The party pressed deeper into the Lightning Valley. Here, the heavens knew no dawn or dusk. Clouds swelled and churned in a storm that never eased, twilight smeared across the sky as though time itself had soured. Days slipped into haze until even counting became guesswork. By Xiao Lei’s reckoning, two of their allotted ten still remained.

  With every li gained, the valley bared more of its fangs. The air thickened, pressing against skin and bone, each breath tinged with iron and ozone. Lightning beasts prowled in greater numbers, their strikes like spears hurled from heaven. Some bore bluish essence crystals, their power a cruel tier above the swarms that had harried them before. Alone, even one could shatter their lines. Yet fortune scattered them thin—never more than one or two anchoring a pack. Blades and numbers carried them where skill alone might have faltered.

  Seventy had entered. Sixty-three endured. One academy student had fallen. A bitter price, yet not ruinous.

  At first, Xiao Lei had walked with the middle ranks, drowned in the tide of bodies. But through quiet shifts—or perhaps Zhen Du’s insistent company—he now strode at the fore. The youth’s sharp shoulders cut a path as if daring the storm to strike him first.

  Behind them, the mood curdled. Weariness hung from bowed necks and clenched jaws; eyes slid away too quickly. Xiao Lei caught fragments of it: frustration, envy, discontent gathering like static in the air.

  “I know,” Zhen Du said suddenly, voice rough, threaded with the storm’s grit. “Time closes in, and the essence we’ve seized falls short of their expectations. Add our share, and of course their hearts sour.” His lip curled, a flash of disdain. “So what? If a Core Formation beast bares its fangs, I’ll burn the treasures the academy armed me with. Do they think such gifts were given freely? Let them stew in jealousy. Their envy cannot pierce my skin.”

  The words cut sharp. Ting, robed in yellow, ground his teeth audibly, but after a glance at Chao and the others—finding no ally—he swallowed his retort. Silence folded over them, heavier than the distant roll of thunder.

  Xiao Lei’s expression remained composed, but a shadow flickered in his eyes—quick, fleeting, like the storm’s blink. When he spoke, his voice was low, taut as a drawn bowstring.

  “That beast… when it attacked, I was in its lair.”

  Zhen Du slowed, boots striking stone with deliberate weight. Sparks crawled briefly across the ground. He angled his head toward Xiao Lei, dismissiveness flickering in his features.

  “Let me finish,” Xiao Lei pressed on. His tone steadied, deliberate. “In that lair, I saw something. A treasure. One that may prove of great use to our academy.”

  The shift was immediate. Zhen Du’s careless air vanished like mist cut apart by lightning. Hunger replaced it—sharp, alert, intent.

  “What sort of treasure?” His voice clipped, edged with suspicion.

  “I don’t know,” Xiao Lei said, calm. “But it was no ordinary thing. Otherwise, that beast would never have gone berserk the moment they touched it.”

  “They?” Zhen Du’s brow creased.

  “Six of them,” Xiao Lei replied. “I couldn’t tell the faction. But I seized a piece before they fled.”

  He drew out a flask. Cracks veined its surface like frozen lightning, each fracture glowing faintly as if alive. Within, a pale red shimmered, trembling like liquid thunder. At the bottom, forty colourless essence drops pulsed faintly, their rhythm betraying the power bound inside.

  The glimpse lasted a breath. Xiao Lei returned the flask to his ring, but it was enough. Zhen Du’s eyes narrowed; indifference slipped to reveal a spark of calculation.

  Then the air shifted. Figures emerged through the wavering stormlight, silhouettes sharp against the valley’s crimson gloom. Mu Pei. The duo beside him. Four more, survivors from the Emperor Lightning Beast’s cave. Once six had entered; now only four remained, robes scorched, qi unsteady, the storm clinging like ash.

  Xiao Lei did not flinch. The pup had warned him—this meeting was inevitable. But the faces opposite betrayed no such calm. Their eyes darkened, not at him, but at the man beside him: Zhen Du.

  Everyone knew his temper. His arrogance ensured nothing here would end cleanly.

  The silence cracked. Bai Cheng stepped forward, voice cold, brittle, controlled fury. “Zhen Du. Hand over Xiao Lei. He caused the deaths of two of my clan. I will have justice.”

  A laugh slipped from Zhen Du—light, dismissive, ringing like steel tapped against stone. He did not glance at Bai Cheng, fixing instead on Mu Pei, as though Bai’s demand were nothing but wind through dead leaves.

  Stolen story; please report.

  By rights, Zhen Du should have bowed. Against families like Bai or Mu, his name was dust. Genius, cultivation, pride—none bridged the gulf. Yet he stood unshaken. Behind him loomed the Royal Academy’s shadow. That weight bound Mu Pei in invisible chains, and in his eyes flickered the realization: press too far here, and disaster would follow.

  Zhen Du’s voice broke the stillness, calm and heavy with certainty. “You dare collude with outsiders to settle private grudges? Against a fellow student? Still, if you recognize your mistake, I will let this pass.”

  The storm hushed; even thunder seemed to hold its breath.

  Mu Pei could not decide whether to thank his stars or curse Xiao Lei’s ancestors. Hatred had ruled his hand, striking without thought, never imagining the blade would rebound against Zhen Du. He had faced academy politics before, but nothing like this.

