Blossoming Path-254. A Rising Wind

How long had it been since his heart thrummed like this?

Not from fear. Not quite from joy. But the brutal, undeniable rhythm of battle, hammering against his ribs like a war drum.

Once, he would have taken it in stride. Let it pass like wind through leaves. He's faced greater numbers. Greater foes.

But now it roared in his ears. A crashing tide, relentless and deafening.

He stood at the edge of the field, the scent of blood sharp in his nose, the ground slick with mud and viscera. His robes fluttered in the gusts he summoned; gales that swirled around him like old companions answering a call. But they could not drown out the sensation crawling up his spine.

He could not see them. But he could feel them.

Killing intent. Heavy. Focused. From every direction, it pressed inward, oppressive as a rising tide, thick as smoke in a sealed room. It was not chaotic like most skirmishes.

He adjusted his grip on the hook swords. The hilts were already slick from his palms. Not with sweat.

He’d gripped them too tightly.

He forced his grip to loosen. If he kept squeezing like that, the blades would draw blood from his own hands before the enemy even reached him.

A voice cut through the tension.

The same voice as before, the Envoy who had spoken of the Phoenix Tears.

“I’ll handle this.”

Ren Zhi didn’t need eyes to know which one of them was stepping forward.

Even before the first footfall, he could feel the change in the wind. The air warped, thickened, turned sharp at the edges.

It would not be an easy fight. This was the kind that asked for your life.

His body wanted to stall. His instincts screamed to wait. But his feet didn’t stop. The winds around him raged, buffeting outward in tempestuous waves; not to drive the enemy back, but to carry his doubts away.

He walked forward through the gale.

The only warning came as a displacement in the air.

A ripple. Subtle. Instant.

He spun, just as the strike came.

The impact of it was like a mountain falling from the sky. His wind shattered under the blow, exploding behind him in a sudden backdraft that cracked the ground. He barely avoided it. The air tore at his robes.

The next strike came faster.

Long. Heavy. Sharp enough to scream through the wind. Not a spear. Not quite a sword.

He moved on instinct. His right hook sword lashed outward, curving upward in a vicious arc meant to cleave the figure in two—

CLANG!

His strike was stopped. The weapon met his blade mid-air. The impact rang like thunder.

Ren Zhi’s knees bent from the force.

And in that clash, he understood.

Too heavy. Too blunt. Not meant to slice, but to crush. In that single clash, he realized what weapon he was dealing with.

The impact echoed across the battlefield like a funeral bell.

Even from where I stood, I felt it in my bones.

The Envoy tore his weapon free from the cracked earth, before crossing it over with a second, identical one.

It gleamed dully in the waning light, thick as my forearm and segmented like a spine. A hunk of brutal metal meant not to cut, but to shatter. A swordbreaker.

Ren Zhi’s weapons, delicate as they were deadly, were at a disadvantage from the very first strike. Something so thin and light couldn't clash with a weapon like that.

Another ring of steel.

Another clash.

The air warped under the pressure of their blows.

And then—

Screams.

A cluster of cultists broke from the pack, eyes bloodshot and wild. They didn’t charge the front lines.

They charged past them.

Straight toward the villagers, still fleeing and only halfway through the village. Where the children and elderly were lagging behind.

“No—!”

I moved to intercept, hands already reaching for my pouch. But I was too far. Too slow.

Ren Zhi was already moving to stop them.

He stepped forward, a blur of wind and metal.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from novelbuddy. Please report it.

But before he could take a second step, a black shadow slammed into him. The scarred Envoy. A backhanded strike with the swordbreaker to drive him back.

I turned, ready to throw a vial until something slammed into my ribs like a hammer made of stone.

CRACK.

The breath was knocked from my lungs. I hit the ground hard, tumbling once, twice, dirt in my mouth, stars behind my eyes.

Pain bloomed across my side. Deep. Gnawing. That wasn’t a normal strike. It permeated through the Sevenfold Essence Chains hidden under my robes and into my body.

I looked up—

And saw the third one.

The third hooded figure.

He stepped through the settling dust, slow, deliberate, then tugged the hood back from his face.

Shaggy hair. Young features. A lean face not much older than mine.

But his eyes weren’t human. No sclera. Just black. Glossy like ink, and in the center, red pupils burned like embers.

“The one with the Phoenix Tears.” He said, muttering in a low voice.

He grinned.

“I’ll rip it out of your corpse.”

I scrambled to my feet, coughing, hand already moving through mud and blood for my next concoction.

He lunged—

I barely blocked, forearms crossing as his fist slammed into my guard.

Even with qi reinforcing my gauntlets, my arms screamed in protest.

Too fast.

Too strong.

I pushed him back just enough to create space. My thoughts raced.

