For the next few days, Seven Profound Martial House changed quietly.
Not with banners, proclamations, or some grand opening of a new hall, but in the way the air itself felt when disciples practiced.
The main drill ground that had once echoed with rough shouts and clumsy body-tempering now thrummed with a steady rhythm—dozens of chests rising and falling together, true essence flowing in more refined patterns. When the morning sun climbed over the walls and spilled across the stone, you could almost see it: faint, red-gold diagrams pulsing in their bodies, Lantern-Heart's circulation tracing out Fire's path through meridians like glowing veins.
Ren lounged at the edge of it all.
He sat on the low stone steps leading up to the elder platform, one leg stretched out, the other bent so he could rest an elbow on his knee. From a distance he looked like some lazy instructor half-dozing his way through morning drills, black hair ruffled by the mountain breeze, eyes half-lidded as if this had nothing to do with him.
Only those closest would notice that his gaze never missed a single circulation going wrong.
"Ta Ku," he called lazily, without raising his voice.
The burly youth jerked mid-movement, shoulder muscles tensing. His Fire true essence, which had just surged too hard toward his chest, stuttered—and then settled, as if the sound of Ren's voice alone had put a hand on it.
"You're trying to push like you're smashing through a wall," Ren drawled, tone as mild as if he were talking about the weather. "Lantern-Heart isn't for smashing. It's for teaching your body what fire is when it's not angry. Ease your breath. Let it soak in, don't try to ram it through."
Ta Ku flushed, big hand lifting to scratch the back of his head.
"Yes, teacher," he muttered, honestly.
He obediently slowed his breathing. The hot, rough-edged true essence raging along his Altering Muscle meridians gentled by a hair—just enough that the Lantern-Heart Diagram could imprint itself instead of being burned apart. That faint change in rhythm let the breath settle, let Fire's meaning sink into bone and tendon instead of blasting past them.
Ren didn't say anything else. He just watched until the next circulation completed without a hitch, then let his gaze move on.
Not far away, Ling Sen stood alone.
The scar on his cheek twitched with every exhale. He stood like a spear planted in the earth, feet steady, weapon grounded beside him as if it were a second spine. His eyes were half-closed, lashes casting thin shadows on a face carved by battlefields rather than courtyards.
Within his bones, the fierce, blood-soaked Ashura Intent he'd tempered in slaughter pushed against the new, gentler patterns of Fire. The two didn't harmonize; they clashed and scraped like metal over whetstone.
He drew in a slow breath.
True essence sank, rose, coiled, guided along Lantern-Heart's loops. The Diagram wove Fire through the same meridians that carried killing intent; for days now, Ling Sen had hovered at an edge—feeling flame not just as heat boosting his spear, but as lines that wanted to thread through his body and out into the world.
Today, something finally clicked.
A faint filament of Fire Law, thin as a hair and almost transparent, lit up in his Spiritual Sea.
It wasn't a full law domain. It wasn't even a proper law rune. It was the first, fragile line—Fire's signature writing itself into his inner world.
Ling Sen's fingers tightened on his spear shaft.
For someone at Bone Forging to genuinely begin sensing Laws was something even Heavenly Abode geniuses would envy; in a little Martial House like this, it bordered on monstrous. Most people in Sky Fortune Kingdom would spend their entire lives without ever seeing Law Essence with their own eyes.
Ren's mouth curved.
Good. You're getting there.
He didn't say it aloud. Ling Sen's Dao Heart would be stronger for walking that last half-step under his own power.
He leaned back on his hands and let his gaze sweep the ground.
Once you knew what to look for, the ripples were everywhere.
Heavenly Abode disciples who'd once relied purely on their cultivation realm to suppress others now stood with eyes shut, sweat beading at their brows as they tried to imprint Lantern-Heart's pattern deeper. Their auras had grown sharper, but also steadier—they no longer bled true essence in wasteful waves, but compressed it, folding Fire into tighter, more obedient lines.
Even the less talented Earth Hall and Human Hall juniors hadn't been left behind. Their sparks were smaller, meridian networks rougher, but in those rough bodies stubborn flames now refused to go out no matter how ragged their breathing became. A few days ago, their inner fires had guttered at the slightest mistake. Now, even when they trembled, the flame circled back, refusing to truly die.