  And now, Zhen Du offered a way out. Absurdly lenient. To accept meant humiliation. Worse, it would make the two beside him appear fools. They had chased Xiao Lei across the valley—and now? Shake hands, smile, and walk away as though nothing happened? The Xun clan youths would never stomach it, especially with the rest of their party annihilated by the same lightning beast Bai Cheng claimed Xiao Lei had provoked.

  As if to prove the thought, a voice spat sparks into the storm. “Zhen Du,” Xun Chi said, jaw lifted, tone sharp, “don’t think yourself untouchable. Others may cower, but not us. Better you tuck your tail and return to bullying smaller clans where you belong.”

  The challenge hung like a drawn blade. Bai Cheng stepped forward as well, silence heavier than any insult, stride declaring resolve.

  Zhen Du did not flinch. His gaze never shifted from Mu Pei. The storm hissed around them, but his stillness pressed harder than thunder. Lightning arced across the valley walls, reflected in Mu Pei’s eyes, heat crawling down his spine.

  A hundred thoughts battered Mu Pei’s mind. The Mu family carried weight, yes, but not enough to weather storms like this. Any other disciple, a simple threat could be brushed aside. Here, the stakes were lethal.

  His stomach twisted; breath shallow, fingers itched at the hilt of his blade. The path that brought him here—more father’s influence than merit—felt like a trap tightening around him. Failure now was unthinkable.

  Finally, Zhen Du’s gaze swept over Bai Cheng and Xun Chi, sharp as lightning slicing the storm-dark sky. “I wonder,” he said, calm but cutting, “have you harvested enough essence qi from the lightning you summoned? It would be a shame—wasted effort—if you entered Lightning Valley only to leave without securing even an Earth-grade foundation.”

  The group stiffened. They understood the intent: Zhen Du manipulated without drawing a blade. And yet, as much as they bristled, his words carried truth.

  For the Xun clan youths, pride mattered more than principle. Punishing Xiao Lei was immediate satisfaction. Deaths of their clan? Peripheral, incidental. Survival alone mattered. One spat into the wind, words sharp as sparks.

  Mu Pei’s situation festered differently. Narrow path. Thin margins. He suddenly felt that the world itself was plotting against him..

  The Bai clan considered calculation over emotion. Bai Cheng had amassed enough qi for Earth-grade advancement, but ambition reached higher: Sky-grade lightning required ninety essence drops—well beyond fifty. Every movement, every measure of lightning qi was gauged in fractions of potential, synced to the storm’s heartbeat.

  “Brother Cheng,” a voice beside him, tentative yet sharp, “perhaps we should push for breakthrough now. Only then can we truly strike down that bastard.”

  The logic resonated. To seize the treasure yet fail to secure Earth-grade foundation would render effort moot. Timing was everything. Progress first; vengeance later.

  “This isn’t over,” Bai Cheng said, resolve hardening. He pivoted and strode toward another path, muscles coiled, senses tuned to the fluctuating pulse of the valley. Every step, every breath, measured against a storm that could grant power—or consume him.

  Zhen Du’s face, once casual, now sharpened. Eyes traced the jagged horizon, spires of Lightning Mountain piercing clouded crimson. “We move directly to Lightning Mountain,” he declared, low but resolute. “If they reach breakthrough before us, none of us will leave this valley.”

  Before Zhen Du’s words could fade into the charged air, figures moved forward—Chao and Ting, stepping from the rear ranks like hesitant flames against a storm. They had remained silent until now, measured in restraint, unwilling to provoke the large factions pressing around them. But Zhen Du’s sudden decree left no space for caution; it cast them into peril.

  “Brother Zhen,” the young man began, striving to keep his voice steady, though the tremor of anxiety tugged at the edges. “Apart from your fellow students, none of us possess sufficient essence qi. Even if we were to march to the Lightning Mountain now…” His words faltered under the weight of expectation, the unspoken threat in Zhen Du’s gaze pressing like stone against his chest.

  Chao, who had stayed quiet since the initial clash with Zhen Du, spoke next, her tone more measured, though tinged with unease. “Please, Brother Zhen, be considerate of us as well.”

  The group behind them shifted, silent and tense. All eyes lingered on the pair, knowing these were the only two with the courage—and the tenuous background—to risk objections before Zhen Du. The air hummed with expectation. Perhaps, just perhaps, reason might temper his force.

  But the hope flickered and dimmed as Zhen Du’s lips curved into an expression both calm and cutting.

  “Oh, Brother Ting, Sister Chao,” he began, his voice deceptively light, almost amiable, “I am truly sorry that your group lacks the qi required.” A pause, gentle in cadence yet sharp as a drawn sword, made the statement settle like frost over the valley.

  “Why not share from your own stocks—the qi you are saving to summon Sky-grade lightning? As for us,” his gaze swept the assembled group, unblinking, unwavering, “we are heading toward the mountain. If you do not wish to follow, that is your choice. But understand this: our agreement ends here.”

  His words were careful, polite even, yet the weight behind them was undeniable.

  Ting swallowed, his jaw tight, pulse hammering in ears that seemed suddenly loud in the charged silence. Chao’s hands flexed slightly at her sides, nails grazing the fabric of her robes, a small, almost imperceptible act betraying the tension she bore in her chest. Each measured breath, each careful glance, betrayed the storm within them.

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  Destiny Reckoning. It’s set in the same universe, and you definitely don’t want to miss it, because the stories will eventually crossover.