The path deepened beyond the altar—narrower, older, and carved in a language long erased by time.
Chen Yun walked alone.
Behind him, Jie Lun led the freed survivors toward the surface. Their voices had long faded, leaving only the mountain's breath: a low hum in the stone, as if something ancient still stirred beneath it.
His steps were steady, but his body wasn't.
His Qi trembled.
The Void Meridian Purge had taken its toll. The fracture in his spiritual root, long dormant, had reopened.
He clenched his fists.
Still not enough.
But he pressed on.
The corridor twisted like a serpent until it opened—abruptly—into a hall that didn't feel mortal.
No altar. No throne. Just silence.
And at the center…
A single figure.
A young man, no older than Chen Yun—perhaps twenty, if even that. Dressed in flowing grey robes, sleeves fluttering like paper in still air, eyes closed as if lost in deep meditation.
But the pressure around him said otherwise.
It stilled the space itself.
Transcendent Realm.
Not someone approaching the peak.
Someone standing at it.
When the man opened his eyes, the world dimmed—colors dulled, and even the Qi in the air seemed to hesitate.
The space was filled with the man's Qi.
His gaze was not sharp—but detached. As if looking at a piece of weathered stone rather than another human.
Chen Yun felt it instantly.This was not power earned through pills or sect lineage.
This was forged strength. Pure. Uncompromising.
And yet…
A smile crept across Chen Yun's lips. It was small. Uncharacteristic. Almost amused.
He stepped forward.
The man tilted his head. "Chen Yun," he said calmly, like reciting a line from a scroll. "I was curious how far you'd make it."
Chen Yun rolled his wrist, flexing his fingers. "Then I hope I disappoint you."
The stranger smiled faintly. "You won't. Gu Shun's final whispers reached me. He died screaming your name."
"You're with them?"
"I am them," the man said. "Or what's left of the will they served."
The ground thrummed beneath their feet.
Chen Yun took another step forward. The smile hadn't left his face.Not arrogance born of ego.
But of defiance.
The man's eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you believe fate is a cage?"
Chen Yun didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
"I suppose," the man said, raising his hand, "that makes me the next bar."
There was no signal. No battle cry.
Just movement.
One step—and the man disappeared.
He reappeared inches from Chen Yun, palm extended.
Crack!
A single blow.
Air shattered.
Chen Yun's arms raised just in time—bone met bone—and his body shot backward like a cannonball. He crashed through a column, skidded across the stone, blood streaming from his nose.
He spat red. Wiped his chin.
Then grinned.
"Nice try."
He vanished.
Void Steps. Crescent Coil. Palm Surge.
He came in fast—too fast to track—his strike aimed at the solar plexus, followed by a spiraling elbow toward the throat.
The man blocked with two fingers.
Effortless.
A spin—Chen Yun twisted, swept low, followed with a rising knee. His opponent lifted a hand and deflected the blow, redirecting it like water passing around stone.
Chen Yun's back hit the ground—
But he rolled, flipped up, and launched another assault mid-motion.
The Transcendent moved only when necessary—minimal, precise, surgical.
Every parry, every redirection—perfect.
Chen Yun took a fist to the ribs. Heard the crack. Ignored it. Sent a palm to the man's hip. Missed.
Another blow—this time to his spine.
Pain flared. His knees buckled.
But he used the momentum.
He dropped. Rolled. Reversed.
"Adaptation mid-battle?" the man mused. "You learn fast."
Chen Yun only looked up
He struck again.
Void Compression. Spiral Pulse. Six-point Bloom.
His body blurred with overlapping motion—five palms followed by a final punch from an angle even he hadn't predicted.
He connected.
The man's shoulder jerked. Not much. Just a few inches.
But he moved.
Chen Yun's smirk deepened.
"I felt that," he said.
The Shift
The man looked down at the faint dust on his robe.
For the first time, his expression shifted.
"You're a problem," he said. "An insect that refuses to die."
He inhaled.
The air bent.
Then—
He exploded forward.
This time, there was no elegance. Only violence.
Chen Yun blocked—but the power behind the strikes was colossal. His arms screamed. His legs dragged across the stone. Every blow bent his stance.
A kick hit his stomach.
He flew.
Another strike—midair palm to chest—sent him crashing into the ground, cratering it.
Blood exploded from his mouth.
The world spun.
But still… he stood.
Barely.
His body broken. His Qi lines in chaos. His cultivation—slipping.
Still…
He laughed.
A low, raspy chuckle.
"You're pushing yourself," Chen Yun rasped. "Because I made you."
The man narrowed his eyes.
"I see it now," he muttered. "You're broken. Your Qi is crippled. And yet…"
He paused.
"You're evolving."
The Final Strike
Chen Yun's breath grew shallow.
He tapped deep into his soul.
Burned what little remained.
Void Meridian Pulse. Spiritual Inversion. Essence Lock.
A golden ring of light bloomed beneath his feet.
His fractured meridians screamed.
His body convulsed.
But his eyes burned.
He charged.
Every technique. Every scar. Every ounce of hatred.
They clashed again.
A storm of strikes.
Qi and breath blurred.
Chen Yun's steps vanished—his form melting through the air like distortion in water. He burned everything—his Qi Force, his soul dregs, even fragments of his shattered spiritual root.
Then—
The world bent. It froze.
A sudden fracture of space cracked around him.
Dimension Shift.
Chen Yun's entire presence dissapeared ,as if the world did'nt acknowledge his presence,even the other man could'nt sense him.
Just for a moment—his foot passed into another layer of reality. He reappeared behind the Transcendent before even the afterimage faded.
Void Vein Collapse."
It was a forbidden martial art, never meant for someone with crippled meridians.
A technique that turned one's own collapsing Qi veins into a volatile chain reaction—forcing the unstable Qi into a single compressive pulse released at point-blank.
Chen Yun struck.
Palm to ribs.
The pulse entered.
A sound like rupturing stone echoed through the chamber.
The Transcendent's body flinched—a genuine recoil, his breath hitching.
His robes shredded at the point of contact.
His blood—just a thin trickle—slipped from the corner of his lips.
His eyes… narrowed.
For the first time, he stepped back. Not calmly. Not with indifference.
But from instinct.
"You—"
Before he could finish, Chen Yun staggered forward, eyes losing focus. The technique had ruptured three of his own Qi lines. His insides boiled.
The man's calm returned quickly, but his expression wasn't the same.
He wiped the blood from his lip, looked at it.
Silence stretched.
Chen Yun collapsed to one knee.
His Qi surged once more—and then cracked.
His vision blurred.
But he rose again.
Even if he had to drag his body like a corpse.
His body covered in blood crimson red , he smiled filled with arrogance and looked up .
The man looked at him.
Chill's ran down the man's face, he felt scared.
"You shouldn't be able to move."
"I shouldn't have been born either," Chen Yun replied, voice like gravel.
Silence stretched.
Then, something shifted in the man's face.
Not pity.
Not mercy.
Something closer to respect.
"You're flawed," he said. "You're broken."
He turned away.
"But you're real."
With a ripple in the air, he vanished—gone like wind slipping through cracks.
Chen Yun dropped to his knees.
His heart slowed. His limbs trembled.
His cultivation had regressed again.
His Qi lines were torn. His meridians bleeding.
But inside him, a spark remained.
He wasn't spared.
He was not shown mercy.
He was feared.
Deep within the mountain, a heart pulsed once—slow, ancient.
And in a far-off land, another figure stirred.
"Chen Yun," a voice whispered, watching the wind shift.
"A demon who defies fate…"