I Become Sect master In Another World-Chapter 156: Two Years Of Quite Growth
Two years later.
The Sanatan Flame Sect woke to the sound of wind moving through banners.
Saffron — gold fluttered along the stone pathways, their embroidered sudarshan chakra insignias catching the morning light as the sun climbed over the mountain peaks. Mist rolled lazily across the lower courtyards, drifting between training grounds and pavilions like a living thing, carrying the faint scent of incense, medicinal herbs, and freshly cut stone.
A bell rang.
Once.
Clear. Steady.
Not an alarm.
Not a summons.
Just morning.
Disciples emerged from their quarters in orderly lines, some stretching, some laughing quietly, others already focused—eyes sharp, breathing regulated. Their auras were stable. Dense. Controlled. Even the youngest among them radiated the presence of Core Formation cultivators.
Morning arrived quietly over the Sanatan Flame Sect.
Mist clung to the mountains like a thin veil, curling around stone pillars and tiled roofs. The rising sun painted the peaks in soft gold, light spilling down into courtyards where disciples were already moving—some practicing sword forms, others carrying bundles of herbs, their footsteps echoing faintly against the stone.
The sect felt... alive.
Not tense.
Not waiting.
Just alive.
In the central courtyard, a large group of disciples had gathered.
Steel rang against steel.
Luo Chen and Wang Tian stood opposite each other, blades clashing in rapid succession. Sparks flew as their swords collided, footwork precise, movements sharp but familiar—this wasn’t a duel born of rivalry, but of long-standing trust.
CLANG—!
Wang Tian twisted his wrist and knocked Luo Chen’s sword aside.
Luo Chen laughed and jumped back.
"Still cheating with that timing, huh?"
Wang Tian smirked.
"Skill issue."
Before Luo Chen could retort—
A pressure swept across the courtyard.
Not violent.
Not oppressive.
But undeniable.
The air itself seemed to still.
Swords froze mid-swing.
Disciples straightened instinctively.
Even Wang Tian’s smirk faded as he turned toward the main stone stairway leading down from the Main Hall.
Footsteps echoed.
Slow.
Measured.
Each step struck the stone with quiet authority, as if the mountain itself acknowledged the presence descending upon it.
A figure emerged through the morning mist.
Crimson.
That was the first thing everyone noticed.
A deep crimson outer robe, its fabric heavy and refined, edges embroidered with faint golden patterns that caught the sunlight with every movement. Beneath it, a clean white inner robe, pristine and simple, contrasting sharply against the darker tones.
His black robe pants flowed smoothly, secured by a wide belt engraved with a coiled dragon emblem, its eyes set with faint crimson crystals that glimmered as he walked.
Around his neck—
A silver OM pendant, resting against his chest, steady, unmoving, as if it had always belonged there.
Then came his hair.
Jet-black.
Slightly long.
Falling naturally toward his forehead in a clean, effortless style—sharp yet relaxed, framing his face in a way that made his gaze seem even more focused.
Korean-style.
Controlled.
Intentional.
Not a single strand out of place.
The morning light slid across his features, revealing calm eyes—deep, unreadable, carrying something heavier than cultivation alone.
Experience.
Pain.
And control.
Shaurya descended the stairs.
One step.
Then another.
The courtyard was silent now.
No whispers.
No gasps.
Just attention.
He stopped at the final step.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then—
He lifted his head.
Golden-brown eyes swept across the courtyard, not arrogantly, not dismissively—just seeing everything.
Disciples.
Elders.
His sect.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"Looks like I wasn’t late."
The tension shattered instantly.
"SECT MASTER—!"
Voices erupted from every direction.
Wang Tian laughed loudly and sheathed his sword.
"Tch. Always making an entrance."
Luo Chen clicked his tongue.
"Seriously. You couldn’t just walk in normally for once?"
Shaurya stepped forward, hands slipping casually into his robe pockets.
"Normal is boring," he replied. "New volume. New standards."
A few disciples exchanged excited glances.
Volume?