'That's the thing about Laws,' Ren thought, watching a scrawny Human Hall girl grit her teeth through another circulation. 'Once you're touching them at all, the distance between "genius" and "ordinary" shrinks with every step.'
He stretched lazily, joints popping, as if none of this had anything to do with him.
He hadn't stood up on the platform again after that first lecture.
He'd said what needed to be said once.
Now he just watched.
A breath corrected here, a circulation smoothed there, a single finger lifting to nudge a wrist into the right angle. Occasionally he reached out with a thread of Immortal Soul Bone perception, brushing the ambient Fire essence so that a struggling disciple would have a slightly better chance of glimpsing something they'd otherwise miss.
The rest, he left alone.
If someone tripped and planted their face in the dirt halfway through Lantern-Heart's circulation, that was a lesson too. If someone's Dao Heart shook when they realized their friend was progressing faster than them… they either steadied it, or it cracked.
He wasn't their mother.
He was the man who had thrown a door wide open.
Walking through it or not was on them.
...
The ones who walked fastest were still his girls.
Not because he coddled them.
Precisely because he didn't.
Murong Zi's spear blurred across a private training ground, heat rippling around her like a mirage. She'd stripped down to a fitted training robe that clung to sweat-slick muscle, dark hair yanked up into a rough tail that whipped with every movement.
Her Fire Laws had already reached the peak of the first level. Under Lantern-Heart's tempering and her own relentless fighting intent, they were starting to press against a higher sky.
The flames she summoned no longer only burned.
They cut.
Thin, precise lines of heat traced the path of her spear, scorching boulders not with brute force, but with an edge of Fire that had begun to understand "form." Fire that wasn't content with simple destruction was now trying to shape space itself.
She thrust.
Fire intent coiled around the spear tip, then collapsed inward at the last instant—compressing instead of exploding.
The stone target didn't shatter in a messy spray.
It split.
A single clean line, smooth as if a master craftsman had polished the cut.
Murong Zi held the end of her strike, chest rising and falling. She stared at the smooth surface, then grinned, canine tooth flashing.
"…Closer," she muttered.
Without needing to turn, she felt him.
Ren leaned under the shade of a withered tree at the field's edge, arms crossed, weight settled into one hip with casual ease. The light caught the curve of his mouth—a smile that was half teacher, half troublemaker.
"You're pushing into the second layer," he said. "Don't rush to name it. Just get used to how it feels when Fire isn't just burning what's in front of you, but shaping the room it burns in."
Murong Zi wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.
"Feels like cheating," she snorted. "If this is what we're doing in some backwater, the big sect geniuses are going to cry when they hear about it."
Ren laughed quietly.
"Let them cry," he said. "You've earned it more than they have."
Her heart gave a small, traitorous jump at that easy certainty.
She turned back before her smile got too wide.
Across the Martial House, a bamboo grove whispered in the wind.
There, Bai Jingyun practiced alone.
The shade here was cool; the breeze carried the faint scent of leaves and distant incense. Sword light flashed between the slender trunks in clean, economical arcs. Her sword intent, once constrained by an engagement contract that had dictated even her future children's faces, now flowed freely—braided with Fire Laws that had already stepped beyond the first layer's peak.
Each stroke of her blade left a faint afterimage of red-gold in the air—sword and flame no longer clearly separate, but two aspects of a single Dao.
She had always been precise.
Now, she was also… alive.
Ren stood on a flat stone a short distance away, hands clasped loosely behind his back.
He didn't correct her footwork; it was already solid. He didn't tell her when her Fire intent thinned; she could feel that now. He only spoke when she finally paused, sword tip resting lightly on the earth, shoulders subtly trembling from pushing herself this far, this fast.
"You're doing it again," he said softly.
Bai Jingyun blinked, turning her head, a few loose strands of hair clingling to her damp cheek.
"…Doing what?" she asked.
"Trying to pay me back in a week for chains you carried for years."
His eyes were gentle, tone without reproach.
Her fingers tightened on her sword hilt.
"…I know," she said quietly. "I just…"
Words jammed for a moment. The bamboo leaves murmured overhead.
