South of the valley, a Red Talon camp sprawled across a grassy ridge, its crimson tents staked under a sky bruised with dusk clouds, qi humming from wards etched in bone. The air carried smoke and iron, tinged with the sharp tang of ambition—thirty warriors, their red silk rippling, gathered around a fire pit where embers spat defiance. Elder Huo Yan stood at the pit's edge, his gaunt frame draped in scarlet robes, qi at Foundation Establishment 2 a smoldering forge, his black eyes glinting like obsidian. A bronze map lay before him, etched with rivers and cliffs, a single valley marked with a claw—rumors of a golden warrior, a jade box, and a clan that refused to break. The box's hum, faint but persistent, stirred tales of power unbound, relics older than sects, and a name whispered in markets: Lin Feng.
Huo Yan's voice cut the murmurs, low and deliberate. "Fifty fell last night," he said, tossing a bloodied blue silk scrap into the flames—Lin Clan's mark, torn from a survivor's tale. "Spears broken, qi drained, an elder crawling home. This Feng—he's no myth."
Lieutenant Shen Rao stood nearby, broad shoulders clad in red leather, qi at Body Tempering 8 a steady blaze, her twin axes resting on a stone. Her short hair gleamed under torchlight, voice sharp with doubt. "Body Tempering 4, they say," she said, kicking a log, sparks flying. "Snaps 8s like twigs. A valley of rats—kids, cripples, glowing too. Explain it, Elder."
Disciple Jian Ke knelt by the map, red silk torn, qi at Body Tempering 6 flickering from a scout's wounds. His lean face was pale, voice steady despite pain. "I saw him, Elder—golden qi, like fire, moves like a storm. Body Tempering 4, but strikes heavier—broke Lin Tao's ribs, scattered fifty. A girl, dagger-quick, Body Tempering 4, carved men like meat. A boy, sling sharp, Body Tempering 3, wards that burn. Their valley—it hums, like something's waking."
Huo Yan's qi stirred, embers flaring, the map's claw glinting. "Waking," he said, fingers tracing the valley's mark. "Merchants sing of a box—jade, warm, runes alive. Power older than our blades. If Feng holds it…"
Shen Rao's axes shifted, her laugh cold. "A box? Lin Wei offered crystals—five, for Feng's head. He's desperate, bleeding gold. But that valley—traps bite, qi sparks. Feng's forging them, or something else is."
Disciple Wei Lan stepped from the shadows, her slim frame wrapped in red silk, qi at Body Tempering 5 taut from spying. She clutched a pebble—etched, faintly glowing, plucked from the valley's edge. "Elder," she said, voice firm, bowing low, "this came from their gate. Not Lin Clan's craft—wards hum, like a heart. Scouts saw Feng with a box—jade, glowing warm, no frost. It's alive, pulling qi, even ours."
Huo Yan took the pebble, qi probing—warmth pulsed, faint but stubborn, syncing briefly with his core. His eyes narrowed, a spark of hunger breaking his calm. "Relic," he murmured, voice low. "Bound to legends—power to crack heavens. If Feng's its master…"
Jian Ke rose, wincing, voice urgent. "He's no master, Elder—not yet. His qi binds it, golden, but it's wild—box hums, valley answers. Their gate—traps thicker than sects, wards alive. That girl, Body Tempering 4, fights like Feng's shadow. The boy—stones hit like arrays. They're growing, fast."
Shen Rao leaned forward, axes glinting, voice a blade. "Growing how? Body Tempering 4, breaking 8s? He's no genius—something's fueling him. That girl, boy—they're sparking too, like his qi's spreading. Relic's doing it, I'd wager."
Huo Yan paced, qi a restless heat, boots grinding dirt. "Lin Clan's broken—Wei's begging blades, offering crystals. Iron Fang's stung—scouts limp home, elders raging. This valley—it's a flame, drawing every eye. Why?"
Wei Lan's voice rose, clear and steady. "Rumors, Elder—docks, villages, our own spies. Feng's golden, breaking armies, building a clan from dust. Wei calls him demon, clanless, stirring greed. Other sects watch—some write his name in jade, call him a storm."
Jian Ke nodded, sweat beading, eyes on the pebble. "Their valley, Elder—it's no village. Gate's fortified, qi hums—stone arch glows, faint but alive. Feng stood by it, box in hand, qi flaring—warm, like a forge. Something's shifting, pulling wolves, even us."
