Jin moved at high speed, twisting and juking as the deacon unleashed pillars of fire around them. The man hadn’t taken a single step, standing rooted in place while flames tore the forest apart. Stillness meant death. Jin knew that lesson well — he’d learned it the hard way just weeks ago.

Shen, meanwhile, realized they’d get nowhere by running. They needed a plan, and fast. Jin’s training in predicting attacks was finally paying off. Since learning to manipulate intent threads, his perception had sharpened — he could sense the shift in qi before each pillar erupted. Within moments, he was predicting attacks a heartbeat before they came.

The rhythm of the fight began to change. Jin started signaling Shen just before each eruption, the two weaving between blasts with practiced precision.

Then Shen struck first. A heavy pressure filled the air — Jin could feel the weight of Shen’s soul. A translucent figure materialized over his body, mirroring his stance, a short sword gleaming in its spectral hands. For a moment, Shen vanished — his presence flickering out — and reappeared beside the deacon, blade flashing toward the man’s ribs.

The deacon parried with his bare hands. Heat radiated from his palms, forcing Shen back as fire chased after him.

Seeing the distraction, Jin gathered momentum in his legs and charged. Just as the deacon’s strike was about to land, Shen disappeared again, reappearing a meter away. Even from that distance, the heat nearly melted his skin.

The deacon turned, ready to pursue—only for Jin’s hook to crash squarely into his ribs. The impact drove him back several steps. For one stunned moment, Jin stared at his fist — his skin had begun to blister, the flesh nearly melting. The deacon’s yang qi had flared in defense, dulling the blow but scorching Jin in return.

The air thickened.

The deacon’s calm eyes narrowed in faint surprise. “To think two peak Tempering Realm cultivators could touch a Core Condensation expert,” he said softly. “It seems we’ve stumbled upon an interesting specimen among the blood bags.”

He raised his qi once more, flames licking across his hands.

Jin didn’t care what the man meant. Even when I saw the laboratory, I thought my captors human, he thought. But these things—they’re just beasts wearing skin. Emotionless predators feigning humanity.

Images flashed behind his eyes — the burning cells, the screams, the smell of charred flesh. Rage began to pulse through his veins.

The deacon moved again, his flaming palms carving arcs through the night. Shen used the brief lull to steady his breathing, his intent solidifying. The apparition over him condensed, its edges sharp as crystal. He vanished once more — this time not hidden, but too fast to see.

His blade flashed for the deacon’s neck, missing by barely a centimeter. The man leaned away and slid back, reorienting so both Jin and Shen were within sight.

The deacon’s expression returned to cold neutrality.
“Two against one, and yet you still stand beneath my shadow,” he said flatly. “At your current level, you shouldn’t even be capable of perceiving my movements.”

He tilted his head, as though taking notes. “Unstable progress. Experimental interference. Curious.”

Jin ground his teeth. “You talk like a butcher measuring meat.”

“Meat doesn’t speak,” the deacon replied. “But it burns all the same.”

The ground convulsed. Geysers of golden-red flame erupted once more, splitting the forest apart. Jin vaulted back through the searing air, each breath scalding his lungs. Shen’s Sword Ghost danced at the edges of the inferno, carving paths through fire, but the deacon’s qi overpowered every defense.

Predict. React. Survive.

Jin’s intent threads flared as he sensed the next surge before it came. He moved before the ground erupted, weaving between the flames.

The sight of the deacon’s spotless robes infuriated him. Jin wanted him to feel it — the blood, the loss, the weight of what he’d done.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears. The same warmth as that day by the river ignited deep within.

The heat around him folded inward.

A red glow pulsed beneath his skin — darker than the deacon’s fire, like the embers of a dying star. The pain dulled. His breath steadied.

“Red... Star,” he whispered.

The fire exploded outward.

The world warped. Air rippled in concentric waves as the ground melted beneath his feet. Shen shielded his eyes. The flames didn’t consume Jin — they followed him.

He moved.

Every step left trails of red fire that lingered in the air, burning without smoke. His muscles screamed, qi channels flared, but for once, he was faster.

The deacon’s gaze flicked toward him. “An unstable resonance,” he muttered. “Artificial fusion of elemental qi. Impossible at his stage.”

Jin didn’t hear him. The roar of the Red Star drowned everything out.

He struck.

