Flowind Valley – Edge of the Training Grounds
Joshua stood at the mouth of a narrow stone bridge, beneath which a silver stream trickled gently. Before him stood his two disciples—Fenrir, arms crossed and steady, and Lyra, silent and focused.
“A beast has crossed the perimeter,” Joshua said simply. “A horned xiangboar, corrupted by dark qi, now dwells in the Redwood Hollow.”
Fenrir’s eyes widened. “Those things are violent—didn’t one tear apart an elder from Ironscale Sect last year?”
Joshua nodded. “This one is different. Its essence has reached the Gate of Flow in the Qi Condensation realm. It no longer acts like a beast—it senses intent. Tracks cultivators. Tests minds.”
Lyra stared, unmoving. Her fingers brushed the Sounding Jade Needle at her side.
“Your mission,” Joshua continued, “is to neutralize it. Together.”
Fenrir blinked. “Wait, you’re not coming?”
“I’ve already faced my monsters. It’s time you meet yours.”
Then he turned away, vanishing in a soft gust of wind.
---
Redwood Hollow – Twilight’s Edge
By nightfall, the two had reached the dense outer border of Redwood Hollow—a sunken forest of massive blood-colored trees, each with roots as wide as a house.
Fenrir sniffed the air.
“Rot,” he muttered. “And qi. Heavy.”
Lyra knelt, touching the soil. Her eyes closed. Then she stood and pointed ahead, where the trees twisted unnaturally inward, forming a tunnel-like path.
They entered in silence.
---
The Beast Appears
Hours passed. No sign of the beast.
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Then—
Snap.
A low growl. Bushes trembled. A dark shape slithered between the trees.
Then—nothing.
Fenrir raised his fists. “It’s circling us.”
Lyra placed her hand on the bark of a nearby tree. Her lips parted slightly, and her eyes glazed over. She was listening again.
Suddenly, she stabbed her needle into the tree’s base.
Ping.
A wave of subtle sound pulsed through the roots. Seconds later, her eyes snapped open.
She pointed—upward.
A massive shape dropped from above.
It was the horned xiangboar—but twisted.
Its eyes glowed red, one of its tusks broken, black ichor leaking from its mouth. Corrupted qi clung to its flesh like smoke.
It landed hard, crushing brush beneath it, and charged Fenrir immediately.
---
The First Clash
Fenrir rolled left, barely dodging the impact. The beast’s hoof cracked stone.
He spun and countered, fists glowing with qi.
“Ashfire Palm!”
He struck the boar’s shoulder—hard.
Flames erupted across its hide, but the beast only flinched before hurling him through a tree.
“Ugh—!”
Lyra moved. She circled, needle humming faintly, and pointed it at the beast’s left eye.
Ding.
A pulse of sound slammed into the boar’s skull. It staggered, squealing. The technique was a disruption echo, temporarily scrambling its sense of balance.
She followed up with three light jabs, each amplifying vibration at specific points in the creature’s nerve centers.
It stumbled, confused—
Then turned and charged her.
---
Near-Death Moment
She tried to leap clear—but too slow.
The boar’s tusk grazed her leg, slicing into her thigh. Blood sprayed.
She hit the ground, gritting her teeth, vision swimming.
The beast raised its hooves.
A death stomp.
But before it fell—
“ASHFIRE BLAZE!”
A flaming fist smashed the boar’s side, knocking it off balance. Fenrir stood there, bloodied and furious.
“You don’t touch her,” he growled.
His qi flared red-gold.
But he was overexerting. His breathing ragged, meridians twitching.
“Fall back!” Lyra mouthed—but he couldn’t see.
Fenrir charged again, this time blindly. The boar roared—and met him head-on.
A direct hit.
Fenrir flew through the air and hit the ground hard. He didn’t rise.
---
Lyra’s Inner World
Pain screamed in her leg. Her heart pounded.
She crawled beside Fenrir’s unconscious body. His chest rose weakly.
The beast circled, wounded, but still alive. It bled from ears and flanks, but its dark qi raged.
Lyra closed her eyes.
There was no more room to hold back.
She let go of the pain, of the world—and dove into silence.
---
In her spirit sea, the crystal bell pulsed slowly.
She touched it.
It tolled. Once.
The vibration spread through her soul.
A second toll.
The wind shifted. Her qi gathered, not with force—but with harmony.
She opened her Gate of Flow.
---
Echo Ascension
She stood, bloodied, and raised her needle.
The boar charged again.
But this time, she moved with rhythm—not speed. Each step perfectly timed to the beast’s own breath.
As it neared, she pointed the needle skyward.
“...”
No sound.
Then—vibration.
The entire air quivered.
A single harmonic tone erupted from the needle’s tip, traveling through the beast’s qi like a lightning bolt in water.
It froze mid-charge.
Crack.
Its corrupted qi began to unravel. Its eyes dimmed. Its weight shifted.
Then it collapsed.
Dead.
---
Aftermath
Lyra dropped beside Fenrir. She tapped his forehead gently.
He groaned. “...Did we win?”
She nodded.
“Good,” he muttered. “I hate pigs.”
Then he passed out.
---
Return to the Sect
Joshua stood on a cliff as they limped back the next dawn—Lyra supporting Fenrir’s arm over her shoulder.
He did not speak, but he bowed his head slightly.
They had failed tactically, but passed spiritually.
Later, both would bear the lesson:
Fenrir would learn not all enemies fall to strength alone.
Lyra would understand that silence must sometimes yield to roar.
They had survived their first trial.
The world of cultivation had acknowledged them.
But deeper threats still loomed—ones that no Gate alone could protect against.
