South of the valley, a Red Talon war camp sprawled across a scorched plain, its crimson tents staked under a dawn sky streaked with ash clouds, qi wards flickering along bone-carved spikes. The air carried soot and blood, thick with ambition—thirty warriors, their red silk rippling, gathered around a fire pit where embers hissed defiance. Elder Huo Yan stood at the pit's center, gaunt frame draped in scarlet robes, qi at Foundation Establishment 2 a smoldering blaze, his black eyes sharp as obsidian. A stone slab lay before him, etched with valleys and rivers, one ridge marked with a claw—a place that broke scouts, whispered of a golden warrior, and a jade box pulsing with power unbound. The box's hum, faint but relentless, stirred tales of relics that could crack fates, and a name burned in Huo's mind: Lin Feng.
Huo's voice sliced through the camp's murmurs, low and searing. "Mist Veil bled at midnight," he said, tossing a shredded gray silk scrap into the flames—blood-crusted, heavy with failure. "Twelve scouts, daggers snapped, limping home. Feng's valley stands unbroken."
Lieutenant Shen Rao leaned on a spear-sharpened post, broad shoulders clad in red leather, qi at Body Tempering 8 a steady fire, her twin axes resting on a crate. Her short hair gleamed under torchlight, voice edged with scorn. "Body Tempering 4, they claim," she said, kicking a cracked ward-stone into the dirt. "Crushes 8s like twigs. A clan of rats—kids, cripples, qi blazing. Explain it, Elder."
Disciple Jian Ke knelt by the slab, red silk torn, qi at Body Tempering 6 flickering from fresh wounds. His lean face was taut, voice steady despite pain. "I saw him, Elder—golden qi, like a forge, moves like a specter. Body Tempering 4, but hits like 9. A girl, dagger-fierce, Body Tempering 4, carved our men. A boy, sling sharp, Body Tempering 3, stones that burn qi. Their valley—it pulses, Elder, like it's alive."
Huo's qi surged, embers flaring, the slab's ridge mark trembling. "Alive," he said, fingers crushing the silk scrap—ash drifted. "Markets sing of a box—jade, warm, runes shifting. Power older than our blades. If Feng holds it…"
Shen Rao's axes shifted, her laugh cold. "A box? Lin Clan's fifty fell, Mist Veil's twelve gone. Feng's traps snap steel, his qi burns wards. He's forging them—girl, boy, even young ones. Or that box is."
Disciple Wei Lan stepped forward, slim frame wrapped in red silk, qi at Body Tempering 5 taut from spying. She held a splinter—bone, faintly warm, etched with a rune, plucked from the valley's edge. "Elder," she said, bowing low, voice clear, "this came from their ridge. Not Mist Veil's craft—hums, like a heart. Scouts saw Feng with a box—jade, warm, no frost. It's waking, pulling qi, even ours."
Huo snatched the splinter, qi probing—warmth bit, stubborn and faint, stirring his core briefly. His eyes narrowed, hunger breaking his calm. "Relic," he muttered, voice low. "Tied to legends—power to break heavens. If Feng's its key…"
Jian Ke rose, wincing, voice urgent. "He's no master, Elder—not yet. His qi binds it, golden, but it's wild—box pulses, valley answers. Their gate—traps thicker than our arrays, wards alive. That girl, Body Tempering 4, fights like his shadow. The boy—stones hit like spears. They're rising, too fast."
Shen Rao stepped closer, axes glinting, voice sharp. "Rising why? Body Tempering 4, felling 8s? He's no sage—something's fueling him. That girl, boy—they're sparking, like his qi's spreading. Relic's work, I'd wager."
Huo paced, qi a restless flame, boots grinding ash. "Lin Clan's broken—Wei's men crawl, crystals spent. Mist Veil's stung—scouts vanish, elders raging. This valley—it's a beacon, drawing every claw. Why?"
Wei Lan's voice cut through, steady and clear. "Rumors, Elder—docks, villages, our spies. Feng's golden, crushing armies, building a clan from dust. Some call him demon, clanless, stirring fear. Others carve his name in jade—say he's a storm unbound."