"…When I think of him kneeling," she said at last, voice low, "and of you crushing that talisman like it was nothing… I don't want to stand behind someone like that forever. I want to stand next to you."
Her voice didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
Ren's smile deepened a fraction.
"Then take your time," he said. "I'm not going anywhere. Even if the Valleys come, even if the world flips over, I'll still be there when you catch up."
A faint tremor ran through her throat.
She lowered her gaze, then raised it again, eyes clearer, something firmer settled behind them.
"…I'll hold you to that," she said.
Not far away, Qin Xingxuan stood atop the old stone platform in Ren's courtyard, spear in hand, breath as steady as the stone beneath her feet.
Her Fire Laws, like Murong Zi's and Bai Jingyun's, were quietly crossing that invisible line between the first and second layers. When she thrust now, the Flame Dao lines of the world trembled in response—not strongly, not fully answering her call, but enough to show her perception had reached toward a higher order.
Na Yi and Na Shui walked a similar road, though their footsteps fell on slightly different stones.
The sisters trained side by side, palms outstretched, tiny crimson flames dancing between their fingers. Their Azure True Dragon Infinity Seeds had fully adjusted to Lantern-Heart's circulation; their bodies now remembered every perfect movement as a nascent Dao Fruit in bone and blood.
At first, Ren had guided their every breath.
Now, he stood a little farther back as they crossed the threshold themselves—passing from the peak of the first Fire layer into the edge of the second under their own power.
It was the only way advances like that stuck.
If some aloof Divine Lord had been watching from the Realm of the Gods, they might have scoffed at the pace.
But in Sky Fortune Kingdom—a minor country under a third-grade sect under a great territory—five young women quietly touching a realm of Fire that only Revolving Core masters usually glimpsed was nothing short of terrifying.
To anyone who understood what they were seeing, it meant one thing:
The sky over this "little Martial House" had already changed.
...
Far from that lively courtyard, the Profound Sky Mountain Range wore a far heavier mood.
Seven Profound Valleys' main mountain floated in morning haze, its seven subsidiary peaks radiating outward like the petals of a stone lotus. Sword Faction's sharp, clean aura; Zither Faction's lingering melodies; Array Faction's dense, intricate fluctuations… each peak had its own Dao, its own pride.
Martial World Wikia
Deep within Acacia Faction's territory, behind jade pavilions and pleasure gardens that smelled faintly of wine and rouge, Ouyang Boyan stood before a group of elders, hands clasped behind his back.
On the stone table between them lay the shattered remains of a Xiantian talisman.
"The strike did not explode," Boyan said quietly. "It collapsed."
Sharp intakes of breath rippled through the hall.
A Xiantian elder's full-strength blow, condensed and sealed into a life-saving jade, captured and crushed like it was brittle dust?
If such a thing could happen in a satellite Martial House—a place meant to showcase Seven Profound Valleys' authority—then what did that say about the weight of their name in Sky Fortune Kingdom?
Sword Faction's elder narrowed his eyes, sword intent flickering out in a thin, invisible line that made the air feel like sharpened steel. Zither Faction's old woman drummed her fingers once on the arm of her chair; the sound carried a faint vibration that made the broken jade tremble. Refiner Faction's master stroked his beard, already weighing foreign inheritances, lost Divine Lord remnants, and how many treasures could be stripped from a place that produced such a monster.
"We can't ignore this," one elder finally said, voice low.
"We also can't move blindly," another replied coldly. "There are always remnants skulking in small kingdoms. If we move too heavily and it turns out to be some old monster in hiding, we may push it into the arms of another great sect."
Acacia Faction's own reputation—as wicked, obscene, using women as cauldrons to raise their dual-cultivation arts—cast an unflattering shadow over Ouyang Dihua's report. His failure, his humiliation, made some elders dismissive by instinct.
"Is this a hidden danger that must be uprooted?" a Sword Faction elder asked.
"Or an inheritance we should seize?" the Refiner mused.
Voices rose, lowered, tangled in old grudges and newer ambitions. Seven Profound Valleys' factions rarely agreed even on small matters; on something like this, consensus would not come quickly.
