CHAPTER 177: CH-177: HELD WITHIN

The memory of the foreigner’s gauntlet lingered in his veins, a weight he could not shed. Instead of pushing it away, Tian Shen drew it inward, forcing himself to confront the oppressive force.

Every heartbeat, he crushed that memory against his own qi until sparks flew inside his dantian. Silver flames rose from his skin, wild and unstable, licking the chamber walls.

Outside, Feng Yin stood guard, her hand never leaving her sword. She could feel his aura through the sealed doors—it battered against her chest like waves against a cliff. Elder Su watched beside her, calm but intent.

"He pushes too hard," Feng Yin murmured.

"No," Elder Su said softly, eyes gleaming. "He pushes just enough. Only violence can birth a Core that will stand against what is coming."

Within the chamber, Tian Shen’s eyes snapped open—silver fire blazing.

The nights after the assembly grew colder. Even the mountain winds seemed reluctant to stir, as if the land itself was holding its breath, waiting for the next storm to break.

Within the Root Division training grounds, torches flickered against the deep indigo sky. Shadows of warriors moved in sharp precision, striking, blocking, retreating, and countering under the watchful eyes of seasoned instructors. Yet amidst this disciplined chaos, Tian Shen trained alone.

The plateau stretched before him like an untouched battlefield. The same ground that had once trembled beneath his spear now felt like hardened stone, scars from the clash etched deep into the earth. He knelt by a broken pillar, fingertips tracing the faint scorch marks. His eyes, still shimmering with silver, held the same quiet fire they had the night he faced the foreign gauntlet.

"Your Core calls again," Elder Su’s voice came from behind him, calm yet impossible to ignore.

Tian Shen turned, inclining his head. "It always does."

Elder Su knelt beside him, his hand resting gently on the scarred ground. "Power unused festers, cultivator. But power unleashed without restraint devours itself."

Tian Shen’s jaw tightened. "I feel it tearing at me. It hungers."

"I know."

For a moment, neither spoke. The silence between them felt like a shared understanding, a space where words would only cheapen the truth.

"It feeds on fear," Elder Su continued softly. "Not your fear—but that of others. Every glance, every whisper, every uncertain heartbeat in the Sect feeds its fire."

Tian Shen closed his eyes briefly. He could feel it now: the subtle tremors of those around him, the weight of expectation, awe, and dread twisting through their hearts like hidden currents.

"How do I master it, then?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Elder Su’s eyes flickered with something deeper than knowledge—compassion. "You do not master it by ignoring the world. You master it by standing within it. Let their fear wash through you, not into you."

The words struck him with the clarity of lightning.

Tian Shen’s eyes opened, silver threads flaring. "Then I must not shut them out."

"Exactly."

The elder’s hand pressed briefly against Tian Shen’s shoulder, grounding him, before he rose to leave.

Tian Shen exhaled slowly, the core of his being shifting as if something long suppressed had been acknowledged rather than denied.

...

The next morning, Tian Shen’s routine changed. He no longer secluded himself in solitary training but invited others to spar at his side. The Root Division’s finest disciples gathered around him, weapons gleaming, eyes wide with reverence.

Feng Yin stood among them, arms crossed, lips curved in faint amusement. "You’ve decided to drag them into your storm after all."

Tian Shen met her gaze without flinching. "Storms cannot be fought from the center of silence."

Her eyes softened, but she said nothing more.

The drills grew harsher. Disciples pushed themselves to exhaustion under Tian Shen’s guidance, each move infused with deliberate focus. He corrected postures with precision, slowed breath patterns, and insisted on exercises that strengthened both body and mind. He drilled countermeasures to foreign qi formations, had them practice resisting illusionary spikes of dark energy, and taught them to steady their thoughts amid panic.

Even Elder Su, who rarely interfered, nodded approvingly from the sidelines.

The Root Division grew leaner, harder, more resolute.

But the price of discipline was visible.

By dusk, bruises bloomed across the faces and arms of the disciples. Many coughed from the exhaustion of pushing their qi too far. Some stared blankly at their weapons, minds scattered.

Tian Shen saw it. He did not relent.

