Murder

Just as Xing Jue was admiring his handiwork, proud of finally mastering the Soul Cleaving Blade, the weapon vanished into thin air.

He stared at his empty hand, a mixture of frustration and resignation washing over him. "Still so difficult to control…"

But he didn't dwell on it. With a determined glint in his eye, he clenched his fist and began the process anew.

Time flew, measured by sweat, exhaustion, and tiny victories. A month had passed since Xing Jue and his fellow disciples had entered their secluded training.

Deep within his Boundary Space, Xing Jue stood before the golden dummy, his fingers tracing the lines of its impenetrable surface.

"Well, old friend," he said, a hint of fondness in his voice. "It's been a long month. You've pushed me further than I thought possible. But today…" He drew himself up, his gaze hardening. "Today, you fall."

And with that, he struck.

Black mist exploded from his fist, swirling and coalescing into the deadly form of the Soul Cleaving Blade. It hummed with power, a weapon born of pure, concentrated Martial Qi. The aura of destruction it emitted sent shivers down his spine, yet he couldn't help but revel in the raw power he now commanded.

A month of relentless training had paid off. He'd mastered the first stage of the Soul Cleaving Blade—Condensing the Blade. He could now summon the blade at will, its power at his beck and call.

"Shatter!" he roared, his voice echoing through the chamber.

He swung his arm, and the blade sang as it cut through the air, a black arc of pure destructive energy aimed at the heart of the golden dummy.

There was no earsplitting clang, no bone-jarring impact. The blade sliced through the dummy as if it were nothing more than tofu, cleaving it cleanly in two.

Xing Jue stared, stunned. Even his strongest attacks hadn't left a single mark on this thing. And now? A single, effortless stroke had split it in half. The raw power of the Soul Cleaving Blade was beyond anything he'd ever imagined.

As quickly as it had formed, the blade vanished, its energy dissipating into the surrounding air.

Xing Jue staggered back, his face draining of color. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. The strain of wielding such power, even for a moment, was immense. Now he understood the warning that came with this skill, the dire consequences of attempting to use Blade Qi before achieving the rank of Martial King.

It took him a while to catch his breath, to gather his scattered wits. He sat there, drawing in deep, even breaths, willing his Martial Qi to replenish. He was drained, no doubt about it, but as he felt the familiar thrum of power slowly returning to him, he couldn't help but grin. It had been worth it.

He touched the Retreat Symbol and stepped out of his Boundary Space.

"Brother Xing Jue!"

A chorus of greetings washed over him as he emerged from his training chamber. His fellow disciples—his brothers—stood there, grinning at him.

"You guys are out already?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

It felt strange, this camaraderie. Some of these men were more than a decade older than he was, yet they all treated him with respect, calling him "Brother." It had taken some getting used to, but he understood. This world revered strength above all else.

"You're the one who's late," Siyan said, a mischievous glint in his eye.

They'd agreed to emerge from training after a month, but summoning the Soul Cleaving Blade had taken a heavy toll.

"Fine, fine," Xing Jue said with a grin, waving a hand dismissively. He may be young, but he knew how to play the part of a leader. "The next meal is on me. My treat!"

Cheers erupted, and they all started to head out, eager to break their fast and share stories of their training.

A chilling voice stopped them in their tracks.

"Well, well. Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence."

Xing Jue turned to see a towering figure walking towards them, eyes burning with ill-concealed malice. Trailing behind him, looking thoroughly thrilled by the encounter, was a disciple whose face bore the telltale marks of a brutal beating—the disciple with the Eight-Character Eyebrows.

"Luo Cheng," someone whispered, fear lacing every syllable.

The disciples parted like the sea before Moses, their faces etched with a mixture of awe and terror, clearing a path for the newcomer.

Xing Jue had heard the whispers. He knew who this was. He stood his ground, his expression carefully neutral.

"Can I help you?" he asked, his voice betraying no hint of the apprehension he felt.

Luo Cheng stopped in front of him, a cruel smile playing on his lips.

"You've got guts, I'll give you that, kid," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "But in here, guts without strength will get you killed."

