West of the valley, a Lin Clan war camp huddled in a rocky hollow, its blue tents taut against a dawn wind, qi wards flickering along thorn-covered barricades. The air smelled of sweat and steel, thick with the weight of defeat—forty warriors, their blue silk stained, gathered around a scarred oak table under a canopy. Elder Lin Wei stood at the table's head, his broad frame rigid in sapphire robes, qi at Foundation Establishment 1 a restless tide, his gray eyes burning with unspent rage. A crude map lay before him, scratched with cliffs and a single valley—a place that had bled his clan twice, where rumors spoke of a golden warrior and a jade box pulsing with power unbound. The box's hum, faint across the miles, stirred tales of relics that could shift fates, and a name carved in Wei's mind: Lin Feng.
Wei's voice sliced through the camp's murmurs, sharp as a blade. "Fifty broke at twilight," he said, slamming a cracked spearhead onto the table—blue silk clung to it, blood-dried. "Tao's ribs shattered, men crawling home. Feng's valley stands. Speak, or we're ash."
Captain Xu Fang leaned against a tent pole, lean frame clad in blue leather, qi at Body Tempering 8 a steady flame, her long spear propped beside her. Her braided hair gleamed under torchlight, voice cold with doubt. "Body Tempering 4, they claim," she said, tossing a chipped ward-stone onto the map. "Crushes 8s like straw. A clan of nothing—kids, weaklings, qi blazing. Explain it, Elder."
Disciple Gao Shen knelt by the table, blue silk torn, qi at Body Tempering 6 flickering from wounds. His sharp face was gaunt, voice steady despite pain. "I saw him, Elder—golden qi, like a storm, moves like a blade. Body Tempering 4, but hits like 9. A girl, dagger-fierce, Body Tempering 4, carved our men. A boy, sling sharp, Body Tempering 3, stones that burn qi. Their valley—it hums, Elder, like something's alive."
Wei's qi surged, torches dimming, the map's valley mark trembling. "Alive," he said, fingers crushing the spearhead—metal groaned. "Markets whisper of a box—jade, warm, runes shifting. Power to break sects. If Feng holds it…"
Xu Fang's spear tapped the ground, her laugh bitter. "A box? We bled fifty, Elder—crystals spent, men gone. Feng's traps snap spears, his qi burns nets. He's forging them—girl, boy, even kids. Or that box is."
Disciple Mei Rong stepped forward, her slight frame wrapped in blue silk, qi at Body Tempering 5 taut from scouting. She held a shard—bone, not stone, faintly warm, plucked from the valley's edge. "Elder," she said, bowing, voice clear, "this came from their gate. Not our craft—hums, like a pulse. Scouts saw Feng with a box—jade, warm, no cold. It's waking, drawing qi, even ours."
Wei snatched the shard, qi probing—warmth bit, faint but stubborn, stirring his core briefly. His scowl deepened, greed flickering. "Relic," he muttered, voice low. "Tied to tales—power to reshape heavens. If Feng's its key…"
Gao Shen rose, wincing, voice urgent. "He's no lord, Elder—not yet. His qi binds it, golden, but it's wild—box pulses, valley echoes. Their gate—traps thicker than our arrays, wards alive. That girl, Body Tempering 4, fights like his echo. The boy—stones hit like spears. They're rising, fast."
Xu Fang stepped closer, spear glinting, voice sharp. "Rising how? Body Tempering 4, felling 8s? He's no sage—something's fueling him. That girl, boy—they're sparking, like his qi's spreading. Relic's work, mark my words."
Wei paced, qi a storm, boots crunching gravel. "Red Talon's circling—scouts at midnight, probing Feng's ground. Iron Fang's bruised—elders snarling, blades drawn. This valley—it's a beacon, pulling every fang. Why?"
Mei Rong's voice cut through, steady and clear. "Rumors, Elder—villages, docks, our spies. Feng's golden, breaking armies, building a clan from dirt. Some call him demon, clanless, stirring fear. Others carve his name in jade—say he's a storm unbound."
Gao Shen nodded, sweat beading, eyes on the shard. "Their valley, Elder—it's no hamlet. Gate's fortified, qi pulses—stone arch glows, faint but warm. Feng stood by it, box in hand, qi blazing—warm, like a heart. Something's shifting, calling wolves, even us."