Elder Liya emerged from the side hall, her eyes scanning Shaurya from head to toe. For a brief moment, she paused—then nodded with clear satisfaction.
"Fully recovered," she said. "Physically and mentally."
Lin Shu appeared behind her.
She stopped the moment she saw him.
Not because she was surprised—
But because he looked... different.
Calmer.
Sharper.
Stronger.
Shaurya turned his head slightly, catching her gaze.
Their eyes met.
Just for a second.
He smiled.
Not dramatic.
Not loud.
Just for her.
Then he looked back at the courtyard.
"Two years," he said calmly.
"Seems like none of you wasted them."
Wang Tian crossed his arms.
"Coming from someone who barely cultivated, that’s rich."
Shaurya chuckled.
"Hey. Recovery is cultivation."
A ripple of laughter passed through the disciples.
Shaurya took one more step forward, standing fully in the center of the courtyard.
Crimson robe fluttering.
Dragon emblem gleaming.
OM pendant steady against his chest.
The Sanatan Flame Sect’s master—
Back.
And this time—
He wasn’t returning from chaos.
He was stepping into something new.
Two years.
Two full years of recovery.
Time did not rush the Sanatan Flame Sect.
It settled there.
Days passed not with thunder or blood, but with the soft rhythm of routine—morning bells echoing across the mountains, disciples practicing under rising sunlight, elders arguing over tea, and the slow growth of roots beneath fertile soil.
Two years passed like that.
Quietly.
Naturally.
And for the first time in a long while—
Shaurya allowed it.
[Year One]
Shaurya’s recovery was not dramatic.
There were no grand breakthroughs, no sudden bursts of aura shaking the sect.
Instead—
There was silence.
Mornings where he sat on the stone veranda outside his residence, wearing simple robes, sipping bitter medicinal tea while staring at the drifting clouds.
And Lin Shu.
Always Lin Shu.
"Drink it properly."
Shaurya grimaced at the bowl she held out.
"It smells like punishment."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Shaurya."
He sighed.
"...Yes."
"Drink."
The master of Sanatan Flame Sect—
The man who had crushed dangerous to dangerous Cultivators and shattered kingdom, secret realm—
Took the bowl with both hands and drank quietly.
Not a single complaint.
Lorgann, perched on a nearby pillar in his smaller form, watched with molten eyes gleaming.
"So," the dragon rumbled softly, "this is the one who controls you."
Shaurya shot him a look.
Lin Shu didn’t even glance his way.
"She’s the one keeping you alive," she said calmly. "There’s a difference."
Shaurya coughed.
"I didn’t say anything."
She placed a hand on his chest, feeling his breathing, her expression serious.
"No reckless cultivation. No overuse of techniques. No ’I’ll be fine’ lies."
He nodded obediently.
"Yes, Doctor Lin."
She frowned.
"...Don’t be sarcastic."
"Yes, Doctor Lin," he repeated immediately, straight-faced.
She failed to suppress a small smile.
While Shaurya rested, the sect did not.
It grew.
Courtyards that once echoed with uncertainty now rang with confidence. Disciples trained harder—not because they were ordered to, but because they had seen what lay beyond.
The secret realm had carved something into them.
Fear.
Awe.
Ambition.
Wang Tian and Luo Chen didn’t changed a bit, they both still are inseparable—sparring partners who broke training dummies weekly and argued loudly over whose sword path was superior.
"It’s clearly power through precision."
"It’s clearly precision through power."
"Same thing."
"Not the same thing!"
Elder Feng Yu and An Ning, however—
Were far worse.
Two swordsmen.
Two monsters.
Two stubborn philosophies.
They spent hours debating blade intent, footwork, breathing, and timing—arguments often ending with their swords halfway drawn before Elder Liya kicked them out of the training grounds.
"Take it outside," she snapped once. "Or take it to the sparring field like civilized lunatics."
They did.
The mountain trembled.
Frequently.
If there was one place that changed the most—
It was the medicinal garden.
Elder Hua treated it like sacred land.