His physique, it was superior. By a terrifying margin.

I tried to keep my eyes on him, but chaos pulled my gaze.

Ren Zhi was still locked with the swordbreaker-wielding Envoy, trading blows that split the very air. His focus was divided between the cultists trying to push through and the demon in front of him.

To the side, Tianyi and Windy launched themselves toward the lullaby singer; the one still knelt, still singing that cursed melody.

But a wall of cultists barred their path.

I couldn’t see more.

Because the next strike came.

I ducked low, feeling the whistle of air as a heel sliced over my head. A follow-up punch blurred into view; no time to block, only roll. I hit the dirt, pivoted, and lashed out with a wild kick.

It landed flush on his face. With enough force to crack stone. But his eyes remained unblinking as he pushed through my blow.

"HAHA!"

He grabbed my leg and tossed me over his shoulder, crashing into a house Li Wei just built for the refugees. I crashed through the wooden wall like a thrown log, splinters exploding around me. The world flipped, then stopped. Hard. The floorboards cracked beneath me. My vision spun. Pain lanced up my back. I touched it gingerly to assess the damage.

My fingers came away slick with blood.

The floor groaned.

I turned my head just in time to see him leap through the hole in the wall.

A blur of muscle and madness.

I rolled sideways as his foot slammed down where my ribs had just been, splintering the floorboards through to the support beams.

I couldn’t match him blow for blow. Every strike felt like a hammer trying to turn my bones to powder. I devoted every single one of my senses to just surviving. I couldn't keep reacting; I had to make a move.

I steadied my breathing. Slow. Deep. Four counts, held for two, then exhaled through my nose.

Cycle the qi. In through the core. Out through the limbs.

I activated the Heavenly Mantra Flame.

A faint heat spread from my chest to my limbs; not an eruption, but a controlled burn, coiling around my veins like a second pulse. My nerves sharpened. Muscles coiled tighter. The blood loss dulled for a moment beneath the heat.

The Envoy moved again. Faster than before. Just as fast as Tianyi. But this time I was ready.

The brief exchange had given me insight.

His angle. The way his shoulder tensed. The telegraphed flicker in his wrist. He was strong, frighteningly so; but predictable. Still raw in terms of technique.

Refinement Simulation Technique provided me with a ghosted image of his next blow, appearing a split second before the real one followed.

I dived forward.

Met the strike before it reached its apex. Let it glance off the gauntlet—

Then twisted my body with the momentum, redirecting the force around me; the first principle of the Bamboo Reprisal Counter.

The Envoy’s balance staggered for just a blink.

I drove both palms forward. Double palm strike.

My flames surged with the impact.

BOOM!

My palms left a clear imprint on his chest, and his body hurtled back through the hole he’d made, crashing out of the house like a kicked drum.

The wall collapsed behind him.

Don’t waste an opening. Never waste an opening.

I surged after him, drawing qi into my legs.

My soles flared with flame. A brief jet, a burst—

I shot out of the house, a streak of heat trailing behind me. From above, I saw his body crashing into the earth, a long groove torn through the dirt.

I didn’t hesitate.

At the apex of my leap, I invoked the Rooted Banyan Stance.

Gravity answered. My qi compressed into my heel. The air cracked around me.

I came down like a meteor, roaring toward the hazy form below, and drove my foot into his chest with the full weight of heaven and earth behind it.

The ground cratered. A shockwave blasted outward. Dirt, stone, splinters; everything scattered.

But I didn’t get the satisfaction of a clean hit.

A crude cross guard that bore the full weight of my dropkick.

Rivulets of crimson poured from his forehead, trailing down the bridge of his nose. His forearms were lacerated, bones likely cracked beneath the skin, and yet his eyes still held the tell-tale light of fanaticism.

I could feel it; a hitch in my breathing. A subtle tightening in my chest.

As he shifted his stance and grinned through blood-slick teeth, I felt the primal urge to flee.

He dragged my leg with him.

I hadn’t even realized he was still holding it.

I yanked—once, twice. No give. His grip was like stone. He was dragging me, rising, like a corpse refusing the grave.

He wrenched me down.

I twisted to throw a punch, but he lunged first—

Both hands open, clawing toward my chest.

I managed to twist, trying to duck under, but he adjusted mid-motion. Too fast. His mouth opened. I caught a glimpse of jagged teeth, canines unnaturally long—

And then pain.

White-hot, blinding.

His jaws latched onto my shoulder, just between the base of my neck and collarbone, teeth sinking in deep. I screamed. My body arched.

Only my instinctual trigger of the Rooted Banyan Stance saved me; otherwise, he would’ve torn my throat out in one bite.