Conservative elders argued to suppress the anomaly with overwhelming force—send a Xiantian master, crush the Martial House, kill everyone who'd seen too much. Others, more pragmatic, wanted to probe first: send envoys, lure the talent into the Valleys, strip him of his secrets over years.
Acacia Faction elders, wary of their own reputation being dragged through more mud, quietly tried to twist the narrative—make Ouyang Dihua's failure sound like the work of trickery rather than true strength, so that blame would fall more on a mysterious "outside influence" than on their own disciple.
They argued through the morning.
They argued through the evening.
By the time the third day's shadows stretched across the main hall, they were still arguing.
...
Ren felt every ripple of that debate as a faint, irregular pressure at the edge of his perception—like distant thunder rolling on the other side of the horizon.
He knew they were talking.
He knew Ouyang Boyan had laid his broken jade talisman and wounded pride before Seven Profound Valleys' Council. He knew Sword Faction would argue one way, Acacia another, each trying to turn "Ren Ming" into either a convenient lever or a justified target.
He also knew that, for the moment, none of them had decided whose hand would actually reach toward Sky Fortune.
So he didn't bother to frown.
He sat on the flat rock beside his courtyard's spirit spring, watching the water's surface tremble under the evening breeze.
From the main house, Na Shui's laughter floated faintly through the open windows as she and Na Yi tried—and failed—to stop Murong Zi from "improving" Qin Xingxuan's attempt at frying spirit vegetables. The sound of bickering mixed with the clatter of bowls, the hiss of oil, the occasional crackle of stray Fire true essence catching a pan at the wrong angle.
The chaos of that little home, the soft arguments over salt and spice and who stole whose portion, felt more real than the brittle words of elders who thought status meant he had to care.
He breathed out, long and slow.
Deep within his Inner Void, inside the Magical Cube, a figure in white slowly opened her eyes.
Mo Eversnow's gaze was cool, clear, utterly free of haste.
She did not speak.
She simply watched him.
Ren could feel it—the faint brush of her soul as she surfaced further from her long, exhausted sleep; the way her perception lingered on the changes in his Dao since he'd first accepted her into his cube. The edges of her presence were still thin, like hoarfrost that hadn't fully formed, but her awareness was sharp.
He smiled, eyes still closed.
"Getting more curious, huh?" he asked silently, sending the thought along his Dao lines instead of his lips.
Mo Eversnow didn't answer in words.
But the chill in his inner world deepened, a little more like true winter and less like a memory of snow—as if she had turned all of her attention fully toward him instead of only watching from the corner of her eye.
He could almost hear the unspoken question in that silence:
What kind of road are you walking, to raise juniors like this in a place like that?
Ren exhaled, air stirring the spirit spring's surface.
"You'll see soon enough," he thought back. "When you're ready to step outside, I'll introduce you properly."
For now, he let her watch.
He let Seven Profound Valleys argue.
The days settled into a strange, steady rhythm.
Mornings in a mountain world where true essence flowed like rivers and Fire Laws wove themselves into heaven and earth.
Nights in a city of devils and gods, neon lights and vending machines, where magic circles hummed over asphalt and a crimson-haired devil princess leaned into his side like she'd always belonged there.
Ren's Dao Heart liked the contrast.
...
Kuoh's evening wind was always a little too soft.
After weeks of Profound Sky Mountain air—thin, sharp, carrying the scent of pine and distant snow—the breeze in this world felt lazy. It carried the warmth of concrete slowly bleeding off the day's heat, the smell of late ramen and cheap cologne from students walking home too slowly, hoping the night would stretch a little longer.
Ren stepped out of the void behind the abandoned school building, breath leaving his lungs in an easy chuckle.
"The other side," he murmured.
The universal travel art's last ripples faded from his skin, the world knitting fully around him—Kuoh Academy's familiar mana signatures, the faint stain of demonic power around the old school building, light pollution reflecting off the sky instead of starlight.
To the people of this world, he was just… Ren.
The guy who always looked like he'd slept enough even when he hadn't, who showed up where he said he would, who smiled like nothing could truly knock him off balance.
He took three steps, turned the corner—
—and a crimson blur slammed into his chest.
Warmth. Soft hair. A familiar fragrance of shampoo and demonic power.
