"Can't you see we're using this place?" an impatient voice followed.
Mo Xuan narrowed his eyes as he met their hidden gazes beneath the moonlight, holding his ground instead of retreating.
Before he could even respond, the flame-cloaked figure's eyes snapped open. "Leave."
The frost-cloaked figure opened their eyes as well. Unlike their companion, the expression remained composed, but the chill radiating from that gaze alone was enough to make the surrounding air seem several degrees colder, the temperature dropping in a way that had nothing to do with the mountain night.
"You are disturbing our cultivation."
Mo Xuan remained where he stood, his tone staying polite despite the pressure building around him. "I intended to cultivate farther away, not near here."
The flame-cloaked one clicked their tongue and rose in a single fluid motion, the movement carrying none of the stiffness one might expect after long hours seated in meditation. Even through the cloak, Mo Xuan could tell the person beneath it wasn't much older than himself. Yet the pressure being released didn't match that — it belonged to someone who had long since carved out a name for themselves within the Inner Court, someone used to being obeyed rather than questioned.
The figure pointed toward the entrance. "Leave."
The Rune Sword Soul within Mo Xuan's Sea of Consciousness stirred faintly, and he could sense it clearly now — their Sword Intent, distinct and unmistakable even through the cloaks. One blazed like summer fire, aggressive and restless. The other flowed like silent winter, patient and exact.
Two opposite paths, and yet, somehow, the two intents didn't clash against each other the way opposing forces usually did. They complemented one another, folding together into something that felt oddly whole.
Mo Xuan cupped his hands lightly. "I don't wish to fight. I only came to observe the Sword Cliff. My apologies for disturbing you."
For a heartbeat, silence settled between the three of them, the only sound the wind whispering through the cliff's upper reaches.
Then the flame-cloaked one's patience snapped. "I said." The words came clipped, final. "Leave."
Their foot struck the ground.
Boom—!
A ring of fiery lotus petals erupted outward from the point of impact, and the stone beneath their feet blackened instantly, sparks scattering off into the darkness like a handful of thrown embers.
Mo Xuan's expression sharpened. This wasn't posturing anymore — they'd actually attacked. His body reacted before conscious thought caught up, fingers snapping into a rune seal as black-and-white Spiritual Energy spiralled into shape in front of him. Script Edge — Defensive Rune. A translucent, Taiji-patterned barrier bloomed into existence just as the wave of flame collided with it.
BOOM!
The impact rolled across the cliff face, and the barrier shattered outright, the force pushing Mo Xuan back half a step, a faint tingling sensation crawling up his arm where the heat had bled through despite the barrier's protection.
...
Elsewhere, the clash hadn't gone unnoticed.
The first explosion of Spiritual Energy rolling across Sword Cliff drew attention beyond the ancient archway. Several elders extended their Spiritual Sense toward the disturbance, while patrolling disciples drifted closer, keeping themselves hidden among the rocks and cypress shadows. None of them stepped in. Sword Cliff was a place of tempering, and as long as no lives were at risk, they were content to watch.
...
"Interesting," the flame-cloaked one said, a smile creeping into their voice. "So you really are stronger than the rumours suggested."
Before Mo Xuan could respond, the frost-cloaked one moved. Unlike the explosive heat of their companion, this one's footsteps made no sound at all, mist gathering silently around their fingertips as frost condensed into a slender sword of crystalline ice. The blade struck an instant later, a crescent of pale frost cutting cleanly through the lingering smoke left behind by the flame attack — the trajectory clean, elegant, without a single wasted motion.
Mo Xuan's eyes sharpened further, and he drew his own sword.
Shing.
The black-and-white blade met the frost crescent head-on.
Crack!
Ice exploded into a spray of glittering fragments, the cold travelling briefly through his wrist before dispersing harmlessly, leaving nothing behind but a faint chill.
The frost-cloaked one paused. The fiery one stomped the ground a second time, and a lotus-shaped formation ignited beneath their feet, crimson Spiritual Energy spiralling upward as a sword took shape in their grip, its blade shimmering as molten steel poured straight from a forge. Across from them, the frost-cloaked one's own sword completed its formation in the same instant, white frost wrapping tight around its edge until the entire blade gleamed pale under the moonlight.
Two swords. Two Sword Intents. Both locked squarely onto Mo Xuan.