Still, I felt his fangs puncture. Blood erupted, gushing freely down my arm and chest. He thrashed like a beast, trying to rip away.

I released the stance before he could. Used the momentum to twist my arms up, and jammed both burning hands against his face and neck.

My flames poured into his eyes, his cheeks, the inside of his mouth. I couldn't hold my breathing technique and poured all I had to making my flames as intense as possible.

The stench of burning flesh filled the air.

He tore away, howling, half-blind, black smoke curling from his face. His hands flailed wildly, claws tearing gouges in the dirt as he staggered back.

But I was worse. My arm hung limp. Blood poured down my side in sheets, soaking my robes. My vision wavered.

We were both wounded. The intensity of the heat was enough to damage my own palms.

I took two shaky steps back.

He was already recovering; grunting through the pain, face a blistered ruin but muscles coiling to spring again.

If I tried to fight him head-on again, I’d die. It wouldn’t be a matter of if, just when.

I fumbled through my pouch with a bloody hand.

Smoke vial. Itching powder.

I threw them both.

The vial shattered mid-air with a sharp hiss, and a billowing cloud of grey smoke exploded outward. At the same time, fine pale dust swirled through the air, clinging to exposed skin and clothes alike.

I expected it to buy me seconds. That was the hope.

A heartbeat to breathe. A step to reposition. But even through the haze, I saw movement.

A shadow barreling forward; straight through the smoke. Eyes still black. Still unblinking.

The smoke clung to his skin, but he didn’t flinch.

His gaze locked on mine, unerring.

Until it snapped—sharply—to the side.

And just like that, he stopped.

A silver crescent slashed through the haze where his neck had been a moment earlier, carving a deep gouge into the ground.

A hook sword.

Another followed, spinning end-over-end, the wind singing around its edge before embedding itself into a nearby support beam. A gust of wind blew the smoke and itching powder away.

Ren Zhi stepped into view like the closing of a door.

His robes were ragged. His hair soaked with sweat and blood. A fresh wound marked his brow, dripping crimson into one blind eye.

“I’ll buy you time,” he said flatly, as if it were obvious.

As if he knew I was stalling for something. Knew I wasn’t ready.

Without breaking stride, he hooked the second blade with the curve of the first, flung it into the air, then caught the chain mid-spin and ripped it downward.

It struck the ground with a thunderous crack, kicking up a wall of dust and smoke between us. He dove forward with both blades flashing.

Into two Envoys.

My legs moved before I could think.

I ran.

Stumbled. Nearly fell.

Fumbled through my satchel with shaking fingers.

Essence Purifying Elixir. Recovery pill.

The vial burned as I poured it over the worst of my wounds. The pill was bitter enough to make my vision swim. But I needed it. Even a sliver of strength, anything that could keep me upright for another few minutes.

My steps steadied.

The pain didn’t fade, but the edges dulled.

I caught sight of Xu Ziqing through the smoke, still coordinating our front line, parrying strikes between breathless commands.

“Ziqing!” I shouted, forcing my voice to carry.

He turned, brow furrowed, one side of his robe torn and singed.

“Support Ren Zhi!” I barked. “I need time. He can’t hold both of them alone!”

He gave a sharp whistle, loud enough to cut through the chaos, and the scattered formation pivoted like a school of fish. Han Chen, Yu Long, Jian Feng, the Verdant Lotus disciples—those who could still stand—fell into step behind him.

Their front line collapsed inward, folding toward the village center where Ren Zhi clashed with the two Envoys, kicking up a veritable storm in his wake.

The cultists surged forward like starved dogs, shrieking in victory, mistaking the maneuver for panic. They flooded in, numbers swelling to fill the open ground between shattered buildings and broken fences.

I glanced past the edge of the battlefield, heart stuttering.

Tianyi and Windy. Still fighting.

Their forms streaked through the air, blurs of light and color; Tianyi’s wings carving arcs of shimmering wind, Windy’s tail sweeping through three cultists in a blur. The lullaby singer’s mouth opened again, but Windy snapped forward, fangs burying into her shoulder.

The melody stopped. I glanced over at the rest of the battlefield.

Three cultists lay dead. But so did two disciples. Their robes were soaked in blood. One had fallen face-down in the mud, the other still upright, kneeling—but unmoving.

I grit my teeth. I had to make it count. Couldn't let their sacrifice be in vain.

I reached into my storage ring.

The object burned against my palm.

The Phoenix Tears.

I drew it out.

The air shifted.

Every eye turned.

The battlefield stilled for half a second, just long enough to hear my voice.

“YOU WANT IT?”

I raised the Phoenix Tears above my head.

The artifact pulsed, light flaring like a miniature sun, casting long shadows over bloodied earth.

“THEN COME TAKE IT FROM ME!”