2025-09-14 15:31:28The wind howled across the barren ridge as two figures made their way along the frozen path.
Arin walked with steady strides now. He was no longer the broken youth who had left his clan’s gates in humiliation. His qi flowed smoother and his meridians no longer felt like chains of fire tearing through his flesh. Instead, his body pulsed with faint power, subtle and yet undeniable.
Beside him walked Lyra Frostwind. Her pale cloak fluttered like a shard. She said little, but every so often her icy gaze drifted toward him, as if measuring the changes in his stance and the growing strength in his aura.
The wilderness had carved him anew.
Days bled into nights. Their journey toward civilization became a crucible.
At dawn, Arin drilled Dragon Vein Fist until his knuckles split. The system chimed relentlessly, issuing quests that rebuilt him.
“Ding! Daily Training Quest: Perform 500 Dragon Vein Strikes.
Reward: Dragon Vein Fist Proficiency +5%.
Penalty: –2 years lifespan if failed.”
His arms ached until they felt hollow. When he faltered, Lyra’s cool voice cut through the mist. “Again. If you can’t withstand your own weight, how will you withstand theirs?”
At dusk, he fights against her, learning to weave frost counters into his movements. She tested him ruthlessly, pressing his limits until his system windows blinked red with warnings.
“Ding! Withstand Lyra Frostwind’s Assault for 10 minutes.
Host reward: Qi Circulation Efficiency +2%.
Failure Penalty: –5 years lifespan.”
Sometimes he barely scraped by. Sometimes he collapsed, only to rise again at the system’s cold urging.
By the time their path descended into fertile valleys, his qi channels were stabilizing. His crippled frame of old was gone. What remained was a sharpened edge.
On the twelfth night, as campfire sparks floated into the sky, the system’s tone shifted.
“Ding! Major Quest Generated.
Objective: Return to the Darkveil Clan during the Clan Martial Tournament. Make a statement of power before elders and rivals.
Reward: Advanced Meridian Repair (50%). Reputation Ascension.
Penalty: –20 years lifespan if failed.”
Arin froze. His gaze locked on the glowing text.
The Martial Tournament. The gathering where every youth of worth displayed their strength. The very stage where Kael and his rival would surely shine.
Lyra noticed his silence. “The qi again?” she asked and her tone was edged with curiosity.
He nodded slowly. “It wants me to return. To stand before them all.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s dangerous. They cast you out once. If you step back into their den, they will not welcome you with open arms.”
“I know,” Arin whispered as fire flickered in his eyes. “But I can’t keep running. If I’m to climb higher, the stage must be theirs, and mine.”
The Darkveil Clan’s mountain city was alive when they arrived. Banners streamed from rooftops, stalls filled the streets, and martial drums echoed across the stone yards.
The Clan Martial Tournament was more than a contest, it was a festival of strength and a declaration to outsiders that Darkveil blood still burned bright.
Arin pulled his cloth tighter, slipping into the crowd. The voices of the people sparked almost immediately.
“Wait, isn’t that Arin?”
“The exile? The cripple who was cast out?”
“He dares return during the tournament?”
All eyes turned to him with suspicion, curiosity and disdain. He felt the weight of a thousand stares, but for the first time in his life, he did not bow beneath them. His steps were steady and he kept his gaze as calm as possible.
Across the yard, Kael stood surrounded by admirers. His scarlet robes were bright like fire. His qi radiated heat that shimmered in the air. He laughed loudly, boasting of his inevitable victory in the tournament.
But when his eyes found Arin among the crowd, his laughter faltered for the briefest instant. His smile curled and he became very worried at that moment.
“Look who crawled back,” Kael sneered at his companions. “The trash thinks the festival is open to beggars.”
The crowd laughed. But Kael’s clenched fists betrayed his unease.
High on the viewing platform, the elders of the clan observed.
The Second Elder’s eyes narrowed dangerously the moment he spotted Arin. He leaned close to his peers in a low but sharp voice.
“He should not have returned. His existence is a thorn and unpredictably dangerous. If he dares step into the tournament, we will strip him bare before all.”
