The Ye Clan's western woods shimmered with fading light, the sun a bruised smear sinking behind jagged peaks. Shadows stretched long and lean, pooling in the underbrush where Lin Feng crouched, his muddy-brown eyes scanning the river's distant glint. Black Claw's rafts would come soon—Deng Kao's axe, Ruan Ji's daggers, forty men hungry for blood, their torches promised by dusk. The seal within thrummed, its golden fracture a river straining his frail frame, pain forging Zhan Tian's divine soul into something sharper. The cloaked figure's chant from last night—Yan Huo's awake—gnawed at him, a thread of betrayal older than the valley, but Lin Clan's dawn rout left no room for ghosts. Not yet.
Ye Ling ghosted to his side, her rusty dagger low, qi flickering in her veins—Starveil Root's spark, now a faint flame at Body Tempering 1's edge. Her braid was coiled tight, eyes glinting like a wolf's. "River's too quiet," she whispered, fingers flexing. "They're moving, aren't they?"
"Rafts," Lin Feng said, voice a blade's edge. "North bank, soon. We hit first."
Ye Chen limped up, sling dangling, a ward-etched pebble clutched tight. His gaze, sharp as flint, flicked to the woods, then Lin Feng. "You knew," he said, blunt. "Scout wasn't enough—they're bigger."
"Always are," Lin Feng replied, rising. "Gate's ready. You're not."
Ye Chen's jaw tightened, but he nodded, qi stirring—slow, but alive. Lin Feng led them back, the estate's walls a dark smudge through the trees. Ye Qing stood at the gate, spear braced, his grizzled frame steady as Ye Hua sharpened stakes with Ye Jun and Ye Mei, their small hands fierce despite trembling. The courtyard's fire was doused, embers cold to hide their light. Lin Feng's traps—rune wards, thorn snares, qi nets—hummed unseen, a web spun for fools.
He faced the clan, his presence a spark in the gloom. "Black Claw's coming," he said, voice cutting the dusk. "Forty, maybe more. Fire, blades, no mercy. We don't break."
Ye Qing's spear tapped the dirt, his nod grim. "We're tougher now, lad. What's the call?"
"Choke the gate," Lin Feng said. "I lead north—thin their front. You hold here."
Ye Ling's dagger spun, her grin sharp. "I'm with you. Time to bleed 'em."
"No," Lin Feng said, meeting her fire. "Gate needs you. Cut their flanks."
Her grin faltered, but she nodded, qi flaring—a spark craving blood. Ye Chen crouched by the choke, sling loaded, his pebble's ward glowing faint. Ye Hua gripped her knife, ushering the kids behind a barricade, her voice a whip. "Stay low, strike smart," she told them, gray eyes blazing.
Lin Feng slipped north alone, Heaven's Pulse Sense stretching—a faint ripple, water lapping wood, boots sloshing mud. Rafts, five or six, torches flaring now, men's curses carrying on the wind. He knelt by the riverbank, palming a rune-stone from the ravine, its qi a quiet pulse. The seal burned, pain threading strength—Body Tempering 2, barely enough, but cunning was his blade.
The first raft scraped shore, Deng Kao's bulk looming, axe raised, qi roaring at Body Tempering 7—a storm of raw force. Ruan Ji flanked him, daggers glinting, Body Tempering 5's sly edge, while Lian's lean shadow darted left, her qi faint but precise. Men poured off, forty strong, torches casting wild shadows, blades gleaming with pitch. "Burn it!" Deng bellowed, voice a landslide. "Wanderer's mine!"
Lin Feng flicked the stone—a qi spark ignited the ward, ground trembling. Six men stumbled, legs snared by invisible roots, torches falling to hiss in mud. He darted forward, Heaven's Veil shimmering—a faint shield as a blade grazed his arm, cloth tearing. His Anchor Strike snapped a man's knee, dropping him with a scream. Another swung—a crude axe, qi-less—Lin Feng ducked, palm cracking ribs, the man collapsing in a wheeze.
Deng roared, charging, axe swinging—a qi arc, heavy as stone. Lin Feng's Veil strained, cracking under the blow, pain spiking his chest. He rolled clear, tossing a second stone—wards flared, tripping three more into a cursing heap. Pulse Sense caught Ruan Ji's shadow, daggers flashing—Lin Feng spun, Veil deflecting one blade, his kick landing square on Ruan's wrist. A snap—Ruan staggered, cursing, daggers skittering.
"Fast bastard!" Ruan spat, lunging again, qi sharp. Lin Feng sidestepped, Anchor Strike grazing Ruan's shoulder—blood sprayed, but Ruan twisted clear, grinning like a fox.
