The Undying Arrives
The clearing fell silent, the last motes of Zheng Yiran's dissolved form fading into the simulated sunlight. Yao Xuan stood, the faint, nine-colored luminescence around him winking out as he released his martial soul. He turned to his team.
Tang Wulin's face was split by a fierce, proud grin. "Brother Xuan, that was incredible!" His voice held no envy, only the honest admiration of a younger brother for an elder he respected, a fellow craftsman who walked a path he aspired to.
Xie Xie gave a sharp, appreciative nod, his eyes cataloging the efficiency of the movements. "Clean. No wasted motion." His respect was that of one precision instrument for another.
Xu Xiaoyan clasped her hands together, her eyes shining. "Captain, you're amazing!" Her admiration was the open, hero-worship of a younger sibling, pure and uncomplicated.
Gu Yue stepped closer, her silver eyes meeting his. The love in her gaze was not a public display, but a quiet, profound certainty shared in a single look. A slight, approving tilt of her head was her praise. "Well judged," she said softly, her words carrying the weight of her strategic mind's approval. "Her pattern was linear. She relied on fear. You removed that variable."
Her words, and the warmth in her eyes, were worth more than any cheer. Yao Xuan offered her a small, private smile before addressing the group. "Stay focused. That engagement will have drawn attention. We move."
They melted back into the forest, a cohesive unit. Yao Xuan's Eye of Insight remained active, a panoramic scanner painting the woods in layers of energy and intent. They encountered and swiftly neutralized three other students—two who panicked and attacked wildly, one who tried to flee. Each engagement was a brief, clinical exercise in overwhelming force and tactical positioning, with Gu Yue controlling the battlefield, Xie Xie harrying, Tang Wulin anchoring, and Yao Xuan delivering the decisive strikes. The points trickled in, but the primary goal was consolidation and momentum.
As they pushed toward what felt like the forest's denser center, a thicket of thorny brush ahead suddenly erupted.
A figure burst through, stumbling into their path. He was tall, muscular, but in dire shape. Ragged breaths tore from his throat. A pair of powerful, fur-covered wings—black and white striped like a savage tiger—were mantled behind him, one hanging at a broken angle. Cuts and simulated blood marred his furred body, and the black-and-white 'king' character on his forehead was smeared. His eyes, wide with pain and desperation, held the feral glare of a cornered beast. This was a Winged Tiger Soul Master, a top-tier beast martial soul, brought to ruin.
He saw Yao Xuan's team and a fresh wave of panic seized him. He didn't attack; he tried to bank away, his good wing beating frantically.
"An opportunity," Yao Xuan murmured, not with bloodlust, but with the calm assessment of a hunter. The boy was already defeated, fleeing another fight. Eliminating him was a tactical necessity to maintain their position and stealth.
"Ancestral Dragon Sky-Splitting Strike."
The first soul ring glowed. Yao Xuan didn't unleash a beam; he condensed the principle into his body. He became the strike. His right foot pushed off the ground, not with a thunderous crack, but with a deep, compressed thud that sank the earth beneath him. He shot forward, a golden streak.
The Winged Tiger Soul Master had time only to turn his head, his eyes reflecting the approaching, clawed hand sheathed in annihilating light. Yao Xuan's movement was too fast, too direct. His dragon claw, fingers extended like blades, passed in a clean arc.
Phut.
A soft, decisive sound. The simulation registered the lethal touch. The tiger soul master's form burst into particles of white light, his agonized flight cut short.
Yao Xuan landed lightly, already turning, his senses alert. The bush the tiger soul master had emerged from still rustled. He had not been fleeing from nothing.
Three new figures stepped into the clearing, their arrival silent, ominous.
The one in front commanded immediate attention. A boy, pale as moonlight, with hair the color of ashes and eyes of deep, void-like gray. He was slender, almost frail-looking, but an aura of profound stillness and chilling darkness radiated from him, causing the very light around him to dim. Shadows seemed to cling to his robes like living things. In his hands, he held a scythe—a weapon of nightmare grandeur. Its three-meter handle was black as a starless night, and the curved blade, longer than a man's leg, glinted with dark purple runes that seemed to writhe. Looking at it, Yao Xuan felt a faint, cold tug at the edges of his spirit, a sensation of entropy and finality.
Eye of Insight fed him data: Xu Yucheng. Martial Soul: Dark Demon Scythe (Death Scythe). Soul Power: Level 42. Status: High threat. Analysis: Energy signature indicates extreme offensive potency and conceptual 'death' affinity. Physical vessel shows signs of strain; high power output conflicts with body resilience.
This was the "Undying," ranked nineteenth on the Young Genius list. A soul master whose power was so potent it threatened the container it was held in.
Flanking Xu Yucheng were two others: a boy with sharp features and a shimmering, prismatic aura around his hands, and a girl with hair like liquid copper and eyes that glowed with internal heat. Both looked capable and alert, their gazes fixed on Yao Xuan's team with wary calculation.
The two groups faced each other across the small clearing, the air growing thick with unspent energy. The casual hunt was over. This was a meeting of powers.
Xu Yucheng's gray eyes, depthless and cold, settled on Yao Xuan. He did not speak. He simply shifted his grip on the massive scythe, the blade tilting ever so slightly. The message was clear: You are next.
Yao Xuan felt his soul power vortex spin faster in response to the palpable threat. He didn't activate his martial soul yet. He stood tall, meeting that gray gaze without flinching.
"Xu Yucheng," Yao Xuan said, his voice level, acknowledging a worthy opponent.
A faint, ghostly smile touched Xu Yucheng's pale lips. It held no warmth, only the chill of the grave. "Yao Xuan," he echoed, his voice a dry whisper that seemed to bypass the ears and speak directly to the soul. "The forger. Let us see if your creations can withstand the harvest."
Behind Yao Xuan, Gu Yue's silver eyes narrowed, already analyzing the scythe's energy patterns and the two flanking soul masters. Tang Wulin planted his feet, a solid, unyielding presence. Xie Xie vanished into the dappled shadows at the clearing's edge, a promise of swift retaliation. Xu Xiaoyan and Zhang Yangzi tensed, ready to support.
The first major, pitched battle of the class monitor competition was about to begin.