The Duskwither Clan's inner court pulsed with unease.
By midday, word of the duel had spread like wildfire—whispers slipped through courtyards and echoed down stone corridors. Servants bowed lower, disciples spoke in hushed tones, and the elders retreated into private meetings that lasted for hours.
Li Rong walked the central path of the clan estate with deliberate calm, his hands tucked into his sleeves, his face unreadable. But inside, his thoughts burned like kindling.
A disciple was crippled. That wasn't just a duel. It was a warning.
The Second Elder, Li Qian, was testing the limits—probing how far he could go. And by allowing his grandson to brutalize a lesser disciple in public, he had sent a message to the rest of the clan.
The faction war is no longer brewing. It has begun.
Li Rong paused outside a training hall, where Ren Yao waited nervously.
"You heard?" Li Rong asked.
Ren nodded quickly. "Everyone has. Elder Jian hasn't left the council chamber all day. They're divided. Some say the boy who lost deserved it. Others are furious."
"Where's the boy now?"
Ren hesitated. "Dead."
Silence fell.
Li Rong's expression didn't change, but his jaw tightened. Another casualty. Another chess piece sacrificed to stir the board.
He turned. "Tell Li Xue to meet me at the northern courtyard after sunset. Quietly. No one else."
Ren blinked. "You're going to move against them now?"
"No," Li Rong said softly. "Not yet. First, I gather those who will never betray me. Then, we begin."
That evening, snow fell again.
The northern courtyard, far from the central halls, was cold and quiet. Frost glazed the stone tiles, and the air was sharp with the scent of pine and steel.
Li Xue arrived alone, cloak drawn tightly around her shoulders. Her breath steamed in the cold.
"You think someone's watching?" she asked.
Li Rong didn't answer right away. He stared into the dark forest beyond the compound wall. His voice came low, almost a whisper.
"There are always eyes."
Li Xue stepped closer. "You called me here for a reason. Not just to talk about politics."
Li Rong turned to face her. "You're one of the few I trust. One of the few strong enough to follow me without flinching."
He extended his hand—and in his palm, black light flickered.
A moment later, his figure blurred, vanishing and reappearing a full ten steps behind her with a wisp of dark afterimage trailing behind.
Li Xue's eyes widened. "That… that's your ability."
"Shadowstep," he confirmed. "It allows me to dash instantly in a direction, leaving behind a blur. It's precise. Cold. Perfect for killing or escape."
She said nothing for a moment. Then:
"How far can you go?"
"About five meters. Maybe a little more with focus. Cooldown's short—but if I overuse it, my energy burns too fast."
Li Xue's expression was unreadable, but a strange fire lit in her eyes. "That ability... it's terrifying."
Li Rong stepped forward again. "You must keep it secret. Only you and Ren know. Li Jian suspects. But as long as I stay quiet, the others will guess blindly."
"I understand."
He stared at her for a long moment. "If you ever need to walk away, do it now. Once we move, there's no turning back."
She met his gaze without blinking. "You're not the only one with something to prove."
Elsewhere in the clan, another meeting took place—one far more dangerous.
Within a hidden chamber beneath the eastern wing, lit by lanterns and shrouded in incense smoke, Lin Feng knelt before his grandfather, Second Elder Li Qian.
"You did well," the old man said, his voice deep and graveled. "But your next move must be sharper. Bolder."
Lin Feng's eyes gleamed. "Li Rong has returned."
"I know."
"I want to test him."
The Second Elder leaned forward, eyes glinting beneath bushy brows. "No. Not yet. The first spirit ring is a shallow test. He's unproven. Let him believe he's rising without challenge."
"But—"
"Let him grow," Li Qian said coldly. "Let him draw allies. Let them believe he can succeed. And then, when he steps into the light—"
He raised a gnarled hand and clenched it into a fist.
"—we snuff it out."
Back at his quarters, Li Rong stood before the ancestral stone wall—etched with the names of warriors long gone. His father's name was there. His grandfather's, higher still. Beneath them, his own name had not yet been carved.
But he would change that.
Soon.
As he stared into the flame of the brazier beside the wall, a wind swept through the room, scattering the embers and causing the shadows to dance across the ancient stones.
He closed his eyes.
The pieces were moving.
And he would move with them—not as prey.
But as the hunter in the dark.