The Ye Clan's gate stood stark against a dawn bled dry by iron-gray clouds, its stakes bristling like a beast baring teeth. The scout's words—tomorrow, dawn—hung heavy, a blade poised to fall. Lin Feng leaned against the western wall, its rune fading but firm, his muddy-brown eyes locked on the horizon where smoke curled like a dying snake. The seal within roared, its fracture a golden torrent weaving strength into his frail frame, pain a forge for Zhan Tian's divine soul. The cloaked figure's chant—Yan Huo's awake—echoed in his mind, a splinter of truth sharper than steel. Trouble brewed, layered and deep, beyond the Lin Clan's petty grudge.
Ye Ling paced below, her rusty dagger flashing as she tested a snare's twine, her braid tucked tight for battle. Her qi flickered faintly—Starveil Root's spark, raw but growing, a ember in her veins. "They're late," she muttered, glancing at the woods. "Silk-boys scared?"
"They're coming," Lin Feng said, voice a quiet edge, sliding down. "Lin Clan doesn't bluff."
Ye Chen limped up, his sling tucked in his belt, a new ward-etched pebble rolling in his palm. His sharp gaze flicked to Lin Feng, then the gate. "You're too still," he said, blunt. "That scout wasn't alone, was he?"
"No," Lin Feng replied, his Heaven's Pulse Sense humming—a faint ripple, boots crunching beyond the trees, ten or more. "They're here. Brace."
Ye Qing strode from the courtyard, his spear polished to a dull gleam, his grizzled face set like stone. Ye Hua followed, her gray eyes fierce, clutching a chipped knife as Ye Jun and Ye Mei trailed, their small hands gripping sticks. The clan's fire smoldered behind, stew cold, all eyes on the gate. Lin Feng faced them, his presence a steady flame in the chill.
"Lin Clan's dawn," he said, voice slicing the air. "They want us kneeling. We don't. Gate's our line—hold it."
Ye Qing's grip tightened, his nod firm. "We're no cowards. What's the play?"
"Traps first," Lin Feng said. "I lead. You follow. Break their spine fast."
Ye Chen's eyes narrowed, probing. "You always bleed first. Why?"
"It's what I do," Lin Feng said, unyielding. "Move."
The clan snapped to life. Ye Ling darted to the gate's choke, tightening snares with a hunter's grace—thorns woven tight, stakes angled to bite. Ye Chen knelt, carving wards into the dirt, their faint hum a hidden shield. Ye Qing braced with the kids, piling branches higher, a jagged wall to funnel foes. Lin Feng etched a deeper array into the gate's base—qi lines pulsing, invisible to mortals, a trap for the bold. The seal burned, pain spiking his chest, but he channeled it, sweat beading his brow.
A horn blared—sharp, arrogant, splitting the dawn. Dust rose on the ridge, blue silk flashing through the trees. Ye Ling spun, dagger up, her grin fierce. "Showtime."
Lin Feng stepped forward, alone beyond the gate, his qi a coiled storm. Pulse Sense mapped ten figures—no, twelve—led by a tall man in crane-embroidered robes, his beard streaked gray, qi rippling at Body Tempering 6. Lin Tao, an elder, his staff a polished iron rod, its tip gleaming with intent. Behind him, warriors in blue hefted swords, their qi faint—Body Tempering 2 or 3—except one, a wiry youth with Lin Hao's sneer, Body Tempering 4, his blade already drawn.
Lin Tao halted, his voice a cold hammer. "Ye rats! You harbor trash—Lin Feng, the cur who shamed our blood. Kneel, or we burn this sty to ash."
Ye Qing roared back, spear raised. "Try it, old man! We'll bury you first!"
Lin Tao's laugh was a dry crack, his staff tapping the dirt. "Bold for beggars. Lin Hao warned me—said you'd crawl. Last chance."
Lin Hao stepped forward, his sneer venomous, eyes locked on Lin Feng. "You're nothing, dog. Divorced, broken—now you play hero? I'll carve your heart out."
Lin Feng's lips twitched, a cold smirk. "You're still loud, Hao. Loud breaks easy."
The clan bristled—Ye Ling's dagger spun, Ye Chen's sling creaked, Ye Qing's spear gleamed. Lin Tao raised a hand, his warriors fanning out, blades glinting. "No mercy," he said, staff swinging—a qi arc aimed at Lin Feng's chest, fast and heavy.
Lin Feng moved, Heaven's Veil flickering—a faint shield absorbing the blow, dust exploding where he stood. He darted left, palming a rune-stone from the ravine, tossing it wide. The air shivered, wards sparking—three warriors stumbled, legs buckling, swords skittering. Ye Ling pounced, her dagger slashing a thigh, blood spraying as she ducked a counterstrike. Ye Chen's sling cracked, a stone smashing a warrior's nose, felling him with a groan.
Lin Tao roared, staff thrusting—qi spiked, a spear of force. Lin Feng's Pulse Sense caught it—he sidestepped, Heaven's Anchor Strike snapping his palm into the staff's haft, throwing it wide. The elder staggered, shock flashing across his face. "You're no cripple," he snarled, qi surging, Body Tempering 6 flaring bright.
