The sun had just cleared the rooftops when they walked together toward the arena. Boots against stone. Cloaks brushing dust. No one said much—not because there was nothing to say, but because the weight of uncertainty pressed against their ribs like a second set of lungs.

  Liu walked second in line, just behind Lei.

  They moved like a unit now, even without trying. Not synchronized, not perfect, but in step with something quieter—shared experience. Hard-won rhythm. Something forged in the long days and silent nights.

  As they rounded the last bend and the arena walls rose before them, Liu’s eyes drifted from the path to the others.

  Lei carried himself taller. Not prouder, exactly—just… more rooted. The ghost of hesitation that once sat behind his eyes seemed gone. That shot during the wasp test had done something. Or maybe it was the vision from the stone. Whatever it was, it lingered in his stride now, steady and precise.

  Xo looked the same, but wasn’t. Liu noticed the difference in how he held his guandao—not just like a weapon, but like an extension of the weight he’d chosen to carry. He was still quiet. Still blunt. But there was something stormlike coiled beneath his calm now. A pulse. A pressure.

  And Nozomi—she didn’t walk like she was ready to fight. She walked like she already had. Like the battle was just a formality now, and the outcome was already hers to write. Her blade rested lightly on her back, her eyes forward. No bravado. No fire. Just razor-edged stillness.

  They were different.

  And maybe he was, too.

  The vision hadn’t come for him. No stone. No whisper of the past passed through his core. But he’d watched them each step forward, accept what was given, and return changed. Not stronger. Just clearer. And something about that had steadied him too.

  By the time they reached the arena gate, Liu had rolled his shoulders once, breathed twice, and cleared his mind.

  The sand was cool beneath their boots as they stepped onto the training floor. The stands were empty, save for a few officers watching from the shade of the upper terrace. The air was dry, still, and the walls rose high enough to cut the wind. All of it felt too quiet.

  Instructor Huo stood in the arena. “This morning,” he said, without ceremony, “you will face your toughest enemy yet.”

  No movement. No breath from the squad. Even the wind felt like it paused.

  “The difference,” Huo added, “is that you may very well die today.”

  Liu's heart didn’t skip.

  Huo let the silence stretch. There was no comfort in it. Just the plain, solid truth. He didn’t say it to scare us. He said it because it was true.

  “You’ve been trained. Drilled. Tested for more than two months. Now comes the part the manuals don’t cover.” He pointed to the iron gate embedded in the northern wall of the arena. Black smoke leaked through the gaps. Heat pulsed behind it like a forge about to open.

  “The Blazing Ravager.”

  The name landed like a dropped anvil.

  A monster made for this moment. Four-legged, fire-hearted, wrapped in molten plates that crack when it moves. A living furnace with teeth and claws. Something only cultivators could take on, according to the textbooks.

  The squad took their places in the sand, the way they had a dozen times before—but this time the air felt different. Heavier. Dry. Like the heat had started crawling in before the beast itself. Lei adjusted his grip on his bow. Checked the string. Felt the tautness in the limbs. His fingers brushed the brace on his wrist where burn marks still faintly clung from a spar weeks ago. He swallowed once, dry.

  Xo stood beside him, calm and unshaken. His gauntlets flexed once. That was all. Liu had gone quiet again. Focused. His core always lit the air like tempered metal when he drew in. I hoped it would be enough.

  And Nozomi…

  She didn’t blink. She wasn’t even looking at the cage. Her eyes stayed on the ground in front of her, just past the line we’d drawn in the dirt weeks ago—the line that marked who we were before and after we bled together.

  Her hand dropped once to the hilt of her blade, then stilled.

  No one spoke.

  And then the chains started to rattle.

  Not loud. But constant. A grinding sound, like something pacing in a space too small to hold it.

  The gate groaned.

  Heat flushed across their face, stung their cheeks. The sand began to smoke where the metal touched it.

  And they realized—

  This wasn’t a test.

  This was the Empire asking: What happens when you stand in front of something designed to kill you?

  You either run. Or you pull the string and hope you brought enough arrows.

  The moment the iron gate slammed open, the world turned to heat. The Ravager emerged in a flash of color and motion—four-legged, plated in molten rock, steam curling off its body like breath from a dying volcano. Its mane flickered with open flame, its claws digging furrows into the sand as it stepped into the arena.

  There was no warning.

  It charged.

  “Left!” Lei called out, already loosing his first arrow. It soared with perfect form—but the beast moved too fast. The shaft shattered against its shoulder plate and burst into embers.

  Xo stepped forward.

  He didn’t wait for orders. His stance widened, boots anchoring in the arena sand, guandao braced across his chest like a gate meant to be broken. The Ravager barreled into him with the force of a landslide.

  Metal screamed.

  The impact sent Xo sliding back five full meters, boots carving into the dirt. His guandao caught the strike, but barely—claws raked across his shoulder as the Ravager spun, its heat blooming outward in a pulse that rippled the air.

  “Back! Get back!” he shouted through gritted teeth.

