CHAPTER 75: FIRST SECT MISSION II

Beside her sat a slender youth in pale blue, his hair bound with silver thread, his eyes sharp as a hawk’s. A Clear Sky Pavilion jade token hung from his belt, its cool aura spilling faint traces of water qi.

Opposite him, lounging carelessly with one leg over the side, was a broad-shouldered man clad in dark bronze armor. The emblem of the Iron-Blood Hall gleamed on his chest, his rough smile betraying a restless hunger for battle.

Lastly, a quiet figure sat near the edge—a woman dressed in gray and white, robes simple but flawless. Her presence was serene, yet the faint shimmer around her hands suggested control of wind qi. She bore the insignia of the elusive Heavenly Whisper Sect.

The servant bowed again. "Five chosen guests of the road’s front. Each of you represents strength and honor upon this journey. Together, you share the guard of the leading seat."

Tian Lei gave a soft hum in reply, his gaze drifting across the four. Flames, water, steel, and wind—four different paths, four different prides. He stepped up into the pavilion, cloak stirring with the morning wind, and took his place among them.

The great horn of the caravan sounded again, deeper this time. Wagons creaked forward, Cloud Cranes spread their wings, and the long serpent of travelers began its crawl from Red Heaven City’s gates into the wild roads beyond.

Danger—or fortune—waited ahead.

The steady rumble of wagon wheels filled the silence, broken only by the soft screech of harnessed Cloud Cranes. The five of them sat in the pavilion, close enough to touch shoulders, yet none had spoken a word. The air was taut—like unsheathed blades resting edge to edge.

Tian Lei finally let out a soft chuckle.

"Seems this seat would remain quieter than a tomb if no one speaks. Allow me, then." He inclined his head slightly, his tone calm but firm. "Tian Lei, of the Azure Feather Sect."

His words seemed to loosen the knots in the air.

The woman in scarlet robes was first to answer, lips curving into a faint, prideful smile. "Huo Yanyan, Crimson Flame Sect. Best remember it. Fire burns bright, and brighter still when tested." Her eyes lingered on Tian Lei for a beat longer than necessary, as if measuring how easily he might catch fire.

The youth in pale blue folded his hands politely, voice cool as rippling water. "Shui Han, Clear Sky Pavilion. The sect of rivers and rain. Unlike others, we don’t boast—we prove." His gaze slid to Huo Yanyan with thinly veiled disdain.

The armored man barked a laugh, armor plates rattling. "Ha! Iron-Blood Hall doesn’t need flowery words." He slapped a hand against his chest. "Zhang Wu, frontline warrior. I crush enemies and drink wine. That’s all you need to know."

The last was the quiet woman in gray. She lifted her gaze only slightly, her tone soft as drifting wind. "Bai Lian, Heavenly Whisper Sect. We are... wanderers of the unseen path." Her presence was gentle, yet even her whisper carried weight, as if the wind itself bent to her voice.

For a moment, the five of them sat together—fire, water, steel, wind, and Tian Lei’s own unseen current—acknowledging one another not as strangers, but as pieces of the same dangerous journey.

The caravan rattled forward, leaving Red Heaven City’s crimson gates behind.

The days that followed passed in a steady rhythm.

At dawn, the caravan master’s horn would sound, and the long line of wagons, spirit beasts, and riders would roll out. By day, they followed the winding trade road—sometimes flanked by forest, other times cutting across barren red hills. The caravan itself was a moving fortress: wagons reinforced with spirit steel, guards riding Cloud Cranes overhead, disciples from different sects flanking the flanks with wary eyes.

At first, the five in the front pavilion kept their distance—polite words, brief glances, little else. But the monotony of travel wore down formality.

By the second day, Zhang Wu had already challenged Shui Han to a contest of strength, flexing his arm until the wood of the pavilion creaked. Shui Han responded by condensing a thread of water around his wrist, showing control sharp enough to cut the skin of a peach without spilling its juice. The match ended with Zhang Wu’s booming laughter and Shui Han’s faint smirk—no winner, but no hostility either.

Huo Yanyan often teased Tian Lei, tossing sparks from her palm to "light his way" when night fell. Yet, when she saw him spend hours in quiet meditation instead of showing off, her jabs slowly softened into curiosity.

