The Iron Fang Sect's war chamber clung to Blackthorn Peak's highest spire, its ironwood walls scarred by ancient qi, open to a sky heavy with storm clouds. Jagged cliffs framed the view, wind howling through gaps, carrying the tang of frost and steel from arrays pulsing below. Torches burned low, their flames spitting shadows across a stone table strewn with cracked jade slips—reports of Kang Wei's dawn rout, Lin Shuang's dusk collapse, and Ye Clan's valley glowing fiercer than a sect's core. Elder Wu Shen stood rigid, silver robes taut, qi at Foundation Establishment 1 a restless tide, his gray beard twitching with barely leashed fury. The ravine's frost-qi chant—Yan Huo, rise—echoed in his mind, a relic's pulse tied to Lin Feng's golden shadow, threatening Iron Fang's reign.
Elder Liao Qin leaned against a pillar, gray silk rippling, qi at Body Tempering 9 a quiet blade, her silver hairpin glinting as she toyed with a frost-flecked bone shard from Mei Yun's scouts. Her eyes, sharp as flint, held no warmth. "Kang's broken," she said, voice silk over stone, tossing the shard onto the table. "Ten scouts, dust. Lin Clan's forty—Shuang's ribs snapped, half fled. Feng's valley's a forge, Wu. You misjudged."
Wu Shen's qi flared, wind gusting, torches dimming. "Body Tempering 3," he growled, voice a hammer, seizing a slip—it cracked, glowing faint. "Crushes 6s, 7s, 8s—like pests. Ye Clan's rats—qi sparking, traps biting harder than our arrays. A girl at Body Tempering 3, a cripple slinging wards. Speak plain, Liao."
Disciple Kang Wei knelt nearby, blue silk bloodied, qi at Body Tempering 6 flickering from wounds and shame. His sharp face was gaunt, voice low but steady. "Elder, I fought—Feng's golden, qi like a storm, Body Tempering 3 but hits like 9. The girl, dagger-wild, carved my men, Body Tempering 3 now, blazing. The cripple's wards burn qi—Body Tempering 1, climbing fast. The ravine's alive, runes flaring, frost-qi chanting Yan Huo. I saw his box—jade, cracked, spilling cold. It's no trinket, Elder—it's waking."
Liao's hairpin paused, eyes narrowing. "Yan Huo," she said, voice a blade's edge. "Sealed rogue, bound by Void Fang—scrolls swear it, centuries old. If Feng's box is the key, that valley's no grudge. It's a vault, and he's tearing it open."
Disciple Mei Yun stood at the chamber's edge, dust-stained robes trembling, qi at Body Tempering 5 strained from scouting. She clutched a silver silk scrap—blood-flecked, frost-cold, found by the river. "Elders," she said, bowing, voice firm despite fear, "scouts bled for this—north, beyond Ye Clan. A shadow moved, cloaked, qi like ice, chanting Yan Huo, rise. Not Lin Clan, not ours—silver, wrong, like death walking."
Wu Shen snatched the silk, qi probing—frost bit deep, a pulse syncing with his core, then fading. His scowl deepened, dread flickering. "Void Fang Relic," he muttered, voice heavy. "Heavens' chain, Yan Huo's cage. If Feng's breaking it…"
Kang rose, wincing, voice urgent. "Elder, the box—runes match that frost, pulsing when Feng held it. I saw him by the ravine—golden qi, frost answering, like kin. His rats grow too—girl's dagger sparks, cripple's wards bite. He's forging them, or the relic is."
Liao stepped to the table, hairpin spinning slow, voice cold. "Forging? Body Tempering 3, snapping 8s? He's no master—something's fueling him. That girl, Body Tempering 3—too fast. The cripple, wards like sect work. Feng's not teaching—he's channeling. Relic's power, maybe Yan Huo's."
Wu Shen paced, qi a storm, boots ringing on ironwood. "Lin Clan's rabid—Wei's offering five qi crystals now, begging Red Talon, Mist Veil. Black Claw's gone—Deng Kao's a ghost. Ye Clan's valley—it's a beacon, pulling every blade. Why?"
Mei Yun's voice cut through, soft but clear. "Rumors, Elder—docks, markets, even Red Talon's spies. Feng's golden, breaking Shuang's spears, Kang's swords, Mei's nets. Lin Wei calls him demon, clanless, stirring sects to hunt. Mist Veil's scribes carve his name in jade now—say he's cracked a seal."