  The heat around the creature wasn’t a presence. It was an assault. Anyone standing too close felt it like a brand pressed against skin—singeing hair, warping breath, peeling moisture from lips.

  Liu shifted sideways, eyes narrowing behind the glare. He didn’t speak. Just snapped the chains that hung from his hooked swords and let the blades dangle. Then he spun them, arcing outward, finding the range that would let him strike without crossing into that searing aura.

  He waited for the opening.

  The Ravager struck again, claws gouging deep, turning its flank just long enough.

  Liu’s blades whistled through the air. One struck, blunt against the creature’s exposed rib. The beast roared—not in pain, but irritation—and swung its flaming tail in reply.

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  Liu ducked. Sand exploded in his wake.

  “Keep it turning!” Lei called from the edge, already drawing another arrow.

  He’d stopped aiming center-mass. Now he was going for the joints. The gaps. The small, moving parts that the Ravager didn’t protect. He released—twang—and the arrow buried itself just above the rear leg plate.

  It didn’t stagger, but it faltered. Slightly.

  Small victories.

  Nozomi moved like a ghost through the smoke. Quiet. Watching. Her sword stayed low, one hand trailing behind her like it was reading the heat currents. She hadn’t drawn on the full depth of her new power—none of them had—they knew that they don’t have the Qi pool for it. And spending all their energy would be a death sentence.

  All but her. Something shimmered along the edge of her blade now. A dark ripple. A whisper of shadow. The Ravager turned, sensing movement. She let it.

  Its gaze found her, glowing red eyes locking onto her silhouette as she stepped forward, blade rising.

  A blur.

  And when she reappeared, she was already moving past its left side, blade dragging across the creature’s exposed ribs in a shallow arc.

  A hiss escaped the beast’s throat. And a thin, blurry line, coated of black and pain, shimmered where the blade was a moment ago on the beast hide.

  The sand was no longer just sand.

  Smoke curled in wavering streams from where the Ravager had touched it, blistering the top layer into glassy ripples. Cracks spiderwebbed across the floor where its claws landed—a warning written in earth and fire. This arena, once their training ground, had become a battlefield. And the battlefield was becoming a furnace.

  Nozomi’s strike lingered in the air like a whisper never meant to be heard. A shimmer still pulsed along the dark line on the Ravager’s side—barely visible, but deeper than it should’ve been.

  The beast roared.

  Not in pain.

  In fury.

  Its body flared with Qi, and flames erupted outward like a detonation of breathless rage. The heat turned solid. A concussive wave of fire burst from the Ravager’s core.

  “Move!” Lei shouted, too late.

  The shockwave threw them.

  Nozomi skidded across the sand, shoulder-first, rolling to kill momentum and barely catching her footing with one hand dug into the earth. Liu hit a stone slab near the edge of the arena, air knocked from his lungs, heat singeing the edge of his tunic. Even Lei, furthest from the blast, staggered—his ears ringing, the string of his bow warped from the flare.

  Xo took it full-on. He was the closest.

  The fire knocked him back like a rag doll, his guandao spinning out of his hands as he crashed into the outer wall with a sickening crack. Dust exploded where he hit. For a moment, everything was still. Then a groan—half breath, half growl. Xo pushed up on one arm, the other limp at his side.

  He stood. And then, he ran.

  Not away. Toward.

  His guandao was still half-buried in the sand. He scooped it mid-sprint, letting the momentum swing it wide, and brought the full weight of the strike down onto the Ravager’s exposed spine.

  The blade bit.

  Stone cracked. Lava hissed.

  But the beast was faster.

  A swipe from its claw—bladed, glowing red-hot—caught him across the chest.

  Xo flew.

  He hit the dirt, but this time he didn’t move.

  Not for a long second. Then one leg shifted, curling in. But the rest stayed down.

  “Xo!” Liu roared.

  There was no command. No strategy anymore.

  He moved.

  Straight into the heat, ignoring the singe of air in his throat, the blistering bite against his arms. He ran hard. Fast. Straight at the beast. No one could stop him.

  The Ravager turned—fangs still bared, flames coiling at its jaws.

  But Liu didn’t slow. He leapt. Boots hit rock. Then scale. Then fire.

  He climbed.

  The Ravager twisted and thrashed, trying to shake him loose, but Liu kept climbing—hooked swords digging in where he could find purchase. The flames licked at his sides, but he grit his teeth and screamed past the pain.

  He found the gap—between the shoulder blades, where the plates met in a natural fault.

  He drove the blades in.

  The Ravager screamed like something breaking.

  A geyser of molten blood hissed out, splashing onto the sand in seething arcs. The smell was unbearable—burnt metal and sulfur and charred flesh.

  But Liu held on.

  The monster bucked and twisted, slamming into the arena wall, spinning in circles, trying to crush him. He didn’t care. He was beyond pain now. He was weight. He was anchor. He was vengeance made solid. Inside him, a flame burned brighter.

  Below, Lei’s hands were already moving. No hesitation.

  His next arrow hit a rear leg joint—right between the plate segments.