She redesigned the layout, introduced new cultivation arrays, and personally planted herbs she had only read about before. Rows of glowing spiritual plants swayed gently under protective formations.
She spoke to them.
Argued with them.
Scolded disciples who stepped too close.
"Do you know how rare that root is?" she snapped at one unlucky disciple. "You will destroy it by stepping on it."
Shaurya visited often.
Not to interfere.
Just to sit nearby, watching her work.
"This place suits you," he said once.
She didn’t look up.
"I know."
Shadow Blade An Ning never left.
At first, disciples were cautious.
Then curious.
Then respectful.
He didn’t demand authority.
Didn’t enforce fear.
He taught.
Quietly.
Relentlessly.
Disciples who trained under him came out exhausted, bruised—and sharper than before.
One evening, he stood with Shaurya on the outer wall of the sect, watching the sun sink behind the mountains.
"You built something strange," An Ning said.
Shaurya smiled faintly.
"I didn’t build it alone."
An Ning nodded.
"I know."
Lorgann blended into the sect faster than anyone expected.
Especially after meeting Dragzard.
Two dragons.
Same ancestry.
Different paths.
They didn’t fight.
They talked.
About bloodlines. Instinct. Pride. Survival.
Sometimes they trained together, shaking the mountains.
Sometimes they simply lay across opposite peaks, basking in the sun like ancient kings watching over their domain.
"This place," Lorgann admitted once, "is... acceptable."
Shaurya laughed.
[ Year Two ]
Only after Lin Shu finally declared—
"You’re healed. Completely."
Did Shaurya begin cultivating again.
Slowly.
Patiently.
No forcing.
No shortcuts.
He cultivated beneath moonlight, surrounded by quiet, letting spiritual energy flow naturally rather than command it.
Months passed.
Nothing happened.
Then—
One night—
A soft shift.
No explosion.
No storm.
Just a deep, resonant click in his core.
Spirit Lord Level 1.
Shaurya opened his eyes and smiled.
"That took longer than expected."
Lin Shu, sitting nearby with a book, didn’t look up.
"Good."
Evenings became shared meals.
Tea on the veranda.
Arguments over nonsense.
Laughter echoing down hallways.
Once, Shaurya returned late from Blue stone city.
Lin Shu stood at the doorway, arms crossed.
"You promised you’d be back before sunset."
"...The sunset was flexible."
She stared.
He lowered his gaze.
"Sorry."
She sighed and stepped aside.
"Dinner’s cold."
He smiled.
Worth it.
Two Years Later
Then—
A familiar presence stirred.
A translucent window unfolded before his eyes, golden holographic window.
Not abrupt.
Not intrusive.
Almost... polite.
Ding—
> System:
Hello, Host.
I hope you are doing well.
You look suspiciously relaxed for someone who nearly shattered a secret realm two years ago.
Shaurya snorted softly.
"Don’t start."
> System:
I’m not starting.
I’m summarizing.
The window expanded.
Golden lines formed neatly.
> System:
After two years of recovery, questionable laziness, emotional rehabilitation (credits to Lin Shu),
and a sect-wide increase in motivation bordering on obsession—
here is the Sanatan Flame Sect Growth Summary.
Shaurya straightened slightly.
> System: 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮
Let’s begin with the usual troublemakers.
Wang Tian — Nascent Soul Level 6
> Ruthless when training.
Loud when complaining.
Still refuses to admit Luo Cheng keeps pace with him.
Shaurya smirked.
Luo Cheng — Nascent Soul Level 6
> Calm. Precise.
Pretends not to care.
Cares the most.
Xiao Rui — Nascent Soul Level 4
Yan Chen — Nascent Soul Level 4
> Efficient. Stable.
No explosions.
I’m mildly disappointed.
Muo Qian — Nascent Soul Level 3
Su Quan — Nascent Soul Level 3
> Quiet cultivators.
Sharp instincts.
Terrifying when ignored.
Lee Bie — Golden Vein Stage Level 12
Zong Bu — Golden Vein Stage Level 12
Cheng Fang — Golden Vein Stage Level 12
> Stuck at the peak.
