The late afternoon sun dipped behind the cloudy ridges of Combat Peak, casting long golden shadows over the inner court. At the heart of the grand estate known as Hua Jing Court, disciples of the Hua Family moved in silence, sensing a growing pressure that stifled the very air around them.
Petal-strewn gardens and dragon-carved pillars did little to mask the tension in the atmosphere. A lone disciple sprinted through the stone corridor, his robes fluttering like torn parchment in a storm, before dropping to one knee in the inner courtyard before a circular pavilion draped in dark crimson silk.
“Reporting, Young Master Hua Jing!” he gasped, sweat beading on his forehead. “We scoured the Three Sector Market, the Black Jade Alley, and even the hidden vendor tunnels beneath the Eastern Pavilion.”
He placed a bundle of shimmering jade bottles and wooden vials on the polished obsidian table, each marked with various seals of potency.
“We gathered all available antidotes, but—” the disciple hesitated, “none… none of them are above rank two. Even the black market had nothing beyond it.”
A sudden clang echoed through the yard.
The heavy black spear leaning beside the stone throne had risen. Not by hand—but through the surging force of Hua Jing’s spiritual will. It hovered in the air, crackling with dark red lightning.
Hua Jing, clad in a tightly bound robe of violet and gold with twin serpents embroidered on each sleeve, slowly stood. His brows were sharp like swords, and his long black hair, tied behind with a crimson seal band, fluttered with his rising fury.
“You mean to tell me…” he spoke coldly, “that the entire capital of Kulu, with its grand markets and vile shadow merchants, cannot provide a single rank 3 antidote?”
The kneeling disciple trembled. “No, Young Master. But we are unable to purchase them as were super expensive. Each pill is worth more than 10000 mana pearls.”
“Stop your bull*hit!” Hua Jing snapped, his voice booming with spiritual resonance. “Buy them. Steal them. Or bleed for them—I don’t care how.”
His spiritual pressure burst like a thunderclap, causing the roof tiles of the nearby meditation hall to tremble.
Around him, the gathered Hua family disciples and retainers knelt lower, unable to withstand the might of a peak-stage Earth Immortal Realm expert.
“This Kent, this no-name outsider who dares shame our family… dares to command the slave village under our very noses…” Hua Jing growled, pacing slowly with his spear now in hand, dragging its edge across the stone floor. Sparks flew with every step. “I gave him a month, and now that time is near. If I fail to crush him in the Life-and-Death Match, the entire Academy will laugh. They will say the Hua Family is all bark with no fangs.”
A younger disciple tried to speak, “Young Master, perhaps we can bribe a royal official to—”
“Silence!” Hua Jing’s glare silenced the boy instantly. “Bribery is for cowards. I will break him before the entire court. I will show them why Hua Jing was crowned champion of the Inner Court Tournament. My Black Night Bone Spear will pierce his pride and leave nothing but ashes.”
He raised the weapon above his head, and the black blade shimmered with a sinister aura. The servants nearby instinctively bowed with their foreheads pressed against the marble tiles.
“Listen well!” Hua Jing shouted. “You have seven days. I want a rank 3 antidote in my hand before I step into that battle stage. If you fail—then someone among you… will replace the pill with their blood!”
“Yes, Young Master!” the disciples chorused, scrambling to rise and disappear into the gathering dusk with haste and fear.
A breeze swirled through the courtyard as Hua Jing turned his eyes toward the north—the direction of the Slave Village, now under Kent’s rule.
“You may think yourself a rising dragon, Das… but I will chain your wings and crush your fangs,” he murmured, clenching his spear tighter.
“When the battle day comes… you will learn why no one disrespects the Hua name and walks away whole.”
–
Slave Village…
The lanterns of Slave Village swayed gently in the evening wind, casting long shadows across the cobbled paths. It was a humble place, built from wood and weathered stone, yet life here was stubborn—refusing to fade despite the world’s scorn.
Beneath a row of old willow trees, their hanging vines catching the last of the sunset glow, Ai Ping stood beside her small herbal stand, arranging crushed leaves and powders into paper packets. Her robes were simple, dyed with the faint green of mountain moss, and her eyes carried the steady calm of someone used to hardship.
Kent approached with a purposeful stride.
“Princess Ai Ping,” he greeted.
She turned, pleasantly surprised. “Kent? You came back. I thought you’d vanished into one of the peaks.”
“I’ve been busy,” he said with a wry smile, then handed her a sealed spirit pouch.
She accepted it absently and swept her spiritual sense through it. Her eyes widened instantly.
“Ten thousand mana pearls?” she gasped. “You… you promised three thousand, and I told you even that wasn’t necessary!”
“I’m not here to bargain, Ping,” Kent said, voice steady. “The rest is a small compensation—for the delay, for the favor, and for the trust you showed me. Without your help, I wouldn’t have met Mei Lin, or her sister Lin Lin.”
Ai Ping stared at him, conflicted. “Kent… this is too much. Do you have any idea how long it would take someone like me to earn this? Even the royalty gave me just a thousand pearls last season for a full herb shipment!”
Kent gave a light chuckle. “Let’s just say I got lucky. I made a pill at Purple Cauldron Peak during the 1-star alchemist assessment. Elder Zing sold it. A superior pill… it fetched a good price.”
Her jaw slackened. “You—wait—you already became a one-star alchemist? In just days? And sold a pill at auction?”
He nodded.
Ai Ping’s lips curled upward slowly as she punched his shoulder—gently, but with a hint of disbelief. “You’re a madman, Kent. A crazy, terrifying kind. Self-taught alchemist who refines auction-worthy pills… Maybe I should ask you for lessons now.”
Kent grinned but said nothing.
As he turned to leave, she suddenly called out.
“Wait.”
He paused.
Ai Ping’s expression turned serious, the warmth in her eyes shifting to something deeper—something hardened by experience.
“Alchemy’s great, Kent. You’ve got talent, more than anyone I’ve seen in the village. But don’t forget this is Kulu Nation. In the end, it’s not brains or pills that rule… it’s power. Martial strength.”
Kent remained silent.
She walked up and looked him straight in the eye. “No matter how high you climb in alchemy, if you can’t protect yourself—someone will take it all from you. That’s how this world works.”
Kent nodded slowly. “I understand.”
Then he smiled faintly. “Which is why I train every morning at Combat Peak.”
Ai Ping exhaled in relief, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Good. Don’t ever let your sword get rusty, Alchemist Kent.”