Lin Feng fell back, drawing them south—toward the gate's choke. Torches lit the woods, Black Claw's men fanning out, but traps bit hard: snares snagged ankles, stakes pierced boots, wards drained strength. Ten fell before reaching the estate, screams echoing as Ye Ling's dagger flashed from the dark, a throat slit clean. Ye Chen's sling cracked, stones smashing jaws, each ward sparking qi to slow the tide.
At the gate, Ye Qing bellowed, spear thrusting—a man fell, gut pierced, blood pooling. Ye Ling danced through, her qi flaring—Body Tempering 1, raw but fierce—her dagger carving a shin, toppling another. Ye Jun tossed a rock, small but true, clipping a man's ear; he stumbled, and Ye Hua's knife finished him, her strike clumsy but lethal. Ye Mei's stick struck a knee, buying Ye Chen time—a stone cracked a skull, body dropping limp.
Deng reached the choke, axe cleaving a barricade—wood splintered, qi roaring. "Wanderer!" he roared, eyes locked on Lin Feng, who emerged from the trees, blood streaking his arm. "Your head's mine!"
Lin Feng smirked, Veil flickering anew. "Big axe, small brain," he said, darting forward. Deng's swing came—a qi storm, earth tearing—Lin Feng's Pulse Sense mapped it, his roll barely clearing. He countered, Anchor Strike slamming Deng's elbow—a dull crunch, but Deng grinned, qi swallowing the pain, axe rising again.
Lian struck from the side, her blade a whisper—Lin Feng's Veil caught it, his kick snapping her wrist. She fell back, silent, eyes like a hawk's, already circling. Ruan rallied, daggers twin streaks—Lin Feng ducked, Veil straining, his palm grazing Ruan's chest, qi sparking. Ruan coughed blood, retreating, but Deng pressed, axe relentless, qi a crushing tide.
The clan fought fierce—Ye Qing's spear felled two, Ye Ling's dagger claimed three, her qi flare burning brighter. Ye Chen's stones rained, four down, wards humming. Ye Hua guarded the kids, her knife bloodied, while Ye Jun and Ye Mei hurled rocks, small victories piling. But Black Claw's numbers held—twenty still stood, torches setting the choke ablaze, fire licking the gate.
Lin Feng's seal screamed, fracture splitting—a golden surge, pain his anvil. He channeled it, Veil solidifying, Anchor Strike hammering Deng's chest—a crack of ribs, blood spraying. Deng staggered, axe dropping, but roared, qi flaring, lunging with bare hands. Lin Feng sidestepped, Pulse Sense catching Lian's shadow—she struck, blade grazing his ribs, blood welling. He spun, kicking her away, but Ruan's dagger nicked his thigh, a shallow sting.
"Enough!" Lin Feng growled, qi pulsing—the seal's light flared, a golden storm. He tossed a final stone—wards erupted, ground splitting, ten men trapped in a qi net, writhing. Ye Ling pounced, dagger reaping, while Ye Chen's sling cleared three more. Ye Qing's spear held the gate, Ye Hua's knife a last line.
Deng rose, blood dripping, qi fading—Body Tempering 7, cracked but alive. "You're no man," he gasped, clawing for his axe. Ruan dragged him back, daggers low, Lian covering their flank. The last men fled, torches abandoned, screams fading into the woods.
Ye Ling cheered, dagger raised, qi flickering wild. "We burned 'em!" she shouted, blood streaking her grin. Ye Qing's laugh boomed, spear planted, while Ye Chen lowered his sling, eyes wide but steady. Ye Hua hugged Ye Jun and Ye Mei, their faces flushed with awe.
Lin Feng stood, blood dripping, seal quieting—pain lingered, but strength grew, Body Tempering 2 solidifying. "Gate held," he said, voice calm. "Clean it."
Ye Hua pressed a rag to his arm, gratitude raw. "You're our wall," she said, voice thick.
"Walls stand," he said, stepping past. The gate smoldered, fire dying, but the ravine's hum pulsed in his mind—runes waking, Yan Huo's shadow looming. Ye Ling followed, her qi steady, eyes probing.
"That glow," she said, low. "You're more than us. Teach me."
"Tomorrow," Lin Feng said, glancing back. "If we're whole."
Night deepened, the clan's fire relit, stew simmering. Ye Chen sat close, pebble rolling, his qi flicker growing. "They'll try again," he said, blunt. "Bigger."
"Let 'em," Lin Feng said, gazing west. Pulse Sense caught a flicker—blue silk, a scroll clutched, darting beyond the river. Lin Clan, still circling. The ravine's hum grew—a low chant, not wolves', rising like a blade drawn slow.
Lin Feng climbed the wall, alone, qi steady. A shadow moved—cloaked, frost-cold, same as before. It paused, eyes glinting, a hand raised with a cracked jade seal, pulsing qi. The chant returned, louder, a name—Yan Huo—and then a surge, qi spiking, earth trembling, as a crack split the ravine's arch, light spilling free.