Complaining loudly.
One breakthrough away from becoming unbearable.
Shaurya chuckled quietly.
Lu Fang — Nascent Soul Level 1
Sheng Lu — Nascent Soul Level 1
> Recently ascended.
Still touching their dantians every morning
to confirm it’s real.
> System:
Current lowest disciples:
Core Formation Stage.
Yes, Host.
Even the weakest ones stopped embarrassing you.
Shaurya sighed.
"Finally."
Elders
The window shifted.
Tone subtly changed.
More... respectful.
Elder Wu — Nascent Soul Level 6
> Loud voice.
Bigger heart.
Still overprotective.
Elder Jian Fan — Nascent Soul Level 4
> Slow growth.
Solid foundation.
Will outlast most.
Elder Wan — Nascent Soul Level 8
> Alchemy Master. Currently studying formations.
Still studying your formations when he thinks you’re asleep.
Shaurya blinked.
"...He what?"
> System:
Don’t worry.
He is a hardworking man.
Elder Liya — Nascent Soul Level 8
> Mentally stable.
Emotionally dangerous.
Still correct.
Always.
Shaurya smiled faintly.
Elder Hua — Nascent Soul Level 8
> Medicinal garden expansion:
Successful.
Emotional attachment to herbs:
Concerning.
Elder Feng Yu — Nascent Soul Level 10
> Sword intent refined.
Sparring partner found.
Elder An Ning — Spirit Lord Level 4
The window paused for half a second.
> System:
Swordsmanship: terrifying.
Loyalty: confirmed.
Occasionally pretends not to care.
Fails miserably.
Shaurya exhaled through his nose.
Special Entities
> System:
Lorgann:
Fully integrated with sect guardian beasts.
Particularly bonded with Primordial Dragon Dragzard.
Conclusion:
The sky would burn if they argued.
The window slowly shrank.
> System:
Final evaluation—
A golden seal appeared.
> Sanatan Flame Sect Status:
Thriving.
Stability: High
Loyalty: Absolute
Potential: Dangerous
Shaurya stared at the night sky again.
Silent.
Satisfied.
> System:
Oh—and Host?
"...Yes?"
> System:
You only reached Spirit Lord Level 1 because Lin Shu wouldn’t let you cultivate recklessly.
You should thank her.
Shaurya smiled.
"...I know."
The system window faded.
The sect lights flickered softly below.
The Sanatan Flame Sect stood stronger than ever.
Not just in cultivation—
But in spirit.
The sun rose gently.
Golden light spilled across the peaks, creeping down stone walls and tiled roofs until the entire sect glowed with warmth.
Wind moved gently through the mountain passes.
High above the sect, on the roof of the Main Sect Hall, Shaurya stood alone.
Hands tucked into the pockets of his crimson outer robe.
The white inner robe beneath it fluttered faintly, the black robe pants moving with each breath of wind. The dragon-emblem belt caught sunlight briefly, then dimmed again. The silver OM necklace rested against his chest, cool and still.
His hair fell naturally toward his forehead, strands shifting with the breeze—unrestrained, unforced. Not the hairstyle of a warrior preparing for battle.
Just a man standing under the sky.
Below him—
The wind carried voices.
Laughter.
Commands.
Steel striking steel.
Below him, the sect was alive.
Disciples trained in open courtyards, sweat-soaked and determined. Some practiced formations, others sparred in pairs, blades flashing in controlled arcs.
An elder corrected footwork.
Another demonstrated sword flow.
Lorgann’s distant presence could be felt, vast and calm, watching over everything like a silent guardian.
The medicinal garden shimmered with life.
The training grounds echoed with effort.
The sect breathed.
Shaurya watched it all quietly.
No pride.
No hunger.
Just understanding.
This... was what he had fought for.
He turned his face slightly toward the sky.
The wind tugged at his robes again.
And for a moment—
Everything was exactly as it should be.
But peace doesn’t last long.
To Be Continued...
