High above in the sect’s central plaza, near the imposing stone archway that marked the entrance to the Inner Disciple Trial courts, a pair of Outer Disciples spoke in hushed, nervous tones.

  "H-hey, did you hear?" one of them whispered, his eyes wide as he glanced towards the court's exit.

  "One of the final trial takers… he nearly killed someone!"

  His companion nodded grimly, shivering despite the midday sun.

  "Yeah, I heard that he was being insulted the whole trial… that the other guy was calling him an honorless dog who only got strong by luck. He must have harbored some serious contempt and malicious intent…"

  His voice dropped even lower.

  "Gladly, a Junior Elder interfered right at the end. They must have seen his talent and didn't want it wasted on a disqualification."

  As if on cue, a stretcher carried by two grim-faced disciples emerged from the archway.

  On it lay the victim, a mangled form covered in insane bruises, his bones clearly shattered beneath the skin, his face a swollen, unrecognizable ruin.

  The gossiping disciples flinched back, their faces paling.

  "By the gods… how unmerciful," the first disciple breathed.

  "We better not ever light that guy's fuse." He was a raging flame, this new Inner Disciple, and they were all just dry kindling.

  In a stark, stone-walled detention room, that same flame roared against its confines.

  "Why'd you stop me?!"

  he bellowed, straining against the heavy, Qi-suppressing chains that bound his wrists to the wall.

  "I could have killed the bastard! He deliberately asked for it!"

  A Junior Elder with a long, flowing white beard stood before him, his arms clasped behind his back.

  He shook his head, his expression a mixture of exasperation and something akin to pride.

  "Silence!" His voice, though not loud, carried a resonant power that vibrated in the very stone, and his white beard trembled from the sheer force of his will.

  "You could have been disqualified! Thrown out of the sect! Do not waste such ferocious talent on your own fleeting anger!"

  The new Inner Disciple’s eyes, burning with a furious, untamed light, glared at the Elder.

  But the words began to sink in, a cold dose of reality on his white-hot rage.

  The Junior Elder leaned forward, a slow, cunning grin spreading across his face, his eyes filled with a manic excitement.

  "You will be obedient, and you will learn with me. If you do, perhaps an Elder, or even a Grand Elder, will take you as their own personal disciple!"

  The Inner Disciple’s eyes widened, the fire of his rage momentarily banked by the shocking brilliance of such an opportunity.

  "Huh?! How come?!"

  "Because you," the Elder declared, his grin widening, "are perfectly suited to learn the rage arts: demon style!"

  The flame upon the wooden stick flickered, its small, brave light a stark contrast to the vast, suffocating abyss of the cave.

  Bi Kan moved deeper, his footsteps echoing in the profound silence as he descended into the belly of the earth.

  He soon came to a strange, almost ritualistic chamber.

  Four massive stone pillars, each carved from a single piece of black, veined rock, rose from the floor to the unseen ceiling, their surfaces covered in complex, swirling symbols he did not recognize.

  They were not the elegant script of the sect, nor the crude pictograms of mortal tribes.

  They were something else entirely.

  His boots touched liquid.

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  He looked down, his torchlight revealing a slimy, viscous green liquid that stretched across the entire chamber floor, clinging to his boots like hungry ooze.

  He threaded closer to the far wall, the liquid growing stickier, thicker with every step, making a soft, pulling sound as he lifted his feet.

  "This is as far as I go," he decided, a shiver of unease tracing its way down his spine.

  He held the torch aloft, shining its light upon the wall.

  A silhouette took shape in the flickering light, a tall, imposing figure holding a long, slender blade.

  It was familiar, in a way… a distant echo of the dark sword now resting in his Soul Sea, but older, sharper, more refined.

  "What is this…?"

  In the full, steady light of the torch, the image resolved itself.

  It was an insanely detailed painting, rendered in pure, dark ink that seemed to have been absorbed into the very stone.

  It showcased a master swordsman in the middle of a perfect, flowing cut.

  The blade was a blur of motion, a black line of absolute finality, cleaving through a large, crystalline object. And above that object, a series of strange, angular letters hovered, indicating the material's name.

  They were the same alien symbols from the pillars.

  For hours, Bi Kan remained in the dark, silent chamber, his mind a frantic engine of deduction.

  He traced the alien symbols on the pillars with his fingers, trying to feel their intent, their lingering Qi.

  He even projected a thought towards the wolf spirit in his Soul Sea, a silent query, but the ancient being remained dormant, a sleeping titan indifferent to the puzzles of this lesser world.

  Finally, with a sigh that was a mixture of frustration and awe, he gave up.

