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.
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Seventy-one hour war
Arin felt the Dragon Vein thrumming louder, not from defiance now but from recognition; the vein had found the tunnel’s old wards and answered them, and the resonance in his chest promised one more thing — a way through that was not wholly escape: a path to return.He stepped forward and met the Elder’s gaze. “You think yourselves saviors,” he said. “But your hands are just the same as the ones that once broke our doors open to steal grain and name.”The Elder laughed, a cold rasp. He gestured, and the courtyard filled with a shimmering lattice — not the Temple’s gold but the clan’s own binding marks, centuries-old magics reforged into instruments of control. “Then be bound as we see fit.”Arin’s body turned into motion. He didn’t plan a fight — he made one. It was not for trophies but for breaths. He caught the first binding thread in his palm and let the resonance shiver through it, then folded that power and flung it outward. The thread burned like paper and snapped. The Elder’s ey
Darkveil defiance
Arin didn’t wait for the envoy’s final decree. The courtyard was a pressure cooker of fear and fury; if he hesitated the Second Elder’s purge would swallow more than pride. He scanned the faces — some broken, some feverish with triumph — and made a decision that surprised no one who had ever watched him choose a blade over a bargain.“Scatter!” he barked, voice like iron. The command carried, because people still heard what they feared and what they loved in him.Lyra slid beside him, frost singing along her blade. “We hold them back. You get the innocents to safety,” she said, already moving like someone who didn’t like to ask permission.Arin’s palm met the earth. The Dragon Vein answered, a low hum under the skin of the world: a map not of roads but of old places where walls were thin and secrets older than the clan slept. Golden scales crawled across his forearms. When he moved they left brief afterimages, like burned calligraphy in the air.A shout rose — the Second Elder himself
War with the Darkveil soul
The wind blows with a lighting of situations, everyone got set for the show of the night. The clan ground that was once thrummed with celebration now lay uneasy and silent. There above the rooftop, gather much heavens themselves who are ready to witness the event.“ They have thought evil against me. Even the Darkveil which seems to be my path.” Arin who had sat with his legs crossed on a cold stone overlooking the courtyard.Then comes the faint blue light of the system which hovered before him, pulsing like a heartbeat. Incoming Events: Stormfang Clan Retaliation: within 72 hours. Heavenly Temple Summons: active for 7 days. Optional Directive: Survive both encounters. Reward: Path Advancement Spirit Core Ignition.He exhaled slowly. “Seventy-two hours,” he murmured. “So the storm comes early.”Behind him, footsteps approached—soft, deliberate.“Still here?” Lyra’s voice was quiet but carried a weight of concern. Her silver-lined robes swayed with the wind, and her dark hair
Duel & Thrones Cracking
The tournament grounds shook with the roar of the crowd. Sunlight was bright across the martial arena. It glinted off already clean weapons and the gilded through thrones where the clan elders sat in judgment.Youth after youth clashed upon the sand. Each duel was a combat of qi and sword. Cheers rose when fire erupted and when blades hit one another.Arin stood silent at the edges, cloak drawn, watching. His turn had not yet come, but people talked about him wherever he went.“That’s him, the exile.”“He dares fight in the tournament?”“Maybe he’ll collapse before he even takes a stance.”They sneered. But their voices trembled faintly now, for some had already seen his controlled strikes in the early rounds where he dispatched opponents without wasted movement.Arin never revealed the full breadth of his strength. Yet each clash carried a weight that made the crowd gasp in shock. His fists struck like dragons hidden in mist and his footwork impossibly fluid for a boy once branded cr
Return & Tournament Omen
The 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
Wilderness and Lyra
The wilderness was merciless.Arin stumbled through a tangle of thorn-bushes. His breath ragged and his ribs ached from another close encounter. His clothes were torn and streaked with blood. The moon hung cold above him. Silver light poured over a land teeming with beasts.Every direction was like death itself Yet, the system would not let him stop.“Ding! Survival Quest Update.Objective: Endure wilderness trial, Shelter, food, water secured within 24 hours.Time Remaining: 2 hours, 17 minutes.Penalty: –10 years lifespan.”Arin’s pulse hammered. He had secured water from a muddy stream, but food and shelter? He had seen nothing. His stomach clawed at itself in hunger.If he failed and if the timer struck zero, he would lose years of his life in an instant.He staggered onward. Growls echoed in the distance. Every rustle of leaves whispered in the darkness. “Is this how they expect me to die?” he muttered, clutching his mother’s cloth at his wrist.The night deepened, getting cold
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