The First Elder, who was older and more understanding, frowned faintly. “He saved an elder once. He felled a spirit beast. Are you certain he is a threat?”
The Second Elder’s lip curled. “A cripple who rises unnaturally is never a blessing. He is an omen. This tournament will expose him. Mark my words.”
Their cold gazes burned down upon Arin.
Arin moved through the crowd with quiet composure. Lyra followed closely from behind. Her presence drew curious stares too, but she ignored them. Her eyes fixed on him.
“You are calm,” she murmured.
He nodded. “The system wants me to make a statement and I will.”
“Even if they spit on you again?”
His jaw set. “Especially then.”
For the first time, a faint smile touched her lips.
The drums thundered. The Martial Arena filled with youths lined up in bright robes. Their weapons gleamed with qi blazing. Families cheered, elders presided, and the festival reached its peak.
Arin stood at the edge of the crowd, his cloth fluttering.
“Ding! Quest Update.
Objective Progression: Step into the Martial Arena.
Timer: 12 hours.
Reward / Penalty unchanged.”
His hand tightened around his mother’s cloth. He would not fail.
The air trembled as the Master of Ceremonies declared the opening of the tournament. Kael stepped forward first. He basked in the adoration of the crowd. His fire qi erupted, dazzling flames into the sky.
The audience erupted in cheers. “Kael! Kael! Kael!” They changed his name.
Arin’s eyes never left him. His rival’s back seemed broader, but the fire in Arin’s chest burned just as fiercely now.
He remembered the laughter when he failed his awakening. The scorn when Kael beat him bloody. The cold decree of the elders as they cast him out.
And yet, he was here stronger, sharper and no longer crawling in the mud, but standing with a calm resolve that no sneer could shake.
The system’s voice was merciless, but it had given him purpose. Lyra’s presence beside him was quiet but steady.
This was no longer about proving them wrong.
It was about proving himself right.
The tournament gong boomed, shaking the arena. The crowd roared.
And then, the system pulsed.
“Ding! Urgent Quest Generated.
The objective is to overthrow an Elder within the Darkveil Clan.
Timer: 30 days.
Host will unlock a Core Formation Path.
Penalty: Immediate –30 years lifespan.”
Arin froze, the words burning before his eyes.
‘An elder?’ He echoed silently, ‘It didn't ask me to defeat Kael or win glory but to topple one of the very pillars of the clan.’
His chest tightened and his breath shallow. The stakes had shifted beyond anything he had imagined.
He stared at the elders’ platform, at their calculating gazes and at the Second Elder’s cold smirk.
The system’s whisper echoed in his ears like a death knell.
“Overthrow an elder, or watch your life wither away.”
The drums thundered. The crowd cheered.
Previous Chapter
Latest Chapter
THE TURNING OF VARYN
The Darkveil was no longer merely collapsing.It was turning against itself.What had begun as internal fractures—whispers, hesitation, disobedience—had now erupted into open bloodshed. District banners burned without orders. Sigil-wards misfired, devouring their own casters. Streets once held together by fear dissolved into chaos where belief had failed.And at the center of it all—Nyx and Sereth stood amid the ruin of their own calculations.The battle had grown violent beyond expectation.Not against Arin.Against themselves.Darkveil soldiers clashed in uncoordinated formations, some still loyal to the Conclave, others refusing to obey commands they no longer believed in. The air shimmered with broken invocations—spells half-formed, collapsing before completion, their backlash tearing into the minds of those who dared speak them.Nyx turned sharply toward Sereth, blood streaking his ceremonial armor, his composure finally cracking.“You caused this,” he snarled. “You are the reas
Arin's returned the spell of war Tor the Darkveil's
The tremors spreading through Darkveil were no longer subtle.They moved through the realm like a sickness with memory—through stone and sigil, through prayer halls and bloodlines. The ground no longer shook as it once had in ancient wars. Instead, it hesitated. Walls groaned before standing still. Fires flickered without wind. Even the gold-veined towers of the Inner Circle bent slightly inward, as if listening.The Darkveil had discovered a truth they could no longer outrun.They could not defeat Arin.The Inner Conclave assembled beneath the Black Canopy—a dome grown from crystallized SYSTEM residue and ancestral bone, suspended over a pit that descended into nothing visible. This was where decisions were once declared eternal.Tonight, it felt like a grave that had not yet closed.The elders stood in a broken circle. No one took the central dais.No one wanted to stand where authority had begun to rot.Whispers crawled along the edges of the chamber, collapsing into silence whenev
