The courtyard burned with qi, not in wild chaos, but in layered currents that twisted and collided, distorting the air itself. Light bent with every surge of power, and dust lifted from the cracked stone in restless spirals, turning the entire space into something that felt less like a battlefield and more like a gathering storm.
Lu Mao crouched low, one knee pressed against the ground, his posture loose yet ready to spring at any moment. Around him, the others formed a tight, instinctive circle, their shadows stretching and shrinking under the faint crimson glow of the distant orb.
Yan Mei's whip-blade coiled at her side, its thin edge twitching faintly like a serpent sensing the coming storm. Marco stood steady beside her, his sword angled downward, the edge still humming softly from their last exchange. Chen Yuan's breathing remained controlled, though a thin line of blood trailed from the corner of his jaw. Bao Fu knelt opposite them, panting heavily, clutching his satchel of rune spheres as though it were the most precious thing he owned.
The sounds of battle still echoed through the courtyard—steel striking steel, boots grinding against stone, and the occasional cry cut short.
Ahead of them, the rival team remained locked in a desperate and increasingly futile struggle against the pale senior disciple.
Lu Mao leaned in slightly, lowering his voice until it barely rose above the shifting wind.
"Listen carefully."
Five heads tilted toward him at once.
No one spoke.
Even the air itself seemed to pause, as though waiting.
Lu Mao's eyes sharpened, brown irises reflecting flickers of movement ahead. He wasn't thinking in words anymore, not in any structured way.
He was feeling the rhythm.
The rise and fall of breath. The timing of strikes. The invisible pattern that connected movement, hesitation, and intent.
The plan did not come through careful reasoning.
It slipped into place naturally, like instinct taking over.
Like something he had always known.
The green-haired man was the first to break.
His scream tore through the courtyard, raw and jagged, as his scythe shattered mid-swing. Fragments scattered through the air while a pale hand wrapped in silver qi drove cleanly into his chest.
The impact lifted him off his feet.
A heartbeat later, his body slammed into the wall and collapsed without movement.
The bald brute staggered backward, his chest rising and falling heavily as qi leaked uncontrollably from his body. Sweat clung to his scalp, gleaming under the crimson glow. His strength remained, but his control was slipping fast.
"Again!" he roared, his voice edged with desperation as he glanced at the last two beside him. "We go all out! Head, waist, chest—crush her together!"
He drew in a harsh breath, forcing qi through his body. His aura flared violently, burning red like embers pushed into a blaze. The short sword cultivator gave a tight nod, blue qi wrapping around his blade like cold lightning, while the axeman stomped forward, cracking the ground beneath his feet as he prepared to charge.
Lu Mao watched everything from behind.
Every movement.
Every breath.
Every flicker of hesitation.
His gaze lingered on the bald brute just a fraction longer than the others.
There.
A slight tremor in his stance. A delay so small most would miss it entirely.
He's exhausted.
Lu Mao's eyes narrowed faintly.
Which means… their window was closing.
He shifted his head just enough to catch Yan Mei's gaze.
Their eyes met for a brief moment.
No words passed between them.
None were needed.
Lu Mao gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, then mouthed the words slowly.
"Now or never."
The bald cultivator took one last glance behind him—
And froze.
Lu Mao and his team stood completely still, their weapons lowered and their expressions calm, almost amused, as if they were spectators rather than participants.
It felt wrong.
Out of place.
Like children watching a battlefield as though it were a performance.
The bald brute's eyes widened. "You—"
Lu Mao raised his hand casually.
Then gave a small, almost lazy wave.
The gesture wasn't dramatic or aggressive.
It was dismissive.
A simple motion that said, Go on. Don't mind us.
The brute's face twisted with fury. "You'll regret that!"
With a roar, he launched forward.
"Bao Fu," Lu Mao said quietly.
Bao Fu's grin returned instantly as he reached into his satchel and pulled out a rune sphere. The etched patterns along its surface ignited with a sharp blue glow, humming faintly as qi poured into it.
The vibration grew stronger, the sound rising in pitch until it felt like something alive struggling to break free from his grasp.
"Got it."
He threw it.
The sphere shot forward with a sharp, whistling cry, spinning so fast it blurred into a streak of steel. It cut cleanly between the charging trio and the senior disciple—
Then detonated.
A burst of dense blue smoke exploded outward, swallowing half the courtyard in an instant. The fog rolled and curled like storm clouds, thick enough to obscure everything within it, carrying the faint metallic tang of Bao Fu's qi.
Shapes disappeared.
Light fractured.
Movement became uncertain.
For the first time—
The senior disciple's composure faltered, just slightly.
A trick.
Within the smoke, vision collapsed into fragments. Direction blurred, and every movement became guesswork.
The bald brute's team seized that moment without hesitation.
Their qi flared together as they charged.
The axe came crashing down. The sword slashed high. The brute's fists tore forward like falling meteors. Their attacks converged in a violent storm, each one aimed to overwhelm and crush in a single decisive exchange.
Steel clashed.
The ground cracked.
Their voices merged into a desperate roar.
But even without sight—
She moved.
Lu Mao tracked her through the smoke, her silhouette faint but precise. A single figure gliding through chaos with unnatural control.
Her sheathed blade carved arcs of silver through the fog, deflecting all three attacks in one smooth motion. The bald brute's fist met her palm, and the air between them shattered with a deep, thunderous impact.
She held her ground.
She countered with perfect timing.
She dominated the exchange.
And yet—
For just the smallest fraction of a second—
Her balance shifted.
Not enough for most to notice.
But enough.
Half an inch too far.
The orb at her side drifted.
Only slightly.
But that was all it took.
Lu Mao's gaze sharpened, his focus locking onto that single opening.
There it is.