Wei's laugh was cold, qi spiking—torches flared, canopy trembling. "Shifting," he said, tossing the shard—it glowed faintly, rolling. "Demon or spark, Feng's loud. Red Talon's greedy, Iron Fang's bleeding. That box—relic's soul. Gao, you faced him—speak."
Gao's voice steadied, eyes distant. "Small, jade, runes like roots—warm, alive when Feng held it. Valley's arch dimmed, like it answered. His qi—golden, heavy—tied to it, but not mastered. He's fierce, Elder, but the box—it's deeper."
Xu Fang's spear rose, her gaze hard. "Deeper?" she said, stepping to the map, finger jabbing the valley. "Feng's breaking us—fifty gone, traps like arrays, qi like a sect's. We're forty, Elder—Body Tempering 8s, 7s. If we strike…"
The camp's wards hummed, dawn's light creeping, a distant howl echoing—wolves, qi-tinged, circling east. Wei's finger lingered on the map's valley. "Feng's the lock," he said, voice iron. "Man or relic, he's bleeding us—fifty down, Tao broken. That box—its power's ours."
Mei Rong clutched her silk, voice sharp. "Elder, Red Talon's not waiting—scouts hit at midnight, bled out. Iron Fang's massing—arrays glowing, qi heavy. If we delay, the valley's theirs—or the box is."
Xu Fang's laugh cut through, spear flashing. "Delay? Feng's traps chew armies—fifty, ten, twenty. Forty's strong, but he's sharper—relic's fueling him. Hit now, or we're dust."
Wei's qi roared, drowning the hum—torches dimmed, map trembling. "No dust," he said, voice a forge. "Gao, twenty warriors—Body Tempering 6, dusk tonight. Strike the valley, take the box, Feng's head if he stands. Xu, your spear—west pines, block Red Talon's eyes. Mei Rong, spread lies: Feng's a rogue, relic's poison—stir Iron Fang's wrath."
Gao bowed, blood crusting his silk, relief faint. "Elder, that box—it pulls qi, like a tide. Feng's strong, but it's heavy—valley hums when he's near. If we seize it…"
"Seize it," Wei snapped, crushing the shard—dust glowed, fading. "Lin Clan bows to no spark. Feng's the prize—relic's heart. We'll claim it."
Xu Fang moved to the map, qi a steady flame. "Bold, Wei, but relics cut deep. That box—tales call it a seal, power unbound. If Feng's wielding it, he's no rogue—he's a tide, and we're wading in."
Mei Rong's voice trembled, eyes on the map's valley. "More, Elder—scouts saw wolves, east cliffs, qi-tinged, circling the valley. Traders swear Feng glowed golden, broke men like reeds. If that box wakes…"
Gao's breath caught, voice low. "Not just him—his clan fights like a sect. Girl, boy, even kids—qi sparking, traps alive. That box—pulses stronger, Elder. If it's free…"
Xu Fang's spear gleamed, gaze sharp. "Free?" she said, tracing the valley's edge. "Bound or not, Feng's trouble—box, qi, clan. Wei, your twenty's light—Gao bled with less."
"Then we forge," Wei said, qi a storm—torches flared, dawn breaking. "Lin Clan kneels to no man. Gao, dusk—twenty, Body Tempering 6, arrays ready. Xu, block Red Talon—break their scouts. Mei Rong, twist the rumors—Feng's waking doom."
The wards pulsed, howls closer, a drum signaling dusk's approach. Wei gripped the map, valley mark burning under his touch, eyes fixed on the prize. "Feng's building something—relic, clan, or hell's gate. We'll take it, crush him, and—"
A warrior staggered in, blue silk shredded, qi fading. "Elder!" he gasped, clutching a glowing splinter—not bone, but jade, warm as blood. "Valley's edge—found this, qi alive! Feng's there, golden, box blazing—traps broke my spear!"
Wei seized the splinter, qi surging—warmth burned, pulsing wild, as Xu Fang's spear rose, Gao froze, and the camp's torches roared, casting shadows of waves on the tents.