Shattered Sky

Xing Wuye's gaze lifted, dread pooling in his chest as he watched the sky darken. Without hesitation, the sect leaders and elders sprang into the air, cloaked in tension as they raced toward the disturbance. The atmosphere grew thick and oppressive, swirling with dense clouds that seemed to smother any hint of sunlight. The entire conference grounds dimmed, from the pagodas to the coliseum and every stall in between, until the sky itself condensed into the hollow-eyed form of a massive, grimacing skull.

A deep voice boomed from the skull, filling the air with a chilling resonance. Each word dripped with rage, echoing across the assembly like the tolling of a death knell.

"Jin Chen…do you still remember me?" The voice was venomous, each syllable as sharp as a dagger. "Perhaps you've erased the memory, but I haven't forgotten. When we were young, you stole junior apprentice sister, claiming you'd form a Dao pair with her. Instead, you drained her, using her as nothing more than a furnace for your blood techniques. And then you tried to kill me when I found out."

The crowd remained silent, even the most seasoned cultivators stricken still by the force of that hatred.

"But I survived," the voice hissed. "And today, Jin Chen, you will repay me in blood."

A colossal hand formed from the dark gas and plummeted from the sky, descending on the entire conference grounds like a force of nature. The sect leaders immediately pooled their powers, each bringing forth shields and barriers in a desperate attempt to hold the massive hand at bay. The leader of the Dual Brilliant Land was at the forefront, his voice a sharp contrast to the deathly silence.

"Such arrogance!" he bellowed. "Soul Maturity or not, don't think you can take on three of us at the Soul Fragmentation stage."

Wuye's ears perked at the words, noting every detail. Soul Fragmentation. Soul Maturity, he thought, cataloging the information with detached curiosity. Stages within the Soul Severing Realm. So that's what real power looks like.

In the sky, the dark energy coalesced into the form of a young man, his skin ghostly pale. His eyes were sharp, cold, and unforgiving as he surveyed the sect leaders. With an air of disdain, he sneered at the gathered crowd.

"Look at you," he spat, voice filled with contempt. "So quick to protect your so-called disciples, these precious 'talents' you've allowed to run unchecked. Because of your favor, my junior apprentice sister is dead. All of you disgust me." Reaching to his forehead, he drew forth a massive black cauldron, which expanded until it consumed the sky above. He raised his voice, booming with menace. "Soul Treasure: Million Soul Cauldron!"

From within the cauldron, black fog began to pour forth, swirling down toward the sect leaders like a black tidal wave, charged with the cries of tortured souls. The leaders braced themselves, their life treasures released, qi blazing as they rallied their strength to defend against the descending fog.

Liu Yanmei's face hardened, and she took to the sky, releasing a gleaming white jade. It flew to meet Li Jiang's black jade, merging in a blinding flash as their combined qi spread over the assembled disciples and elders, casting a protective dome.

Watching from below, Wuye's expression remained cold, eyes narrowing as he analyzed the scene. A pointless fight, he mused. The usual show of power and ego. None of this concerns me.

The conflict above radiated pulses of power that brushed past him, sending even seasoned cultivators stumbling. But Wuye felt only the hard, practical calculus of survival in his chest. The Holy Saint and the others will be caught up in this mess for hours.

Now was the perfect time to act. He would seize the opportunity to make his escape from this madness and pursue what he truly sought, power. He was going to gain the prize of the conference the slip out from this conflict to contiue chasing after the inheritance buried further north of the conference—left by a Soul Sensing cultivator with ideas too ambitious to ever see fruition—it was his to claim. Though incomplete, it was the clearest path he had to ascend without the constraints of these other sects' petty politics.

Ignoring the raging qi around him, Wuye slipped through the crowd, moving purposefully along the edge of the arena as explosions rippled across the sky. The power unleashed by the sect leaders above was devastating, the energy radiating from their clashing forces causing disciples to recoil in fear. Yet Wuye cut through the chaos like a knife, his focus sharp, his steps quick.

The throng around him thinned as he reached the arena's edge, and he slid into a narrow passage leading down into the darkness beneath the coliseum. Here, the distant roar of battle above was muted, and the air hummed with residual qi from the powerful cultivators' presence.

These self-righteous fools can keep their war in the clouds, he thought, sneering to himself. 

As he descended deeper into the bowels of the arena, the shadows lengthened, casting his face in dim, flickering light. He allowed himself a rare moment of satisfaction. The powerful techniques and martial skills he had witnessed these past few days were now etched into his mind, but he would go beyond imitating those skills. With the inheritance he sought, he would surpass them, ascending far above anything he'd known in the sect. That inheritance would secure him a direct path from Qi Condensation to Soul Sensing, laying the groundwork for his dominance.

He felt the faint stirrings of anticipation in his chest, but quickly quelled it, letting his usual indifference settle over him like a shroud. Whatever he felt about this opportunity, he would remain clear-headed and detached. There was no room for the distractions of pride or excitement.

He reached the inner chamber where the tournament prizes were kept. The treasures were locked behind an elaborate array, the glowing runes of which only made Wuye's expression harden in disdain. The Akashic record already analysing it and giving him an understanding.

A gaudy defense, he thought with faint amusement. As if this pathetic barrier could stop anyone who truly understood the way of cultivation.

With precise movements, he pressed his qi against the array, dismantling it with cold efficiency. He pushed forward into the chamber, eyes falling upon a small, intricately carved jade slip at the center of the pedestal. This was the inheritance of the Soul Sensing cultivator, waiting untouched. The irony wasn't lost on him—this technique was never supposed to be attainable for anyone at his level, yet here he was.

A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face. Finally, something worthwhile.

In the shadows of the chamber, as distant explosions reverberated from the surface, Xing Wuye reached out and closed his hand around a jade slip and a box.