CHAPTER 164: CH-164: LET THEM COME

The Feilun Sect braced, disciples whispering of war and ruin. Yet on the peak, Tian Shen’s gaze did not waver. The storm had marked him, the heavens had tested him, and now the world itself approached to measure his worth. His fingers tightened around the spear.

"Let them come."

The night after the storm of tribulation, the Feilun Sect did not sleep. Clouds still grumbled in the far heavens, and stray veins of lightning crackled across the mountain ridges like restless serpents.

The disciples whispered in awe and dread, for the sight of Tian Shen’s breakthrough had spread like wildfire—flashes of violet spears piercing the clouds, a silhouette standing against the heavens as if defying their decree.

Yet Tian Shen himself did not bask in it.

He sat cross-legged at the highest platform of the Root Division’s training ground, body still trembling with the violent aftershocks of ascension. The Utopian Core Realm—it was nothing like the steady accumulation of Core Reinforcement. It was a violent tearing away of limits, a burning of marrow and soul, a reshaping of what it meant to exist beneath the heavens.

Inside his dantian, the once-solid Core no longer spun like a jewel. Instead, it breathed. Each inhalation pulled in the spiritual essence of heaven and earth, each exhalation pushed it out in a pulse that rattled the bones of anyone standing nearby. It was alive, a miniature world, demanding he govern it like a sovereign.

Sweat soaked his robes, yet his eyes gleamed with sharp light.

"So this is the Utopian Core," he murmured. His voice trembled, not with fear, but with the intoxication of raw strength coursing through his blood.

Feng Yin lingered at the edge of the platform, arms folded, gaze fixed on him with equal parts pride and worry. "You are stronger," she said softly. "But I can feel it... this realm is not gentle. It is a beast. It will devour you if you do not keep the reins tight."

Tian Shen gave a faint smile. "Then I will tame it. As I tamed Drowsy. As I tamed my own weakness."

He stood, spear in hand. The weapon hummed as if recognizing the shift in its master. Each movement he made carried the weight of thunder, the echo of a storm that refused to die.

But peace was not to last.

At dawn, alarms rang across the northern sentry posts. Crimson flares arced into the sky—an intrusion. Scouts rushed to deliver word: a small band of armored cultivators had crossed the borders. Their banners bore no sect insignia of the Central Region, no recognized mark of alliance. They were foreigners, clad in steel-black lamellar and cloaked in the dust of long travel, their qi sharp and foreign, like sand grinding against steel.

The Sect Master’s orders were swift: Root Division would intercept.

Yet before the command runners could even reach the division hall, Tian Shen was already gone.

The foreigners numbered only twelve. But the aura they exuded was far from ordinary. At their head marched a tall warrior with braided hair and eyes like molten copper. His cultivation—Core Reinforcement at its peak—surged outward like an oppressive tide.

"We enter unchallenged," the leader growled in a tongue rough and accented. "Their borders are weaker than the maps promised."

A laugh rose from his men.

They stopped laughing when the earth itself cracked.

A lone figure stepped into the clearing, spear planted into the ground like the axis of heaven. Tian Shen’s eyes burned with violet light, his presence flooding the valley with suffocating weight.

"You stand in Feilun Sect lands," he said, voice even, deadly calm. "Leave your banners behind. Leave your weapons. Leave your corpses if you must—but you will not leave unmarked."

The leader barked a laugh. "One boy? Do they mock us so?"

He raised his blade. "Kill him."

The first charge came like an avalanche—steel boots pounding, qi-forged weapons flashing. But Tian Shen did not retreat, did not even step aside. His spear rose, and with it the world seemed to tilt.

A single thrust.

The air screamed.

Lightning, not of the heavens but of his own core, lanced outward, shattering three weapons and sending their wielders tumbling like leaves in a gale. One coughed blood before his body even struck the ground.

The others hesitated, but hesitation meant death. Tian Shen’s second movement was no longer a thrust but a sweep—half-circle, violent, irresistible. The ground ripped apart in its wake, dust and stone exploding as two men were hurled skyward, their armor splitting under the impact.

