“You…” A wolf-clan elder with bandaged ribs lurched forward, fury flaring in his yellow eyes. Paxton seized the elder’s arm, dragging him back before defiance became death.
Clara’s heart twisted. Shame scorched hotter than her wounds, as if her master’s flames had leapt inside her chest and left nothing but ash.
She turned. The Myriad Beast Sect survivors huddled behind her, and the new despair in their eyes felt heavier than chains. She swung her gaze to Paxton, who still knelt with half-healed wounds. His skin had gone a deathly shade of white.
A single breath of resolve, then she dropped to her knees and slammed her head against the stone—once, twice, a third time—each crack echoing across the gorge. Red welts ballooned across her brow before she even lifted her face.
“Master! Every mistake is mine alone. I took it upon myself to break the rules. I deserve any punishment—strip my cultivation, cast me out, whatever you decree, I accept without complaint. But please…”
“Please find a shred of mercy and save them! They have nowhere left to run. If the Infinite Soul Demon Sect captures them, they’ll be torn apart. Master, I’m begging you!”
Her plea dissolved into sobs. For all his iron discipline, Reiner Asher had always favored her as a disciple, and Clara clung to that final sliver of hope.
Watching his cherished student abase herself, Reiner’s fury only deepened, yet now it aimed at Paxton and the ragged outsiders.
They seduced her into disobedience and even drove her to injure herself for their sake…
“Stubborn child!” he snapped, his voice a blade.
He moved no more than a sleeve. The silk fluttered, and an invisible storm of molten fire lashed out, erupting like a volcano, cutting like sword energy.
It smashed into the kneeling girl. The gorge boomed.
Blood spattered the air as Clara shot backward. She crashed yards away, skidding across gravel before lying still. She tried to rise, limbs trembling, but her strength guttered out. Within heartbeats, her aura sank to a faint whisper.
“Clara!”
“Ms. Cloudridge!”
Sword Sect disciples and the battered beasts lurched forward, only to freeze when Reiner’s chill glare swept over them. The look alone felt like being sealed in ice.
“That strike…” Reiner said, voice flat as iron, “punishes you for defying my command, escorting strangers, and being disrespectful.”
Clara lay on the dirt, blood leaking from her lips, eyes shining with pain and helplessness.
Seeing this, Reiner’s chest twisted, but his face stayed grim and unforgiving. “Now take these feeble strays and vanish from my sight. Stay one moment longer, and the next blow will do more than bruise you.”
Despair dropped over the Myriad Beast Sect remnants like a mountain. Their last flicker of hope had been snuffed out by Reiner. Some disciples sank to the ground, eyes empty, resigned to whatever doom awaited.
Paxton’s fists clenched until his claws pierced his own palms, blood threading through his fingers. He looked from Clara’s broken form to his tribe’s hollow faces, a storm of rage and helplessness roaring inside.
Is the Myriad Beast Sect really done for?
Just as that hopeless question rang within him, a ripple rolled through the air at the canyon mouth—not of spiritual force or bending space, but of living flame: hot, nimble, dancing as though fire itself had grown a heartbeat and was now racing toward them.
In the next breath, a plain-robed silhouette ripped through the air, devouring hundreds of yards as though the ground between never existed.
Each stride landed on an invisible stairway of living fire. Crimson-gold flower-shaped flames blossomed beneath his boots, flared, and vanished before a single ember could drift away.
Despite the impossible speed, faster than any movement art the onlookers had seen, no wind screamed, no spiritual current shattered. The motion felt like a page of reality had simply been turned.
The figure was Jared. Wrapped inside a shell of his own celestial force, Gavin and Yvette clung to his arms, barely keeping pace with the miracle he created.
“Blazing Stride?” Reiner blurted, the words cracking through his composure like glass under a hammer.
A heartbeat earlier, he had stood aloof, arms folded, face hewn from stone. Now his pupils shrank to pinpoints.
Shock and raw confusion chased one another across his features, feelings so strong they broke through the iron discipline of a Heavenly Immortal master.
Jared ended his advance; the flower-shaped fire dissolved like dew beneath sunlight.
His gaze swept the scene: Clara crumpled on the gravel, breath thin; Paxton and the other beasts cornered in despair; the red-robed sword cultivator whose presence bent the air itself.
That must be Clara’s teacher, the Flame-Sword Venerable… And something seemed to be going on…
Every disciple who recognized Jared shouted his name as though a lighthouse had just ignited in endless night.
Jared dipped his head, urging them to calm down. He knelt beside Clara. Her pulse fluttered, threads of blistering sword intent still gnawed at her meridians—the gift of her own master’s strike.
Jared’s brow tightened. A ribbon of gentle, refined chaotic energy slipped from his palm, weaving around her heart to seal the damage and quiet the inner storm.
“M-Mr. Chance…” Tears welled anew in Clara’s eyes; shame, hurt, and relief tangled hopelessly. “I-I’m sorry… I couldn’t…”
“Hush…” His voice was a hand on her shoulder. “Breathe first… Words can wait.”
He eased her against a slab of stone a few yards back, where the heat of battle no longer reached.
Only then did Jared rise, meeting Reiner’s burning stare with a serenity as immovable as bedrock.
Reiner’s initial shock ebbed, replaced by a keen, probing curiosity. He studied the young man before him—cultivation no higher than Human Immortal Realm Level Seven, yet his bearing felt ancient, mountain-steady.
Not a flicker of fear showed in Jared’s eyes, even under the weight of a Heavenly Immortal’s presence. And unbelievably, the youth had just used the long-lost Blazing Stride.
“Boy, who in the world are you?” Reiner demanded, voice low, edges sparking like steel across granite. “Why do you wield the Blazing Stride? That footwork belongs only to the Fire Spirit Lord, a secret never taught. Across the entire world, barely a handful can use it. From whom did you steal such knowledge?”
