
"They finally broke out."
His thousand voices hummed.
"And that force…"
"…Yes. I can feel it."
He turned toward the tunnel leading upward.
"So—"
"Will you come with me to the surface?"
The voices overlapped, answering themselves.
"…No."
"…Not yet."
"There is something I must finish."
THE ABYSS STIRS
Far below, lightning rolled through darkness.
The abyss answered the falling sword with a low, echoing crackle.
Something shifted.
Something old.
Something unfinished.
THE COUNTERFORCE
From the mountain's opposite face—
The cult responded.
The gates opened.
The earth trembled.
Eight hundred strong surged forward.
A living nightmare.
Mutated beasts howled as they charged.
Dead men marched in disciplined silence.
Servants screamed prayers as they ran.
And at their head—
Thirty elite warriors.
Each one radiated power rivaling White Mask or Black Mask.
Enough to drown heroes in blood.
Enough to challenge legends.
Enough to turn the mountains red.
The two forces collided in spirit before steel ever met.
The wind screamed.
The storm gathered.
The narrator's voice fell low.
This—
This was about to become one hell of a fight.
END OF CHAPTER 21