  The secrets of this place were buried too deep for him to unearth, at least for now.

  His gaze fell once more to the strange, viscous liquid pooling on the floor.

  His alchemist's curiosity, a far more tangible drive than ancient mysteries, took over.

  "What are you?" he murmured, crouching down.

  It didn't smell toxic, nor did it radiate any discernible spiritual energy, yet its persistence in this ancient place suggested a purpose.

  He pulled out one of the banana leaves that had wrapped his rice balls, its surface still faintly slick with oil.

  Using it as a makeshift scoop, he gathered a small glob of the sticky, green ooze.

  "Maybe it can be used in alchemy somehow," he mused, "if not, for something else."

  He carefully folded the leaf into a sealed packet, the strange liquid contained within.

  With a final, squelching sound, he pulled his boots free of the slime and stepped back onto the solid stone floor of the cave's main passage.

  "For now, I'll store it in the Soul Sea." With a thought, the small, leaf-wrapped package vanished, settling into the vast, quiet space of his inner world.

  Back at the cave’s entrance, the fire had burned down to a bed of glowing embers.

  "I should catch some sleep," he decided, the mental and physical exhaustion of the day finally catching up to him.

  He lay down on the cold stone, the distant memory of his plush mattress a cruel irony, and slowly drifted into a deep, dreamless slumber.

  The first rays of dawn lanced into the cave, a brilliant finger of light that painted the stone walls in hues of gold and grey.

  The rising sun illuminated the cave far more brightly than the moon had, revealing the mundane truth of the space: it was just a large, empty cavern.

  The embers of his fire were now a pile of cold, black ash. He rose, stretched, and took his leave, continuing his journey towards the villages.

  After several more hours of walking, his sharp eyes spotted a thin, grey plume rising above the distant treeline.

  "Hm? I spot smoke," he thought, a sense of relief washing over him.

  "Probably one of the villages. Finally, it's been days."

  Unseen, unheard, a group of four followed his trail, their movements practiced and deliberate.

  They paused at the mouth of the cave Bi Kan had just vacated, checking for signs of his passage.

  "I can't believe that Inner Disciple, Si Gun, is willing to pay us this much just for the head of Bi Kan!" one of them chuckled, his voice a low, avaricious rumble.

  "Hehe, what did this Bi Kan do to outrage a guy like that?" another added, his grin glinting in the dappled sunlight.

  "He must be a little loose on the head." They were all Outer Disciples, but their auras were dense, stable, pulsing at the 6th Stage of the Qi Sensing Realm.

  "Be careful," a third disciple, Zhou, cautioned, his expression grim.

  "One of the brothers I know told me that Bi Kan struck down a Stage 6 cultivator in one hit. He's not to be underestimated."

  The first two burst into laughter.

  "Are you joking?! Hahah! There are four of us, practically overkill!"

  Zhou simply shook his head.

  "Fools," he muttered to himself. He knew when to be cautious.

  In the sect, unpredictable variables were the leading cause of death, and it was never safe to underestimate an individual who could so easily harbor the hate of a powerful senior.

  As Bi Kan neared the source of the smoke, the scent of burning wood was mingled with something else—the metallic tang of blood and the sour smell of fear.

  He immediately dropped into a crouch, hiding himself within a thicket of bushes at the village outskirts. He inched closer, his senses sweeping over the scene.

  In the center of the small, dilapidated village, a group of men in grimy brown robes and crude face-cloaks were terrorizing the populace.

  They held curved daggers, and their auras pulsed at the 5th Stage. They were bandits.

  "Where are the women of this damned village?!" one of the cloaked men roared, kicking a fallen villager in the ribs.

  The others laughed, their amusement a harsh, ugly sound as they beat the other men into submission.

  "If you pretty women just came out, we'll spare the whole village! Haha!"

  Suddenly, hurried footsteps echoed from behind a small hut.

  A girl, no older than sixteen, her face a mask of desperate fury, charged out and smashed a heavy iron shovel against the back of the leader's head.

  "Kuh!" He grunted, his eyes rolling back as he crumpled to the ground.

  Before the girl could celebrate her brave, foolish act, the other bandits were on her, their rough hands seizing her arms.

  "N-no! Let go!" she screamed, struggling in their grip. One of them wrapped an arm around her throat, cutting off her air.

  "Oh? Aren't you a brave one?" the bandit rasped, his eyes roaming over her with a lecherous hunger.

  "And so… cute, and young." He licked his lips, his grin a repulsive slash in the grimy cloth of his mask.

  "Hehe, this one's mine."

  Bi Kan watched from the shadows, his expression hardening into a mask of cold, familiar fury.