Moonlight spilt across the ancient sword scar carved into the mountain wall behind them, indifferent to the fight unfolding in its shadow. Mo Xuan slowly exhaled, feeling his heartbeat settle into something steady and even despite the two blades now aimed his way. He raised his sword.
The flame-cloaked one attacked first. "Flame Lotus Sword — Solar Petal Pierce!" A blazing lotus tore free from the blade, its petals spinning violently as they carved across the cliff toward him.
Almost simultaneously, the frost-cloaked one vanished entirely, their form dissolving into little more than drifting mist before reappearing beside him an instant later. "Winter Lotus. Frozen Silhouette."
Fire roared in from the front. Frost descended from the side. Mo Xuan's eyes narrowed, caught for one heartbeat between the two converging attacks.
Then, for the first time since entering Sword Cliff, he smiled. "This is more interesting."
He didn't retreat. He stepped into the only gap between the converging attacks, his movement neither fast nor flashy, just precise — the kind of precision that came from knowing exactly how much space existed and exactly how little of it he needed. The black-and-white Qi beneath his feet expanded into a faint Taiji pattern as his body rotated with the incoming strikes, his sword rising to meet the flame attack.
Clang!
He deflected it, and the fiery lotus glanced off his blade, its trajectory shifting just enough to send it drifting sideways. A heartbeat later—
Crack!
The frost crescent struck the redirected flame attack instead of Mo Xuan, the two opposing techniques detonating against each other in a violent burst of steam that swallowed the cliff beneath a curtain of white mist.
Before either of them could recover from the unexpected collision, Mo Xuan was already moving. Cloudwalk Script. Faint runes flashed beneath his feet as he crossed the battlefield without so much as disturbing the drifting mist around him, closing the distance before either opponent had fully registered he'd moved at all.
His sword appeared beside the flame-cloaked one, and they reacted instantly.
Clang!
Flame and black-and-white steel collided, sparks scattering across the ancient stone underfoot.
"Not bad!" the fire-cloaked one laughed, excitement bleeding into their voice where irritation had been only moments earlier. They twisted their wrist, and the sword blossomed into another lotus — three petals, then five, then seven, each one splitting off into an independent slash aimed at a different angle.
Mo Xuan's sword became a blur of motion in response.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Every petal met steel, each exchange ringing out sharp and clean across the cliff. Before the final strike could land, cold suddenly enveloped his back — the frost-cloaked one had circled him in the chaos, their sword descending in complete silence.
Without even turning to face it fully, Mo Xuan lifted two fingers. A rune formed midair. Script Edge — Deflection. The frost blade shifted by a single inch, sliding harmlessly past his shoulder instead of finding its mark.
Mo Xuan took two steps backwards, putting distance between himself and both of them. The three figures stood separated once more, and the night wind returned briefly through the gap between them before fading away again into stillness.
One of them clicked their tongue. "No wonder Qin Hao lost."
The other rolled their shoulders, loosening the tension building there. "But we're not Qin Hao."
The first nodded in agreement. "Again."
This time, they moved together — no words exchanged, no visible signal passed between them, just years of fighting side by side speaking through the sheer precision of their timing. One attacked high. One attacked low. One advanced while the other immediately covered the retreat, flame and frost intertwining until their individual attacks became nearly impossible to tell apart, each strike blurring into the next.
Mo Xuan's expression grew steadily more serious as he watched the pattern unfold, tracking the rhythm beneath the chaos.
The instant the two of them crossed paths mid-attack, Mo Xuan stepped forward. His sword described a quiet arc through the space between them — a single, perfectly timed cut, unhurried and understated compared to everything that had come before it.
Both of their expressions changed at once.
Too late.
Clang!
The fiery sword flew clean from its owner's grip. Before they could react—
Clang!
The frost blade spun free as well, both weapons sailing through the air before embedding themselves deep into the cliff wall somewhere behind Mo Xuan, quivering slightly from the force of the impact.
Silence dropped over the cliff. The three of them stood frozen in place, and moonlight illuminated the two trembling swords lodged in the stone behind Mo Xuan, still humming faintly from the collision.
The fiery one gasped. The frost one simply stood there, stunned into silence. In that single instant, both of them understood, with total clarity, that they had already lost.
"You... you..." the frost-cloaked one finally whispered, their fist clenching tight at their side, the rest of the sentence catching somewhere in their throat, unable to find its way out.
The hidden spectators watching from a careful distance looked on in surprise. Several had already begun turning away, assuming the sparring match was over.
When...