Jian Ke nodded, sweat beading, eyes on the splinter. "Their valley, Elder—it's no hamlet. Gate's fortified, qi hums—stone arch glows, warm, alive. Feng stood by it, box in hand, qi blazing—warm, like a forge. Something's waking, calling wolves, even us."
Huo's laugh was dry, qi spiking—flames roared, tents trembling. "Waking," he said, tossing the splinter—it pulsed faintly, rolling. "Demon or spark, Feng's loud. Lin Clan's bleeding, Mist Veil's limping. That box—relic's soul. Jian, you faced him—speak."
Jian's voice steadied, eyes distant. "Small, jade, runes like veins—warm, alive when Feng held it. Valley's arch dimmed, like it answered. His qi—golden, heavy—tied to it, but not in command. He's fierce, Elder, but the box—it's deeper."
Shen Rao's axes rose, her gaze cold. "Deeper?" she said, stepping to the slab, finger jabbing the ridge. "Feng's breaking sects—fifty, twelve, traps like arrays. We're thirty, Elder—Body Tempering 7s, 8s. If we strike…"
The camp's wards hummed, dawn's light creeping, a distant howl echoing—wolves, qi-tinged, circling north. Huo's finger lingered on the slab's claw. "Feng's the lock," he said, voice iron. "Man or relic, he's bleeding us—Lin Clan's ash, Mist Veil's broken. That box—its power's ours."
Wei Lan clutched her silk, voice sharp. "Elder, Lin Clan's massing—Wei's rallying, Body Tempering 8s, noon tomorrow. Mist Veil's circling—qi heavy, eyes on the valley. If we wait, the box is theirs."
Shen Rao's laugh cut through, axes flashing. "Wait? Feng's traps chew armies—fifty, twelve, twenty. Thirty's bold, but he's sharper—relic's fueling him. Hit now, or we're dust."
Huo's qi roared, drowning the hum—flames dimmed, slab trembling. "No dust," he said, voice a forge. "Jian, fifteen warriors—Body Tempering 6, dusk tonight. Strike the valley, take the box, Feng's head if he stands. Shen, your axes—south pines, block Lin Clan's noon. Wei Lan, spread lies: Feng's a rogue, relic's poison—stir Mist Veil's wrath."
Jian bowed, blood crusting his silk, relief faint. "Elder, that box—it pulls qi, like a tide. Feng's strong, but it's heavy—valley hums when he's near. If we seize it…"
"Seize it," Huo snapped, crushing the splinter—dust glowed, fading. "Red Talon kneels to no spark. Feng's the prize—relic's heart. We'll claim it."
Shen Rao moved to the slab, qi a steady blaze. "Bold, Huo, but relics cut deep. That box—tales call it a seal, power unbound. If Feng's wielding it, he's no rogue—he's a tide, and we're wading in."
Wei Lan's voice trembled, eyes on the ridge's mark. "More, Elder—scouts saw wolves, north cliffs, qi-tinged, circling the valley. Traders swear Feng glowed golden, broke men like reeds. If that box wakes…"
Jian's breath caught, voice low. "Not just him—his clan fights like a sect. Girl, boy, even kids—qi sparking, traps alive. That box—pulses stronger, Elder. If it's free…"
Shen Rao's axes gleamed, gaze sharp. "Free?" she said, tracing the ridge's edge. "Bound or not, Feng's trouble—box, qi, clan. Huo, your fifteen's light—others bled with less."
"Then we forge," Huo said, qi a storm—flames flared, dawn breaking. "Red Talon bows to no man. Jian, dusk—fifteen, Body Tempering 6, arrays ready. Shen, block the noon—Lin Clan breaks first. Wei Lan, twist the rumors—Feng's waking doom."
The wards pulsed, howls closer, a drum signaling dusk's approach. Huo gripped the slab, claw-mark burning under his touch, eyes fixed on the valley. "Feng's building something—relic, clan, or hell's gate. We'll take it, crush him, and—"
A warrior staggered in, red silk shredded, qi fading. "Elder!" he gasped, clutching a glowing shard—not bone, but jade, warm as blood. "Valley's edge—found this, qi alive! Feng's there, golden, box blazing—traps broke my axe!"
Huo seized the shard, qi surging—warmth burned, pulsing wild, as Shen Rao's axes rose, Jian froze, and the camp's flames roared, casting shadows of claws on the tents.