The Whispering Hollow Pass was quiet—too quiet.
Mist clung to the jagged cliffs like breath held in fear. The wind, usually restless in this region, had gone still. Even the birds had vanished. Lloyd's group moved cautiously, their formation tight, the elders flanking the disciples as they made their way through the narrow valley.
Master Alando slowed his steps. His spirit sense pulsed outward, brushing against something—wrong.
He raised a hand. "Everyone, stand on guard."
The disciples froze. Lloyd, still recovering from the spiritual damage he'd suffered in the tournament, felt a chill crawl down his spine.
Then it happened.
A blade of spatial qi tore through the mist—silent, sudden, lethal.
The elders reacted instantly, forming a protective barrier around the disciples. Master Alando's eyes blazed with fury as his flame met the oncoming attack and shattered it.
Four masked figures dressed in black dashed out of nowhere, and the four elders met them head-on. Flame collided with spatial energy. Wind clashed against water. Lightning tore through the mist as elemental qi surged in every direction. The elders fought with everything they had—each one unleashing their full cultivation to hold the line.
Master Alando summoned a wall of flame, his Infernal Rage technique roaring across the battlefield. Elder Sona countered a water spear with her Earth Veil, a defensive art of condensed earth qi. Elder Vinh unleashed Thunder Pulse, sending arcs of lightning into the fray. Elder Rime danced through the air with Whispering Gale, slicing through enemy formations with wind-forged blades.
And while they were occupied, a figure materialized behind Lloyd—no warning, no aura, no sound. One moment, the mist was empty. The next, Death stood inches from his back.
The cultivator's blade was already mid-swing, cloaked in spatial distortion. Lloyd turned—too slow. His body was still weak. His core is still fractured. Even at full strength, he wouldn't have stood a chance.
Lloyd braced himself.
He knew it was over.
The elders saw it too. They tried to break free, to reach him—but their opponents blocked every path, every escape route. Desperation surged through them, but they couldn't get to him in time.
The slash came.
But it never landed.
A roar of wind tore through the battlefield.
Tornado Slash—the fifth technique of the Spirit Wind Art—clashed with the Spatial Slash mid-air, obliterating it in a spiral of compressed wind and shattered dimension. The shockwave knocked the attacker back a step, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Then came the second strike.
An invisible force pierced his shoulder—Wind Spirit Needle, the fourth technique of the Spirit Wind Art. It didn't kill him, but it tore through his spiritual defenses, causing severe internal damage. He staggered, coughing blood, his qi unraveling.
He snarled, voice shaking. "Show yourself, coward!"
But before he could react, Jalen was behind him.
No sound. No warning.
Just presence.
Luminal Edge pierced through the attacker's torso, the blade of pure light qi humming with lethal clarity. The cultivator gasped, his body locking in place.
Then Jalen raised his free hand.
Solar Pulse erupted from his palm—a concentrated beam of radiant force that struck the attacker point-blank, blowing him apart in a flash of light and heat.
Silence followed.
The remaining four attackers froze.
The elders and disciples of Lloyd's sect stared, stunned.
Who was this?
A boy—no older than seventeen—had just annihilated a peak Spirit Fusion Realm cultivator in just a few moves. His aura was calm and controlled but vast. Light qi shimmered around him.
The battlefield was quiet now—eerily so.
The four assassins who had been battling the elders were suddenly caught in a surge of cold. Ice erupted from their feet in the sky where they stood, spiraling coils wrapping around their limbs, torsos, and weapons. They struggled, roaring, unleashing bursts of their various qi attacks—but the ice held firm.
Blizzard Coil: Jalen's eighth Ice Art technique.
The frost wasn't ordinary. It was layered with immortal-grade qi, reinforced by elemental resonance. The more they resisted, the tighter it bound them. Within seconds, they were immobilized—alive, but helpless.
But not for long.
Jalen raised his hand again. The air shimmered with pale blue light, and four spiraling lances of ice formed around him—each one humming with lethal intent.
Cryo Lance Spiral. The sixth Ice Art technique.