"Not today," Lin Feng said, circling. The seal screamed, its fracture splitting wider—pain seared his veins, but he channeled it, qi flooding his limbs. He ducked a warrior's blade, kicking his knee—a crack sent the man down. Ye Qing charged, spear piercing a shoulder, while Ye Mei hurled a stick, small but true, clipping a warrior's ear. The man yelped, and Ye Ling finished him, her dagger a blur through his side.
Lin Hao lunged, his sword a silver arc, qi sparking—Body Tempering 4, sharper than before. "Die, trash!" he screamed, blade aimed at Lin Feng's throat. Lin Feng's Veil shimmered, deflecting the strike, his fist hammering Hao's wrist—a dull snap. Hao howled, sword dropping, clutching his arm as he stumbled back.
"Sloppy," Lin Feng said, voice a taunt. "Sect's teaching you nothing."
The tide turned—six warriors stood, hacking at the choke. Ye Chen's stones rained, precise and deadly, downing two with cracked skulls. Ye Qing bellowed, spear driving through armor, his old frame shaking but fierce. Ye Ling danced through, her dagger claiming a throat, her qi flicker flaring—Starveil's spark, now a flame. Ye Jun peeked from the gate, tossing a rock—it struck a warrior's shin, tripping him into Ye Qing's spear.
Lin Tao rallied, staff spinning—a qi storm, tearing earth. Lin Feng met it, Veil straining under the force, his Anchor Strike slamming the elder's chest. A muffled crunch—ribs bending—and Lin Tao staggered, coughing blood, his staff trembling. "Monster," he gasped, eyes wide with dread.
"Leave," Lin Feng said, looming, qi a golden pulse. "Or I keep you."
The warriors froze, then bolted, dragging their wounded. Lin Hao scrambled up, face purple, spitting venom. "This isn't over, cur! Iron Fang's mine—you're dead!" He fled, limping, Lin Tao's glare burning as he followed, staff dragging in the dirt.
Ye Qing's laugh boomed, raw and wild, thumping Lin Feng's shoulder. "You're a damn hurricane, lad! Sent 'em packing like dogs!"
Ye Ling wiped her dagger, grinning, blood streaking her cheek. "Hao pissed himself—again. That shield's wicked."
Ye Chen limped forward, his sling slack, eyes sharp. "You glowed brighter. That's not mortal."
Lin Feng shrugged, brushing dirt from his hands. "It's what wins. Rest up."
The clan gathered, Ye Hua pressing bowls into their hands—stew from bandit spoils, thin but warm. Ye Jun babbled about his rock, Ye Mei clutching his arm, their faces lit with awe. Ye Hua's knife trembled as she spoke, voice thick. "You're our steel, Lin Feng. We'd be bones."
"Steel holds," he said, sipping. The seal burned, its fracture a chasm now, qi threading strength into his bones—Body Tempering 2, maybe, pain his anvil.
Ye Ling sat close, her qi flicker steady, eyes probing. "Teach me that shield," she said, nudging him. "I'm ready."
"Prove it," Lin Feng said, meeting her gaze, a spark of challenge. "Tomorrow—woods."
Ye Chen watched, his pebble rolling, a quiet blade sharpening. "They'll come harder now," he said, blunt. "Hao's not done."
"Let him," Lin Feng said, standing. The courtyard's fire crackled, shadows dancing, but the woods beyond stirred—a low hum, not beastly, rising from the ravine's arch. Pulse Sense caught it: runes pulsing, qi swelling, like a heart waking.
Midday, Lin Feng led Ye Ling to the woods, drilling Dawn's Thread—qi breathing, her core sparking brighter. "Feel the flow," he said, correcting her stance. "It's fire, not air."
She exhaled, qi flaring—a faint pulse, Body Tempering 1's edge. "Like I'm burning," she said, grinning, sweat beading her brow.
He nodded, turning to Ye Chen, who'd followed, sling dangling. "You too," Lin Feng said, guiding his breath. "Core, deep. Wake it."
Ye Chen's pulse stirred, a flicker—slower, but alive. "It's… heavy," he murmured, eyes bright with discovery.
Ye Hua called them back, her voice sharp—Ye Jun had found something by the gate. A scrap of blue silk, torn, blood-flecked, its crane emblem smeared. Lin Feng's jaw tightened—Lin Clan's mark, dropped in haste. "They're not far," he said, pocketing it.
Dusk fell, the clan's fire low. Lin Feng climbed the western wall, Pulse Sense stretching—smoke lingered, not Ye Clan's, from the west. A flicker caught his eye: blue robes, not one but three, darting through the trees, scrolls clutched. Lin Clan scouts, circling, not fleeing. One paused, unaware, his voice low but clear, edged with urgency.
"They're stronger than Hao said," he hissed to another, unrolling a map. "Elder Tao's hurt—we need Iron Fang's hand. If that wanderer's who I think—"
Lin Feng's qi surged, the seal roaring, a golden pulse silencing the woods. The scout froze, mid-sentence, as—