  The Ravager stumbled.

  Nozomi was already moving, blade dark with aftershocks. She struck low, then high—both times at the hinges. Not killing blows, but precise. Surgical. Every slash slowed the beast just enough for Liu to hold his ground.

  The squad moved like they’d done this before. Like the fire wasn’t devouring the arena. Like Xo wasn’t unconscious at the edge. Like fear wasn’t clawing at their ribs.

  The Ravager reeled.

  Nozomi’s blade carved low across the back of its foreleg, slicing through the seam where heat had fractured its outer plating. The motion was clean, practiced, unflinching. She didn’t wait to watch it land—just moved past, flowing like the shadow that had given her blade its edge.

  The beast faltered.

  Its weight pitched forward, claws gouging deep into the sand as its front half collapsed. Steam hissed from the cracks in its hide, molten blood spitting from its joints. The force of the stumble sent shockwaves through the arena floor.

  Lei didn’t miss the moment.

  He dropped his bow and sprinted across the burning sand toward the still form at the edge of the pit. Xo lay there, dust-caked and bruised, eyes shut but breathing. A shallow rise in his chest. Blood trickled from a split in his scalp, and his left arm bent wrong at the elbow. Lei skidded to his knees beside him.

  Fingers to the neck. Pulse—strong.

  A quick surge of Qi ran through Lei’s palm, checking the core’s flow.

  “Fractures,” he muttered. “Shoulder, rib. But his core’s stable.”

  He pressed his hand to the side of Xo’s chest, focused his breath, and stabilized what he could—mending the bones together.

  “You smell like cooked shit” he whispered.

  Across the pit, Liu still clung to the Ravager’s back.

  The beast thrashed again, but weaker now. Its legs stumbled under its weight. Fire poured from the gaps in its stone-like skin armor like dying breath from a forge. Its head jerked once, then again, trying to throw him off—but Liu gritted his teeth and dug in deeper.

  His arms trembled. His armor was scorched. The heat from the beast’s mane licked at his sides like a furnace against raw skin. He held.

  “Good boy,” Liu snarled through clenched teeth.

  And then he pulled.

  The twin hooked swords, already wedged between the Ravager’s shoulders, bit deeper. Down. Through the corded neck muscles. Through the glow of the beast’s spine. One blade caught a weak point—where the heat and pressure had fractured the bone—and slid clean through with a wet, cracking sound.

  The Ravager bucked once more. Then froze.

  Its head twisted upward—half-attached, its mouth wide in a final roar that never came. Fire flickered at the edges of its jaw, then dimmed. A long hiss escaped from its throat, like the last breath of a broken forge.

  And then it dropped.

  Hard.

  The entire arena shook as the beast’s body slammed into the earth, kicking up a wave of scorched sand and ash. Liu rode it down, collapsing onto the beast’s back with a gasp, arms still clamped around the hilts of his buried blades.

  Silence.

  Real silence. No roar. No fire. Just the low crackle of dying embers.

  Lei stood slowly, breath ragged, his hands still glowing faintly. Nozomi sheathed her blade in one smooth motion and walked toward Liu without a word. Her eyes never left the beast—not until it was well and truly still.

  Xo groaned from the ground beside Lei.

  “Did we win?” he muttered.

  Lei exhaled. “You didn’t see it?”

  “No,” Xo said. “Only felt it.”

  Lei smiled faintly. “Then yes. We won.”

  Nozomi stopped beside Liu and looked down at him.

  He was lying flat on the beast’s cooling back, staring at the sky, hair burned at the edges, skin flushed with heat, but alive

  “You done?” she asked.

  Liu let out a breathless laugh.

  “Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse. “I’m done.”

  Nozomi nodded.

  “Good,” she said. “Next time, leave some for the rest of us.”

  Then she held out her hand.

  He took it.

  The sound of slow, deliberate clapping echoed through the arena—sharp and clean against the scorched silence.

  They turned.

  Instructor Huo stood just beyond the outer ring of charred sand, arms folded, expression unreadable, but the faintest lift at the edge of his mouth betrayed something close to approval.

  “Well done,” he said simply.

  No fanfare. No praise beyond what was earned. Just the words. Solid. Final.

  He crossed the distance with the same measured pace he always used, not even glancing at the beast’s massive carcass as he passed it. His boots left straight, clean prints in the ash.

  When he reached them, he spoke—voice low, weighty.

  “Rest. You’ve earned it.”

  He looked between them all—at Liu’s blistered shoulders, at the dull throb in Xo’s frame where bone met bruising, at Nozomi’s singed clothes, at Lei’s still-glowing fingers.

  “Today will teach you more than a month of scrolls. If you’re wise, you’ll let your body remember this fight.”

  He turned, but paused before stepping away.

  “Meditate. Breathe. Let the Qi settle where it must.”

  Then he left—no salute, no final word. Just his back retreating across the smoking arena floor. And for the first time in hours, no one moved. The wind picked up again, stirring loose embers around the fallen Ravager’s corpse.