The leader’s copper eyes widened. "Utopian..." he hissed.

His men faltered.

But Tian Shen was not merciful.

He advanced, each step a drumbeat, each breath a gale. His core pulsed violently, demanding blood to temper its newborn existence. And Tian Shen gave it what it hungered for.

Spear shadows multiplied, weaving a net of violet light. Foreign blades shattered like pottery. Armor dented inward under impossible pressure. Screams filled the valley, drowned only by the crackle of storm-qi that burst from his strikes.

The leader roared, charging to meet him head-on. His blade flared crimson, burning spiritual essence recklessly. Their weapons collided.

The world broke.

The clash tore a crater into the valley floor. Trees toppled, rocks split, echoes rang across miles. The leader staggered, blood spilling from his lips, disbelief etched into every line of his face.

"How... can one man—"

Tian Shen’s spear pierced his chest before the words finished.

Violence answered.

When silence finally fell, the valley was a ruin. Corpses lay scattered, foreign banners shredded, the soil blackened by thunder.

Tian Shen stood at the center, breath heavy, blood dripping from shallow cuts—but his eyes remained sharp, cold. His robes were scorched, his hands trembling slightly from the raw, unchecked flow of Utopian Core energy that still raged within him.

Yet he had not lost control.

Feng Yin arrived with the Root Division moments later, their formation halting in shock at the sight. Not one foreigner lived. Not one had even escaped.

"Tian Shen..." Feng Yin whispered, her heart tightening. His back looked broader than before, his presence more untouchable. Yet the violence still clung to him, heavy, suffocating.

He turned, meeting her gaze. For a fleeting moment, the storm in his eyes calmed.

"It seems," he said quietly, "that the world refuses to grant us peace."

No one argued.

That night, the Sect was shaken. The elders debated what the foreigners’ appearance meant, whispering of armies beyond the Central Regions, of banners that might one day blot out the horizon.

But Tian Shen sat alone atop the lantern-lit balcony, spear resting beside him. His core still throbbed violently, eager for more battles, more blood. It was a beast, just as Feng Yin had warned.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

"I will master this," he vowed. "I will not be devoured."

And somewhere in the restless heavens, thunder rumbled as if in answer.

...

The thunder faded into silence, but the echo lingered in Tian Shen’s chest. He sat still, feeling the violent rhythm of his core gnawing at him like a starving beast. Every pulse tempted him with destruction—promised greater power if only he surrendered more of himself.

But surrender was death.

He rose, spear in hand, and looked out across the mountains. Far in the dark horizon, torches glimmered faintly, like a spreading fire. More would come. The twelve slain today were scouts, nothing more. The true enemy marched beyond sight.

"Tian Shen," Feng Yin’s voice came from behind. She had followed him, but kept her distance. "The elders argue below. Some call your display reckless. Others say it was necessary. But all of them agree—this storm has only begun."

He did not turn. "Let them argue. Words will not stop the next blade."

Feng Yin was silent a long while. Then, softly, "And what of you? You stood alone today. Will you always stand alone?"

The question pierced deeper than any spear. For a heartbeat, Tian Shen’s grip tightened until the haft groaned. He forced himself to release it, to breathe. "If standing alone keeps them alive, then yes. Until the end."

Feng Yin stepped closer, her presence steady. "Then I will not let you bear it alone, no matter what you say."

He almost smiled—but the storm in his chest growled, reminding him that bonds were dangerous. A cultivator who faltered at the wrong moment doomed not only himself but those who trusted him. And yet... in that brief flicker of warmth, the beast inside seemed to quiet.

Perhaps control was not only discipline. Perhaps it was also trust.

Down in the sect, bells tolled. A messenger’s cry carried on the wind: "The Sect Master summons Root Division—immediately!"

The storm returned to Tian Shen’s eyes, but now it was tempered, channeled. He set the spear across his back and turned from the balcony.

"Then we go," he said, voice low, resolute. "If the foreigners test our borders again, Feilun Sect will answer with more than blood. We will answer with thunder."

Feng Yin matched his step. Together, they descended into the night, where war waited.