Bai Lian remained the quietest, speaking only when necessary, but her presence was steady—like a soft lantern glow. Sometimes, when the night winds howled too sharply, her faint voice would drift like a lullaby through the tents, calming restless spirit beasts and disciples alike.

By the fifth night, the group had formed an easy habit: after the campfires were lit and the wagons circled into a protective ring, they would gather near their pavilion, sharing dried rations and tea. They spoke of sect rumors, of trials they had endured, even of trivial things—favorite wines, or how many spirit stones they owed their masters.

The awkward silence of their first meeting was long gone.

Now, there was laughter in the air, the occasional clash of sparring, and the faint sense that, though they hailed from rival sects, the road itself was weaving their threads closer together.

The caravan creaked on under the moonlight, campfires glowing like scattered stars across the wilds. Danger had yet to show itself, but in the lull of travel, bonds were quietly being forged.

The seventh night of the journey was eerily still.

The wagons had been circled, campfires banked low, and most of the disciples lay in their bedrolls, lulled by the steady crackle of embers and the distant hoots of night owls. Only the guards on watch kept their eyes sharp, silhouettes pacing the outer ring with weapons glinting under the moonlight.

Then—

SHRIEK!

A piercing cry ripped through the night sky, sharp enough to rattle the ears. The ground quivered a heartbeat later, as if something massive had landed just beyond the treeline.

The guards whipped their heads around. "Beast attack—!" one shouted, only for a shadow to blur across the camp. A black, scythe-like claw slashed him down before his sword even left the sheath.

Chaos erupted. Disciples scrambled to their feet, half-awake, qi surging wildly. Wagons rattled as spirit beasts strained against their bindings, neighing and screeching in terror.

From the darkness, shapes lunged—hulking wolf-like figures, their fur bristling with crimson flame. Their eyes burned blood-red, their howls sending shivers through marrow. These were not mere spirit beasts. They were corrupted—blood-fed fiends.

The first line of guards was torn apart in breaths. Screams filled the air, steel clashed against fangs, fire met fur. Yet the beasts came in waves, unrelenting.

At the front pavilion, the five disciples were already rising.

Tian Lei snapped awake the instant the shriek tore through the air. His eyes glowed faintly with killing intent as he rose, hand brushing the hilt of his new sword. With one smooth motion, he stepped past the flap of the pavilion tent and took in the scene.

"Corrupted beasts," he muttered, voice calm but edged like a blade. "So, they’ve found us."

Zhang Wu was already up, bare-handed, cracking his knuckles with a grin that belied the carnage. "Finally, something to smash."

Shui Han flicked his wrist, a thin stream of water coiling around his fingers before solidifying into a gleaming spear. His gaze was cold, calculating.

Huo Yanyan’s lips curved in a dangerous smile as flame licked along her fingertips. "They picked the wrong caravan to feast on."

Even Bai Lian stirred, stepping lightly onto the dirt, her expression unreadable, but her qi flowing like a steady current beneath the calm surface.

Together, the five stood at the forefront of the chaos, their presence steady as the rest of the camp dissolved into fear.

The next corrupted beast lunged from the shadows, fangs wide and dripping. Its crimson fire lit the night—

—and Tian Lei’s sword flashed, cutting the light in half.

The night burned alive with chaos.

Tian Lei’s blade cut through the first wolf-beast like lightning, its corrupted flames scattering into ash. Yet for every body that fell, three more shadows lunged from the trees. Their claws raked, their fangs snapped, their howls thundered against the campfires.

The disciples fanned out instinctively.

Zhang Wu barreled forward, fists glowing with golden qi. His first punch landed like a hammer, blasting a wolf several paces back, its ribs crushed flat. "HA! Come again!" he roared, spinning on his heel to smash another with a backhand that left a crater in the earth.

Shui Han’s spear blurred like water rushing down a mountain stream. Each thrust pierced a beast’s skull or throat with chilling precision, and his voice rang low. "Stay calm. Don’t waste your qi on panic strikes. Flow like the current."

Flames ignited the camp next. Huo Yanyan raised both hands, her fire spiraling upward before raining down in a volley of blazing feathers. Every strike lit fur and blood aflame, forcing the wolves into frenzied howls. Her laughter echoed with the crackle of fire. "Burn! Dance for me!"