Fist met flame, an explosion shattering the clearing. For almost a full minute, Jin fought within the inferno — a blur of motion, violence, and will. The ground liquefied. Trees vanished. Even Shen could barely follow his movements.

Then, as quickly as it began, the light faded. Jin dropped to one knee, steam rising from his body.

The deacon’s sleeve was torn, a thin line of blood tracing his arm. He regarded it with mild curiosity. “Incomplete awakening,” he murmured. “But... intriguing.”

He lifted his hand, qi gathering at his palm, eyes gleaming faint gold. “Unfortunately, this has to end here.”

By now, his other hand clamped around Shen’s neck, the skin already blistering beneath his grip. Jin’s abdomen burned with open wounds. The forest was silent except for the whistling wind — sharp, cold, and final.

The deacon raised his palm toward Jin’s forehead. Qi swirled, condensing into a searing point. Jin could feel it — death approaching.

He smiled anyway. “Kill me, and my master will find you,” he said hoarsely. “He’ll give you a fate worse than death—he’ll make you his disciple.”

The deacon sneered faintly. “Even at death, the mind of a peasant is indeciphera—”

The world screamed.

A shockwave tore the air apart. Jin and Shen were hurled back as a meteor slammed into the earth, dust and blood-mist filling the night.

When the haze cleared, Shen blinked in confusion — a maimed arm lay still around his throat, severed clean.

Jin’s eyes widened.

First, his master had arrived.
Second, the deacon he’d fought so desperately was now nothing more than a smear of crimson paste.

The silence broke.

“My useless disciple,” Bao Kun said, his voice echoing through the smoke. “Must you struggle against scrubs like this? It seems you need harsher training.”

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When Jin finally stopped seeing double, the first thing he did was check on the little girl he’d dragged out of that nightmare. Still breathing. Good.
Then he turned to Shen—burnt, pale, and conscious, which counted as “fine” in their line of work.

Only after confirming no one was dying did Jin notice the new weight pressing on his thoughts. His perception of momentum had changed since learning intent, and that made what he’d just witnessed even worse.

Bao Kun hadn’t used any momentum at all.
He’d simply stomped the deacon to death.

With.
Pure.
Physical.
Strength.

Jin swallowed. Right… so that’s my teacher.

Bao Kun caught the look and grinned like a man proud of a crime.
“It seems my useless disciple has gone ahead of the class,” he said. “Already grasped the basics of intent, have you?”

Jin rubbed his neck. “My life depended on it.”

“Excellent!” Bao Kun’s smile turned positively evil. “So threats of death really are the most effective training method. If I’d beaten you half to death a few more times, you might have manifested that Red Star consciously!”

Jin froze, eyes blank. He had just discovered that his greatest enemy was his master’s enthusiasm—and his own mouth.

Bao Kun chuckled, apparently satisfied with the fear. “Each time your star manifestation evolves, your body evolves with it. When you consolidate your Red Star, you’ll understand.”

He paused, then added casually, “By the way, what are you doing with the child?”

The question hit harder than expected. Jin had planned to leave her at an orphanage—her parents were gone, and it seemed practical.
But ever since the manifestation, something in him refused the idea outright. The thought felt… wrong.

Seeing his hesitation, Bao Kun shrugged. “Ah, good. The instinct to overthink. A sign of maturity.”

Jin ignored him and muttered, “We’ll keep her at Shuimeng for now. Crimson Flare had no records on us—they never expected us to leave alive—so it should be safe.”

Bao Kun nodded sagely, as if Jin’s survival plan were a brilliant strategic thesis. Shen just stared, too exhausted to argue.

And so, after a bit more friendly banter—mostly Bao Kun reminding Jin that nearly dying counted as “training progress”—the strange quartet set off toward Shuimeng Village:
a master who could kill people by accident,
a swordsman missing half a sleeve and his patience,
a disciple who’d discovered fear in new colors,
and a little girl who’d somehow slept through most of it.

“By the way, Brother Shen,” Jin said, “where did you get that short sword from?”
“I’d hidden a weapon before the caravan handed us over,” Shen replied.
Jin frowned. “And you couldn’t have hidden one for me too?”
Shen gave him a deadpan look. “Brother Jin, I don’t think another would’ve fit in the same hiding spot.”

Jin went silent. Tacit understanding dawned.
Bao Kun immediately burst into laughter, nearly doubling over.