"You will not break if you welcome the storm," he told them, his voice carrying calm steel. "The storm will come whether you are ready or not. Better to stand in its fury and hold than to cower and be swept away."

Feng Yin, standing nearby, exchanged a glance with Elder Su. Both knew the severity of what Tian Shen demanded—but they also recognized that the young commander’s fire was the only force that could ignite such transformation.

...

As the days stretched into weeks, Tian Shen’s inner struggle intensified.

At night, alone beneath the lantern tree, he sat in meditation. The silver flames within him flared unpredictably, sometimes calm and swirling like river currents, sometimes sharp and violent like splintering ice.

Dark whispers crawled along the edges of his mind. Shadow beasts half-formed, teeth glistening, their hollow eyes locked onto him. Old memories surfaced—images of lightning striking his body, of bone splitting beneath celestial weight, of fear suffocating breath.

He fought them, again and again.

Sometimes, he slammed his spear into the earth until stone cracked. Sometimes, he forced breath patterns to draw qi deeper into his core until it pulsed in perfect harmony with the earth’s pulse. Other nights, he let the whispers come, neither resisting nor embracing, allowing them to swirl and dissolve like mist.

It was not easy.

There were nights when rage nearly consumed him, nights when doubt clawed so deeply that he almost dropped his blade and let the core burn unchecked.

But always, Elder Su’s words returned.

"Stand within it."

And each time he did, the whispers lessened. His Core’s hunger, while never extinguished, no longer lapped at him with teeth bared.

...

The Sect’s scouts returned with harsher reports.

The foreigners had not only regathered but expanded their reach. Obelisks infused with alien energy sprouted along the borders, warlocks practiced rites unknown to Central lands, and entire caravans vanished without a trace.

Some claimed that the foreign leader’s wounds had been healed with forbidden techniques, and that he now bore marks not of man, but of artifact.

Sect Master Feilun convened the elders again.

"This is no longer a border skirmish," he declared. "It is an invasion."

Murmurs surged through the assembly like an angry wind.

Elder Mu gripped his staff. "Then let us call all Central Sects to arms."

Lian Hua frowned deeply. "To summon the larger sects is to invite scrutiny. We must cloak our defenses, prepare quietly, and strike only when the enemy exposes its heart."

Sect Master’s eyes turned toward Tian Shen.

"Your training has already begun, I hear. Report to us how prepared the Root Division is."

Tian Shen rose without hesitation.

"The Root Division drills harder than ever. Their bodies bear the strain, but their spirits remain intact. Their qi flows deeper now—some can already stabilize formations that once required elder supervision. They do not fear the dark edges of combat."

A silence followed his words, heavy but approving.

"But more than that," he continued, voice low but steady, "I have begun to teach them to welcome fear, to use it as fuel rather than poison. Our enemies will try to break them before they even reach the battlefield."

Elder Su smiled faintly. "Wisdom beyond years."

Sect Master nodded once. "Then we will stand with you."

...

The day before the new moon, Tian Shen trained until his spear arm shook with exhaustion. Sweat dripped from his brow, carving clean paths through the dust and grime that clung to his skin.

Feng Yin approached quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You’ve gone too far."

"I cannot stop now."

"Even mountains crack when struck without pause."

Tian Shen’s eyes, rimmed red, locked onto hers. "If I stop, the crack will not stop. If I hesitate, the storm will not wait."

She studied him, her lips parting, but no words came.

Instead, she bowed her head slightly and whispered, "Then let me stand beside you."

Tian Shen’s breath caught, but he only nodded.

From that night onward, she sparred at his side without question. Their movements became fluid and instinctive, each anticipating the other’s strikes before they were made.

Together, they drilled not just techniques, but resilience. Breathwork against panic. Synchronization of qi flows. Mental focus under sensory overload.

And each dawn, as the sun rose over the jagged ridges, the Root Division stood taller than before.

...

But somewhere beyond the borders, the foreigners gathered strength.

And the storm, once held at bay by discipline and resolve, began to swell again.

The mountain winds whispered of war. The skies darkened. The earth waited.

And Tian Shen, spear in hand, stood at the heart of it all—no longer afraid of the fire within him, but ready to let it roar.