Arin's identity revealed with reward
The dead zone breathed around them like a wounded thing.Static drifted in slow waves across the fractured architecture, light bending where it should not, shadows pooling where there was no source to cast them. Here, the SYSTEM’s sight faltered, its omnipresent awareness reduced to fragments and echoes. Time itself seemed reluctant to move forward, stretching moments thin, compressing others until memory blurred at the edges.“I am strongly behind you,” Lyra said again, her voice steady, grounding. She stepped closer, her presence a quiet defiance against the void pressing in. “You have been my courage in this journey. Without you, the strength… the war… none of it could be achieved so easily.”Arin stood still, eyes fixed on nothing and everything. When he spoke, it was softer than Lyra expected, but edged with something sharp beneath.“And as for the enemies—” He shook his head once, slowly. “They will cease to draw breath in the form they understand. I swear it.”Lyra did not flin
Kael and Varyn make war
The chamber fell quiet after Lyra’s words, the kind of quiet that followed a decision already made.Arin didn’t answer her immediately. He stood at the console, eyes fixed on the last fading afterimage of the SYSTEM’s warning. The glow dimmed, but the weight of it lingered—an echo pressing against his thoughts.“I will make sure everyone has a part in the consequences that comes with their decision,” he repeated, slower this time, as if carving the words into something permanent.Lyra straightened beside him. There was no hesitation in her stance now, no trace of the uncertainty that had followed Darkveil’s collapse. Whatever fear she carried, she wore it like armor.“You’re dealing with them one after the other,” she said. “And soon, they will really know that you have finally arrived.”Arin turned to her, his expression unreadable. “Arrival isn’t triumph,” he said. “It’s exposure.”Before Lyra could respond, the SYSTEM pulsed again—sharp, urgent.SYSTEM ALERT: MULTIPLE HOSTILE ALIGN
The man of thunder Arin striker
Lyra broke the silence first.She leaned against the doorway of the observation chamber, arms folded, the faint glow of dormant SYSTEM runes washing over her face. For the first time since Darkveil’s collapse, there was something like admiration in her eyes—unhidden, unguarded.“You did it,” she said quietly. “You turned an empire inside out without lifting a blade.”Arin didn’t look at her. He remained seated at the edge of the console, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped as if holding something fragile that might break if he relaxed his grip.“I confused them,” he corrected. “That’s not the same thing.”Lyra smiled, just a little. “Confusion is powerful. You made them doubt the lie they’d been fed since birth. Kael ruled because he convinced them certainty was safety. You took that away.”Arin exhaled slowly. “And now they’re adrift. That’s dangerous.”She pushed off the doorway and crossed the room, boots echoing softly against the metal floor.“Dangerous for tyrants,” she s
The Exile of Kael
The obsidian dome did not quiet.It boiled.What Arin had seeded into the SYSTEM had grown teeth.Elders shouted over one another, their authority sigils flickering erratically—once-pristine marks of command now stuttering with corrupted confidence. Disciples recoiled as overlapping directives screamed in their minds, each contradicting the last. Ritual arrays cracked mid-formation, feeding back unstable logic that scorched the stone beneath their feet.And at the center of it all stood Kael.For the first time since he had crowned himself Darkveil’s unifier, he looked… small.“You dare accuse me?” Kael bellowed, his voice thunderous, strained. “After all I have carried? All I have preserved?”An elder stepped forward—Elder Veyron, once Kael’s loudest supporter. His eyes burned with something far more dangerous than fear.“You preserved yourself,” Veyron spat. “Every version of these plans names a different sacrifice. But in all of them, Kael… you survive.”A ripple of rage surged thr
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