CHAPTER 24: CHAPTER 24

"Hahahahah!" Ethan suddenly burst out laughing, his mirth echoing off the snow-swathed banks of Serene Mirror Lake.

The crisp winter air carried his voice far in every direction, momentarily startling birds in the distant reeds and silencing even the wind itself.

"Well said," he told them, his smile vanishing as abruptly as it had come, eyes sharpening to a glacial brilliance.

The four disciples stared at him as if he had gone mad, their confusion mounting with every heartbeat.

In the heavy silence, Ethan’s face, framed by his blue robe and shadowed bamboo hat, became something elemental—almost frightening in its calm.

But before any of them could muster a retort, Ethan, standing right before them, was simply... gone.

The wind whipped harder, snowflakes dancing violently across the lake road. The dazzling sun vanished again behind clouds, casting everything into a pale, bluish haze.

The world suddenly seemed wider, emptier. The disciples blinked, glancing at each other, uncertain.

"Where is he?" The junior male disciple spun in place, panic flashing in his eyes as he scanned the vacant path. All around them, there were only endless drifts of snow, fast wind drawing icy lines across the village, the flags above the practice arenas snapping restlessly.

Yet Ethan had disappeared as if melted into the very breath of winter.

"Be careful!" Max hissed, all previous bravado draining from his expression, replaced by hard, serious wariness.

The lake’s tranquility now seemed subtly menacing.

Then—an instinct, a crawling prickle down his spine.

"Behind!" Max whirled, every muscle in his body tensed. He couldn’t say how he knew—the feeling was just there, dreadful and absolute—a thorn pressed to the nape of his neck. Turning with a jolt, he caught the flicker of a black shadow darting from behind—a blurred shape frighteningly close.

The two young men moved instantly, hands flashing into seals, desperation breaking their smooth technique. They summoned their most powerful spiritual arts, swirling Qi half-formed around their bodies.

But Ethan’s voice, gentle and taunting, lilted through the snow.

"How are you guys so slow?" He appeared before them, movement so ghostly and fluid it defied all reason—one moment shadow, the next a man in flesh, standing inches away as if born from the air itself.

Amusement painted his face, there was no bloodlust, just the quiet superiority of a predator among stagglers.

Before either disciple could finish their arts, Ethan’s hands darted out in a blur, gripping both by the neck.

Max and the other disciple found themselves immobilized before they’d even gathered power, the scales of their fate tilting before their eyes.

Their Qi scattered, their bodies frozen.

"So fast, how is this possible..." Max gasped, voice choked with exasperation and disbelief.

"Let me go!" sputtered the younger man, claws raking uselessly at Ethan’s arms. His fingers dug in, knuckles whitening, but Ethan’s grip was iron. The younger disciple’s face darkened to a violent purple, feet kicking helplessly against the snow as he tried to move Ethan’s arm even a hair, only to find it utterly unyielding.

Both were in the middle stage of Core Formation. In the Azure Origin Dao Sect, such a realm was one of accomplishment—pride. Why, then, could they not even see Ethan move, or force his hand a fraction?

Bang!

In one smooth motion, Ethan slammed both of them into the frozen ground, the impact sending up plumes of snow. The ground cracked beneath the force, fine fissures running through stone and ice.

Fury flared in the junior’s eyes as he snarled through the pain.

"Ethan, you, a sinner from the outer sect, dare attack disciples of the inner sect? You will regret this!"

The two women shrank back, wary as deer, their breath quickening with fear.

They sidestepped, never taking their eyes off Ethan, now surrounded by the gust and hush of falling flakes.

Ethan stooped slightly, gaze soft but words as sharp as icicles.

"Why is it that you have so much courage to gossip behind someone’s back, but lose it all when you must face them?" He switched to a mocking tone, tilting his head.

"Take a taste of your own medicine. Isn’t that fair?"

Max, face pressed to the ground, struggled for composure.

"Ethan, it’s too late to back out now! You’ve offended Crimson Mist Peak. You can’t undo this!"

The older female disciple, reading the shift in tide, nudged her companion anxiously. "Let’s go!" she whispered, urging retreat.

Ethan, however, gave neither apologies nor threats.

Instead, he released his grip, straightened, and then, with the indifference of brushing off snow, lashed out with a precise, controlled kick to each man.

The impact sent both disciples tumbling, their bodies spinning several meters across the frosty path. Their landings were undignified—faces planted deep into banks of snow, only boots and the tips of their ears visible.

"You two junior sisters, do remember to open your eyes when seeking out a protector in the future," Ethan said quietly, amusement glinting in his eyes.

He dusted the snow off his hands with an absent-minded grace, turned his back on all four, and walked away into the swirl.

The serenity of the lake seemed to embrace him as he left, bamboo hat bobbing, blue robe trailing above the gleaming surface.

Stunned silence lingered where he had stood.

The younger female disciple remained rooted, mouth slightly open, watching Ethan’s retreat.

In over two years at the sect, she had never seen someone move so decisively, elegantly, and calmly—even in the face of provocation and slander.

With his barrel of fish slung in one hand, Ethan made his way again through the falling snow toward his hut. His thoughts, however, lingered on the arrogance of the so-called inner sect disciples.

Do these disciples think themselves invincible merely because the sect calls them "inner"? In the cultivation world, you never know when the beggar by the path is an immortal in disguise...and because of a single careless glance, he could wipe away your entire sect.

He reached the door of his hut and paused, mind flickering back through the confrontation.

Ten years of quiet cultivation had elevated him beyond what most here would ever comprehend. With the third layer of the Celestial Jade Physique Scripture attained, the system now assessed his raw strength at mid Soul Formation—a realm matching regular elders in Azure Origin Dao Sect, with his real combat ability, coupled with techniques and the Moonflood Scythe, extending far beyond.

Ethan stepped inside, closed the door gently against the cold, and sat cross-legged in the warmth of his room.