The lances shot forward, slicing through the frozen enemies with surgical precision. Ice exploded around them, and their bodies crumbled into dust—no blood, no screams, only silence and frost.
The elders of Lloyd's sect stood still—not bound by technique, but paralyzed by awe. This boy defied reason. A seventeen-year-old Immortal Realm cultivator. Unheard of. Impossible. They stared, minds racing, wondering who he was—and why he had intervened.
The answer came swiftly.
"Master," Lloyd rasped, voice raw.
Every head turned. Disciples. Elders. Even the wind seemed to pause.
That single word shattered the silence more violently than any lance.
Jalen appeared before Lloyd in a blink, tapping his forehead with two fingers.
"Did I not warn you to keep your head low?" he said, tone dry. "And who are you calling master?"
Lloyd blinked, then chuckled nervously. "Did I say master? I meant brother."
Jalen's eyes narrowed. "That bastard fractured your core. I let that slide. But he dared to send assassins to kill my little brother?"
His voice dropped, cold and sharp.
"He must not want to live."
Everyone present—elders, disciples, even Lloyd—felt the pressure in Jalen's tone. It wasn't rage. It was a promise. A quiet, terrifying promise.
Lloyd swallowed hard. "I'm thankful to have a brother like you. But… it's alright. You don't need to put yourself in harm's way for me."
The fire of vengeance burned inside him. But the Crimson Vale Sect was a behemoth. Their influence stretched across the continent. They had Sage Realm experts. Even if Jalen was powerful, could he really take on such a force alone?
"You're this weak," Jalen said, placing a hand on Lloyd's shoulder, "and you're worried about my well-being?"
Lloyd looked away.
"You're a good little brother. But as a big brother, I can't allow anyone to bully my little brother unjustly and not pay the price."
Then Jalen's eyes darkened.
"I will kill that bastard."
Lloyd's heart skipped.
"Ma—" he stuttered. "I mean, brother… please. They're strong. They have Sage Realm experts."
Jalen scoffed. "I've pissed off Sage Realm experts before. So what if I piss off more?"
He raised his hand, and light qi surged around his palm—brighter and purer than anything Lloyd had ever seen.
Flare of Recursion.
The healing technique activated, but this time it wasn't just stabilizing—it was rewriting. The light qi didn't just mend Lloyd's fractured core. It restored him completely. His meridians realigned. His spirit sea pulsed with clarity. His body glowed with radiant force.
The elders watched in stunned silence.
They had seen Lloyd use this technique before—but never like this. Never with this level of refinement. The light qi pouring from Jalen's hand was stronger, deeper, and more ancient.
It wasn't just healing.
It was a transformation.
Lloyd gasped as the pain vanished. His body felt light. Whole. Strong.
He looked up at Jalen, eyes wide.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Jalen raised a brow. "We are brothers, so there's no need for thank you between us."
Lloyd smiled faintly.
The mist thinned, revealing the scorched battlefield and the stunned faces of the elders. Their wariness lingered, but reverence now outweighed suspicion.
Master Alando stepped forward first, his robes torn, his expression solemn. He bowed deeply.
"Thank you… for saving us, senior."
Though Jalen is younger than everyone there, his cultivation realm placed him far above them. Age meant little in the face of power.
The other three elders followed suit, bowing with quiet respect. Even the disciples, some still trembling from the earlier clash, lowered their heads in gratitude.
Jalen nodded, his gaze calm but distant.
"You are my brother's sect mates. It's the least I can do."
Then he turned to Lloyd, his voice softening.
"Stay safe, brother. I'll be back in no time."
Before anyone could respond, Jalen's form shimmered. In a blink, he vanished—replaced by a shadow clone identical in appearance but lacking the overwhelming pressure of his true self.
The clone had traveled with Lloyd and the rest of the Raine Sect group, silent and unnoticed. Meanwhile, the real Jalen had returned to the tournament grounds using Flash Reversion, slipping back through space and light without a trace.
He didn't stay to celebrate.
He stayed to settle a debt.
To repay the Crimson Vale Sect elder in kind—for crippling his little brother, for stealing a hollow victory, and for daring to strike at the Raine Sect from the shadows.
Retribution was coming.