All Chapters of The Rejected Disciple, Successor to The Demonic Path: Chapter 141
- Chapter 150
161 chapters
Poison Against the Sword
The black smoke continued to spread from the space around An Ying, forcing the weaker spectators to retreat while several senior cultivators activated protective talismans. Some pressed the talismans against their chests, others crushed them directly in their palms, and elders from middle-ranking sects pulled their younger disciples back before curiosity brought them too close to the poisonous haze. A cynical observer watched the movement of the crowd and gave a quiet snort. “The treasure has not even been opened, yet people are already paying a price for standing too close.” His companion glanced toward the black box suspended between the two sect leaders. “That only makes this gathering look dirtier. Everyone came to see Huo Xin Jian, but the first thing filling the arena is poison.” Tian Zhang rotated his sword and changed the direction of his attack. A cold current of qi followed the blade and
The Sect Leaders’ Contest
Tian Zhang’s attacks became increasingly precise as the duel continued above the arena. His sword no longer focused only on cutting apart the poisonous smoke, because each new line of qi also narrowed An Ying’s available space and pressed him farther from the black box. An Ying responded by changing the shape of his poison. Nine thin streams of dark smoke separated from the larger cloud around him, each curving along a different path before converging from several sides at once. “Is that the Nine Poison Shadows Technique?” a cultivator near the front asked under his breath. The old man beside him shook his head slowly and said, “Not exactly. Look at the angles. He has adjusted the technique to this open arena, which means he came prepared to fight here rather than merely display what his sect is famous for.” Tian Zhang’s sword descended before the nine streams could fully close a
Gathering at Whispering Mountain
Several days before the stage on Qingyun Mountain became filled with blood, suspicion, and words sharp enough to damage the dignity of a sect, another gathering had already begun preparing the same kind of fracture on Whispering Mountain. That night, the mountain received people who had no interest in daylight, official law, or the attention of ordinary Jianghu. Whispering Mountain was not grand in the way famous peaks were grand. It rose with a gloomy face, its narrow path covered in black moss that never seemed to dry, and even hunters who knew the surrounding forests rarely climbed all the way toward the summit. After nightfall, the mountain became even less inviting. Mercenaries and killers who normally crossed cliffs without hesitation preferred to take longer routes rather than remain on its slopes unless the reward was worth the risk. By the time the third night watch had passed, mist had thickened between old pin
The Seat Above the Altar
Not far from the arguing sect leaders, a core guard lowered his head toward his master and spoke quietly. “If there is truly no trap on that altar, why has no one gone up yet?” His leader did not even turn to look at him. “Because the first person who climbs those steps will be giving face to whoever arranged this place. If the chair is bait, that person will also become the first fool to bite.” The guard glanced toward the pale seat again. “So everyone is waiting for someone else to make the mistake.” “Everyone here leads people of his own,” the sect leader replied. “A man who cannot understand that much would not keep his position for long.” A thin-bearded elder in the inner circle frowned at the surrounding torches and then at the unnatural arrangement of stones. Without turning his head, he murmured to the leader beside him, “This
The Gathering on Whispering Mountain
An Ying did not speak immediately after entering the central circle of the summit. Once his feet came to rest on the stone, he lifted his chin slightly and drew in a shallow breath, not to enjoy the mountain air but to examine what remained within it after so many different factions had gathered there. The smoke from the torches, traces of qi left by various sects, and the scent of earth disturbed by countless footsteps all entered his notice. Even the faint metallic smell lingering around the stones did not escape him, and after a brief pause his attention shifted toward the altar before moving from the altar to the bone chair and then to the arrangement of torches surrounding them. Only after examining the prepared stage did An Ying look at the people present. His gaze passed across one face after another without haste and without offering particular courtesy to any sect leader, while a faint smile gradually appeared at the corner of his m
The Hand Behind the Stage
The accusations did not disappear after the first exchange. They merely became quieter and more deliberate as the sect leaders began examining details they had overlooked when they first arrived on the summit. An elderly cultivator standing in the northern circle narrowed his eyes at the foot of the altar. “Those stones were moved recently,” he said, pointing toward faint marks where the surface had been dragged across the ground. “The marks have not completely faded.” “And the approach to the summit is too clean,” another elder answered. “Someone cleared the path deliberately. This gathering was arranged long before any of us began climbing.” A dark-faced sect leader from the southern side looked toward the torches. “Whoever prepared this wanted us standing exactly where we are now. Even the position of the flames was chosen so they would illuminate our faces from sp
The Bone Chair at the Summit
As the waiting continued, an elder from a southern sect unfolded the invitation he had received and studied it again beneath the unstable torchlight. His brows rose slightly before he said, “The wording of this message is unusually polished.” The leader of the Black Blood Sect looked over with visible impatience. “Polished?” “Too polished,” the elder replied. “It does not resemble the usual correspondence between demonic sects. There is no mockery, no personal mark, and not even a half-hidden threat.” A thin-bearded elder nearby produced his own invitation, which had already been folded many times. “I noticed the same thing. This does not feel as though it was written by someone accustomed to speaking in the manner of Jianghu.” The man in the blood-red robe grinned. “More polite than half the sect leaders standing here, at least.&rdquo
An Empty Throne and Wounded Pride
As the first hour neared its end, patience began thinning across Whispering Mountain. The danger no longer came from people shouting at one another, because several of the most experienced leaders had stopped speaking altogether and begun watching the summit with a different kind of attention. The larger sects became quiet in a way that suggested they were recording the night as a debt rather than forgetting the insult. Smaller leaders who had been loud earlier called their guards closer, aware that if the gathering collapsed and everyone started descending at once, scattered formations and exposed backs would create the best possible moment for an ambush. Anyone cunning enough to prepare the torches, altar, invitations, and bone chair would also be cunning enough to expect the guests to leave eventually. For that reason, none of the experienced sect leaders intended to relax simply because the unknown organizer had failed to appear.
The Masked Master Appears
An Ying stopped before completing his next step. His posture did not stiffen excessively and he did not retreat, but the change in his eyes showed that the pressure above the summit had finally given him something more substantial to measure than an empty stage. Yan Mo reacted at almost the same moment. For the first time that night, the leader of the Hellfire Sect lifted his head fully, and the faint coldness around his mouth disappeared as his attention became fixed on the darkness above the altar. Then a voice descended from above. “Leaving already?” It was neither loud nor theatrical. The speaker did not shout or deliberately make his tone frightening, yet every word carried across the summit with such clarity that the people preparing to leave stopped where they stood. “You have not even begun to answer the question,” the voice continued. “Why w
The Throne Gains a Master
The masked man made no effort to fill the silence immediately. He sat comfortably on the bone chair while the purple flames bent in the disturbed wind, allowing the gathered sect leaders to examine him just as they had examined the empty throne throughout the night. The difference was that the chair no longer seemed like an insult placed by an absent hand. With the black-robed figure occupying it, the elevation of the altar now made the seat resemble an actual throne from which every leader below was being measured. A small-sect leader who had previously mocked the chair lowered his voice. “If he was the one who prepared everything, then he watched us argue for an entire hour before appearing.” The guard beside him answered carefully, “And he arrived only after Leaders An and Yan decided the meeting had gone far enough. That timing cannot be accidental.” The sect leader’