Kang nodded, sweat beading, eyes on the silk. "The ravine, Elder—runes glow brighter, silver light thick as blood. Feng knelt by the crack, box flaring—frost spilled, chanting Yan Huo, rise. Shadowfangs circle, drawn to it. I swear, he's bound—box, valley, Yan Huo."
Wu Shen's laugh was cold, qi spiking—torches flared, shadows twisting. "Bound," he said, crushing the slip—jade dust fell. "Demon or pawn, Feng's loud. Wei's crystals tempt Red Talon—let them bleed. But that frost-qi—relic's no myth. Kang, the box—describe it."
Kang's voice steadied, eyes distant. "Small, jade, runes like claws—frost leaks, cold as death. Feng carried it close, qi syncing—golden and frost, like a heart beating. Ravine's crack widens when he's near, light pulsing, chanting louder. It's power, Elder—not his, but through him."
Liao's hairpin stopped, her gaze like knives. "Through him," she said, stepping to a bronze map—valleys, rivers, peaks etched sharp, Ye Clan's speck red as blood. "Void Fang's seal—scrolls say it bound Yan Huo's soul, heavens' wrath. If Feng's the key, we're not fighting a man. We're cracking a cage."
The chamber's arrays hummed, wind howling louder, clouds darkening outside. Wu Shen's finger jabbed the map's ravine. "Feng's the spark," he said, voice iron. "Genius or relic's pawn, he's pulling strings—Lin Clan bleeds, Black Claw's dust, Kang's broken. That box—relic's heart."
Mei Yun clutched the silk tighter, voice rising. "Elder, Lin Clan's rallying—Shuang's rout stings, but Wei's massing fifty, Body Tempering 8s, dusk tomorrow. Red Talon's listening—two elders met Wei's envoy, qi crystals traded. They'll hit Ye Clan, or us, if we falter."
Liao's laugh was sharp, hairpin flashing. "Fifty? Wei's desperate, buying blades with gold. Feng's traps tore forty—Shuang's done. Red Talon's greedy, but Feng's valley—it's a trap, relic or not."
Wu Shen's qi roared, drowning the hum—torches dimmed, ironwood creaking. "No delay," he said, voice a forge. "Kang, twenty scouts—Body Tempering 6, noon tomorrow. Take the ravine, snatch the box, Feng's head if he fights. Liao, your shadows—north, hunt that frost-qi shade. Mei Yun, poison the docks: Feng's Yan Huo's blade, let Red Talon choke."
Kang bowed, blood crusting his silk, relief faint. "Elder, that shadow—silver silk, eyes like voids. Chanted Yan Huo, rise, raised a seal—jade, cracked. If it's Yan Huo…"
"Ghosts burn," Wu Shen snapped, seizing the silk—frost pulsed, alive. "Iron Fang fears no shade. Feng's the prize—relic's chain. We'll snap it."
Liao moved to the map, qi a quiet blade. "Bold, Wu, but relics cut deep. That box—scrolls call it Void Fang's lock, Yan Huo's prison. If Feng's breaking it, he's not pawn—he's storm, and we're bleeding."
Mei Yun's voice trembled, eyes on the shard. "More, Elder—scouts found tracks, north cliffs, not human—claws, frost-burned. Shadowfangs, but bigger, drawn to the valley. Merchants swear Feng glowed golden, broke fifty men alone."
Kang's breath hitched, voice low. "Not alone—his girl, cripple, even kids fight. Ye Clan's no clan—it's a sect, Feng's sect. That box—frost leaks worse, Elder. If Yan Huo's free…"
Liao's hairpin gleamed, gaze cold. "Free?" she said, finger tracing the ravine. "Sealed or waking, Feng's bound—box, blood, valley. Wu, your twenty's light—Kang bled with ten."
"Then we carve," Wu Shen said, qi a storm—torches flared, clouds rumbling. "Iron Fang bows to no rogue, no relic. Kang, noon—twenty, Body Tempering 6, arrays ready. Liao, find that shade—frost or flesh, gut it. Mei Yun, spread lies—Feng's waking hell."
The wind screamed, arrays pulsing brighter, a gong tolling below—noon far off, but tension near. Wu Shen gripped the shard, frost biting, scowl unyielding. "Feng's cracking something—Yan Huo, Void Fang, or gods' wrath. We'll crush him, claim the ravine, and—"
A pulse shook the chamber—frost-qi, sharp, from the shard, syncing with the map's red speck. Silver silk flashed outside, beyond the cliffs, qi cold as death, chanting—Yan Huo, rise. Kang froze, Liao's hairpin fell, and Wu Shen's qi surged, as the shade's jade seal glinted, storm clouds parting to reveal its void-like eyes.