"Welcome back," Rias said, voice muffled against his shirt.
Ren's arms were already moving. One hand slid smoothly around her waist, pulling her in without a stagger. The other came up to the back of her head, fingers burying themselves in that waterfall of red hair, thumb tracing a tiny, soothing circle.
"Hey," he said, a smile tugging at his mouth. "You were waiting outside this time?"
Rias tipped her face up to look at him.
To most people, she would have looked exactly the same—confident, warm, a little mischievous, the perfect school idol in an ordinary blazer over supernatural power.
To Ren, the differences were obvious.
Her fingers curled a little tighter into his shirt than usual. Her demonic power, usually flowing in a smooth, regal rhythm, had the faintest ripple of restlessness underneath, like a lake skimmed by wind too often. Not ugly. Not out of control.
Just the flavor of someone who'd been thinking too much.
Ren knew that taste well.
He pretended not to.
"I finished club early," Rias said lightly, stepping back just enough to look up at him without separating their bodies entirely. "Everyone else went home. I thought… if I waited here, I'd get the first hug."
Ren huffed a soft laugh.
"You say that like it wasn't guaranteed either way," he said. "C'mon."
He laced his fingers through hers and started toward the old school building. Rias followed without resistance, her grip tightening once before relaxing, as if she'd needed to confirm he was really there.
They walked in easy silence.
Her demonic power brushed against his senses like a cat winding its tail around someone's ankles. Every few steps, she glanced up at him from the corner of her eye, then looked away quickly when he met her gaze—only to do it again a few breaths later.
Ren watched all of it, filing it for later.
They reached the familiar clubroom door. Rias pushed it open with her free hand.
Light spilled out.
"Ah, you're finally back, Ren."
Akeno's voice, smooth and teasing, drifted from inside.
So much for "everyone else went home."
The Occult Research Club was as lively as ever.
Asia sat on the sofa, textbooks spread around her like some timid little fortress, pen held in both hands. Koneko occupied the corner of that same sofa, munching on a taiyaki with the blank expression of someone who didn't feel the need to explain herself to anyone.
Xenovia polished Durandal in the far corner, holy sword wrapped in cloth except for the gleaming edge she was working on. Irina fluttered around her, part exasperated, part awed, wings twitching every time the blade sparked.
Ravel sat at the low table with papers spread out—Sona's curriculum notes, judging from the neat handwriting—arguing quietly about some small point while Sona herself adjusted her glasses and calmly destroyed every one of Ravel's points with logic.
Ren stepped in, Rias' hand still in his.
Every head turned.
"Welcome back, Ren!" Asia said, face lighting up. "Um… I mean, welcome home…?"
The last word slipped out on its own.
Her cheeks turned pink the instant she heard herself.
Ren's heart softened. He walked over, gently tugging Rias along, and leaned down to ruffle Asia's hair with his free hand.
"Hey," he said, voice easing. "You didn't forget to eat, right?"
Asia shook her head, flustered.
"I-I ate with everyone," she said quickly. "Akeno made dinner. I… kept your portion warm in the kitchen. Just in case you came later."
Her words tumbled over each other, like she was trying to justify something unnecessary.
I was thinking about you. I wanted you comfortable when you came back.
Her holy power—still bright, still stubborn even mixed with demonic energy after becoming a devil—pulsed a little stronger than usual, a quietly determined rhythm.
Ren heard it.
His hand lingered in her hair half a heartbeat longer than needed.
"Thanks," he said simply. "That makes me happy."
Asia's eyes widened, then curved into a helpless smile.
Behind him, Akeno laughed softly.
"Ara ara, Ren, you finally come back and immediately flirt with Asia," she said, coming closer with a tray in hand. "You'll make Rias jealous."
Rias sniffed.
"I'm not jealous," she said.
Her hand tightened in his again.
Ren bit back a grin.
He turned his head toward Akeno.
Her smile was the same as ever—mature, teasing, with a darker edge she usually kept chained away in this room. Spiritual power crackled faintly in the air around her like distant thunder.
Something in her was different too.
Her gaze lingered on his face a heartbeat longer than usual. When she stepped close to offer the tray, her shoulder brushed his arm more than usual.