"If that's all you came to say," Xing Jue said with a dismissive smile, "then please, don't let us keep you."

He brushed past Luo Cheng, his nine brothers trailing behind him.

But just as they neared the exit of the third floor, Luo Cheng struck. His arm shot out, his hand a blur, and slammed into the back of the last disciple in line, a young man they called Xiao San.

The blow landed with bone-jarring force. Xiao San let out a gurgling cry, a spray of blood erupting from his lips, as he was hurled through the air. He crashed to the ground twenty feet away, his face ashen, his body still.

"Now," Luo Cheng growled, turning back to Xing Jue, "if there's nothing else…"

He didn't finish his sentence. He didn't need to.

"You…bastard!" Xing Jue roared, fury burning in his eyes. He launched himself at Luo Cheng, a wave of Martial Qi exploding from his fist.

Luo Cheng raised an eyebrow.

"Externalizing Martial Qi. Not bad, kid," he said, a hint of surprise in his voice. But he didn't flinch. He threw out his fist, meeting Xing Jue's attack head-on. A wave of Martial Qi, no weaker than Xing Jue's, surged from his fist.

Their fists connected with a deafening boom. A shockwave rippled outward, throwing up dust and sending nearby disciples scrambling for cover.

Xing Jue wasn't done. He pressed his attack, moving like a phantom, a blur of motion that left Luo Cheng struggling to keep up.

"Fast," Luo Cheng grunted, his amusement fading as he realized he'd underestimated this newcomer.

He dug deep, matching Xing Jue's speed.

They exchanged blows, a furious dance of fists and feet that blurred before the eyes of the stunned onlookers. Shockwaves rippled outwards, battering against the walls of the training hall.

The other disciples watched in stunned silence. No one could believe what they were seeing. Xing Jue was actually holding his own against Luo Cheng, one of the top ten disciples of the Inner Division!

With a final, thunderous exchange, they were thrown apart, landing on opposite sides of the training hall.

"Speed's all well and good," Luo Cheng panted, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, "but it won't be enough."

"Then let me show you enough!" Xing Jue roared.

He closed his eyes, focusing his will. Wind swirled around him, a violent vortex of energy that whipped his hair and clothes.

Luo Cheng's eyes widened. "A Movement Martial Skill?" He hadn't expected this. A wave of unease washed over him. He'd have to be more careful.

He never got the chance.

There was a sudden rush of air, and then...nothing. Xing Jue was gone.

Panic welled up in Luo Cheng's chest. He spun around, desperately searching for any sign of his opponent. This was bad, really bad. He hadn't expected Xing Jue's movement technique to be so powerful.

Too slow.

He felt the wind whistling behind him, sensed the terrifying surge of energy, and then it was too late.

A fist, wreathed in a blinding golden light, slammed into his back. He barely had time to throw up his arm in defense before the impact sent him flying. He crashed to the ground in a heap, blood spraying from his lips.

He lay there, broken and gasping for breath. His vision blurred, he looked up at Xing Jue, who stood over him, his expression cold and unforgiving.

"This isn't over," he croaked.

"It is," Xing Jue said coldly, and with a swift, brutal kick to the chest, Luo Cheng blacked out.

Silence descended upon the training hall, thick, heavy, and absolute. Every eye was fixed on Xing Jue, their gazes filled with a mixture of awe and terror. No one dared to breathe, let alone speak. They had just witnessed the impossible. Luo Cheng, ranked tenth on the Elite Ranking, had been utterly defeated.

Xing Jue let the wind around him dissipate, his expression unreadable. He looked out over the stunned faces of his fellow disciples, and they shrank back as if he were a god of death come to claim them.

His gaze landed on the disciple with the Eight-Character Eyebrows. The man trembled, his face ashen, legs threatening to buckle beneath him.

"Anyone lays a hand on my brothers again… " Xing Jue said, his voice low and dangerous. He gestured towards the unconscious form of Luo Cheng. "That will be their fate."

And with that, he walked out of the training hall, leaving a trail of stunned silence in his wake.

From that day forward, the name Xing Jue would be spoken with a mixture of respect and fear throughout the Inner Division. A legend had been born.