Huo Yan's laugh was dry, qi spiking—flames roared, tents trembling. "Shifting," he said, crushing the pebble—dust glowed faintly, fading. "Demon or spark, Feng's loud. Wei's crystals tempt us, but that box—relic's heart. Jian, you saw it—speak."
Jian's voice steadied, eyes distant. "Small, jade, runes like veins—warm, pulsing when Feng held it. Valley's arch dimmed, like it answered. His qi—golden, thick—bound to it, but not full control. He's strong, Elder, but the box—it's stronger."
Shen Rao's axes rose, her gaze cold. "Stronger?" she said, stepping to the map, finger jabbing the valley. "Relic or not, Feng's bleeding Lin Clan dry. Wei's fifty fell—traps, blades, qi. We're thirty, Elder—Body Tempering 7s, 8s. If we strike…"
The camp's wards hummed, wind carrying distant howls—wolves, drawn north, qi-tinged. Huo Yan's finger lingered on the map's claw. "Feng's the key," he said, voice iron. "Man or relic, he's drawing blood—Lin Clan's ash, Iron Fang's limping. That box—its power's ours."
Wei Lan clutched her silk, voice sharp. "Elder, Lin Clan's not done—Wei's rallying more, Body Tempering 8s, dawn tomorrow. Iron Fang's moving too—scouts massing, qi heavy. If we wait, the valley's theirs—or worse, the box is."
Shen Rao's laugh cut through, axes flashing. "Wait? Feng's traps chew armies—fifty gone, ten, twenty. Thirty's bold, but he's sharp—relic's fueling him. Strike now, or we're scavenging scraps."
Huo Yan's qi surged, drowning the hum—flames leaped, map trembling. "No scraps," he said, voice a forge. "Jian, ten scouts—Body Tempering 6, midnight. Probe the valley, find the box, Feng's weakness. Shen, your axes—south cliffs, block Lin Clan's dawn. Wei Lan, spread lies: Feng's a rogue, relic's cursed—stir Iron Fang's fear."
Jian bowed, blood crusting his silk, relief faint. "Elder, that box—it pulls qi, even mine. Feng's strong, but it's heavy—valley hums when he's near. If we take it…"
"Take it," Huo Yan snapped, seizing the silk scrap—flames devoured it. "Red Talon fears no man. Feng's the prize—relic's chain. We'll claim it."
Shen Rao moved to the map, qi a steady blaze. "Bold, Huo, but relics cut both ways. That box—tales call it a seal, power unbound. If Feng's wielding it, he's no rogue—he's a blade, and we're stepping close."
Wei Lan's voice trembled, eyes on the map's claw. "More, Elder—scouts saw wolves, south pines, qi-tinged, circling the valley. Merchants swear Feng glowed golden, broke men like straw. If that box wakes…"
Jian's breath caught, voice low. "Not just him—his clan fights like a sect. Girl, boy, even kids—qi sparking, traps alive. That box—hums louder, Elder. If it's free…"
Shen Rao's axes gleamed, gaze sharp. "Free?" she said, finger tracing the valley's edge. "Bound or not, Feng's trouble—box, qi, clan. Huo, your ten's thin—Jian bled with less."
"Then we sharpen," Huo Yan said, qi a storm—flames roared, clouds rumbling. "Red Talon bows to no spark. Jian, midnight—ten, Body Tempering 6, wards ready. Shen, block the dawn—Lin Clan breaks first. Wei Lan, twist the rumors—Feng's waking doom."
The wards pulsed, howls closer, a gong tolling midnight's approach. Huo Yan gripped the map, claw-mark burning under his touch, eyes fixed on the valley. "Feng's forging something—relic, clan, or hell itself. We'll take it, break him, and—"
A scout burst in, red silk torn, qi fading. "Elder!" he gasped, clutching a glowing shard—not jade, but bone, warm as blood. "Valley's edge—found this, qi alive. Feng's near, golden, box flaring—wards snapped my blade!"
Huo Yan seized the shard, qi surging—warmth bit, pulsing wild, as Shen Rao's axes rose, Jian froze, and the camp's flames flared, casting shadows of claws on the tents.