Ren accepted a cup of tea, fingers brushing hers.
She didn't pull back immediately.
There was the smallest hitch in her breath.
He pretended not to notice.
"Hmm," he said, taking a sip. "Tastes like you missed me."
Akeno blinked, then laughed, cheeks blooming with a faint, betraying flush.
"My, saying something like that so casually… you really are terrible, Ren," she said. "But… I suppose I don't dislike it."
"Liar," Koneko muttered from the sofa.
Ren glanced over.
The growing Nekoshou stared at him, golden eyes flat on the surface, unreadable to anyone else. Her curvier body was curled around her taiyaki like a dragon around its hoard.
She took a bite without breaking eye contact.
"You were late," she said.
No honorifics. No "welcome back." Just that.
Ren walked over, crouched until they were eye level, and opened his arms.
"C'mere," he said.
Koneko glared for two whole seconds, cheeks puffing out.
Then she leaned forward all at once, burying herself in his chest with a small, tight motion that was more animal than graceful. Her arms slipped around his waist. Her tail—hidden to everyone else—wound itself firmly around his hip.
Ren hugged her in, one hand resting on the back of her head, thumb rubbing behind her ear with lazy, slow strokes. Her demonic power, touki, and faint senjutsu energy pressed against his senses in a dense, compact knot that felt… heavier than before.
She'd been pushing herself.
Of course she had.
He could see it in the way her weight sat a little differently over her feet, the subtle shift in how muscles wrapped her frame, the tiny marks on her knuckles that no one without Immortal Soul Bone perception would ever notice.
Ren smiled into her hair.
"Sorry," he said quietly, so only she could hear. "I'll take the punishment. You can hog my lap all night. No one else allowed."
Koneko's fingers clenched in his shirt.
"…Deal," she mumbled.
Her ears were bright red.
He straightened slowly, letting her cling for another moment before easing her back into her seat.
He didn't say anything extra.
He just reached over, stole a bite of her taiyaki, and let her outrage erase whatever shadows she'd been carrying.
"Hey," she protested, eyes widening. "That was mine."
"Share with your boyfriend a little," Ren said, deadpan. "Good for your cultivation."
For the next hour, the Occult Research Club felt less like some supernatural headquarters and more like the living room of a very strange, very big family.
Someone put the kettle back on. Asia shuffled nervously to the kitchen and returned with Ren's reheated portion of dinner, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt until he took the plate from her hands with a soft "thanks." Koneko, as promised, claimed his lap and glared at anyone who so much as looked like they might challenge her position.
Rias sat sideways in an armchair, one leg tucked under her, crimson hair spilling over her shoulder as she talked with Sona and Ravel about curriculum changes and student council headaches. Akeno moved between table and sofa with the effortless grace of someone who could erase a mountain while refilling your cup.
Irina and Xenovia squabbled in the corner about some insane "joint training" idea that involved aerial sword drills and scripture recitation; every time Durandal hummed, Rossweisse flinched and half-formed a barrier on reflex.
Ren let it all wash over him.
Under the chatter, something deeper pulsed.
Inside each girl, a Soul Palace turned—a personal inner world where demonic power, holy light, touki, and everything else they carried could circulate properly. One palace each, for now, but no longer empty shells.
Myriad Origin Scripture caught every leaking thread of power, folding it back into closed loops. Energy that used to bleed off as waste now spiraled back into their cores, refining, compounding, building foundations layer by layer.
They were getting hungrier.
Not just for him.
For power.
For a place where they would never again have to bow their heads and beg some higher existence not to crush what they loved.
The thought made his Dao Heart feel… very at ease.
He rested his cheek against the crown of Koneko's head; her ears flicked but she didn't complain, quietly nibbling what remained of her taiyaki.
"Comfortable?" he asked.
"…It's fine," she muttered.
Her tail betrayed her, coiling lazily around his waist.
Rias watched from the armchair opposite them, chin propped on her hand, blue eyes half-lidded.
Her demonic power, normally smooth and regal, kept spiking in small waves whenever his gaze lingered too long on someone else. Each time, she caught herself and tried to calm it—only to look back at him again a breath later, as if making sure he was still there, still hers.
Ren's mouth curved.