“Senior Su Qingtian, please be our judge,” he said, voice like a lantern in the dark, pleading for a path.

Hope flickered in Murong Tianjiao’s eyes like dawn on river water. He turned without a second thought and bowed deep. Su Qinghe bowed too, calm as bamboo in wind; even a heaven‑favored daughter of the Su had to honor this forebear.

Old Ancestor Su Qingtian was a living fossil of the clan, a lone pine on a cliff. Even among modern humanity, he was the same. They said he’d lived from the human Dark Age to now, a candle that refused to gutter.

“Enough. I know the course of things.” His voice was iron in winter. “Rash as the decision was, the Luoshui Border is a killing ground that tempers steel. It may yet let Su Qingquan regain his strength. The ancestral legacy will not be stripped.”

Murong Tianjiao and Su Qinghe traded a glance, a silent river between two shores. They knew this was the best outcome they could net from the storm. They agreed at once.

“The juniors’ matter is settled. Now it’s your turn, you elders,” the old man went on, gaze like a hawk over snow. “Su Qinghe, you’re clan head, yet you struck at your own with killing intent. You must be punished. I’ll carry it out. You’ll go into seclusion at Wanghen Cliff for five years. No one may meddle in clan affairs. I’ll act as regent.”

Murong Tianjiao wanted to plead, heat rising like summer wind, but his wife’s small shake of the head cooled it. He swallowed the words like bitter tea.

At “no one may meddle,” Su Tai and the others who’d hoped to swoop in for the seat felt their hearts fall like stones into a cold well.

“Su Tai,” the old man said, thunder under cloud, “during my seclusion you took hold of the Elders’ Council. Bold, aren’t you? You even joined with the Tribunal to pass decrees. Think I’m old, so you can take the clan head’s seat?”

“N‑never, Senior!” Sweat poured off Su Tai like rain off eaves. In front of the ancestor’s strength, crushing him would be snapping a twig. How dared he show fangs?

“You’re at fault too. You’re confined to the clan for one year. No contact with the outside world. Any objections?” The old ancestor’s glance cut like a knife. Su Tai dropped to his knees. “I don’t dare!”

“Is the Lin family’s little girl here? I have a question.”

“Senior, Lin Mengqing is present.”

Lin Mengqing, seated on the first tier with the elders, hurried to salute, a willow bowing in wind.

“This question is the one that boy wanted to ask you,” the old man said. “I’ll remove his seal and let him ask.”

His left fist loosened like a knot untying. Breath rushed back to Su Qingquan; words surged like spring water. “Mengqing, will you stay with me for three years?”

He yearned for an “I will,” a hearth in winter. The answer never came.

On stage, Lin Mengqing hesitated, her silence drifting like fog. When she finally drew breath, Su Qingquan laughed, loud as a bell in an empty valley.

He saw through it. A promise to stay by his side broke at the first gust. That pause said enough; he no longer needed her answer.

Lin Mengqing blanched, lips pressed white as frost. She wanted to speak, then sealed it behind her teeth.

“Old Ancestor, I’m willing to exile myself to the Luoshui Border. I ask to go alone.”

He had reflexively placed himself as that “he” who’d at least get a sliver of warmth. In truth, from Lin Mengqing he’d felt none. Good. Better to see the road’s true shape. He refused to die. He would grow strong, strong enough to overturn this clan and return like thunder.

“Since it’s your choice, if anything happens, you won’t blame the clan,” the old ancestor said from the high platform, voice like cold rain.

That gaze again, that down‑the‑mountain gaze. Su Qingquan stared back without flinching, his eyes flint striking sparks. He loathed that look to the marrow, and it hardened his resolve. He would not live forever under someone else’s peak. He would be the one on the summit, gazing down at all rivers and roads.

Three days later, at the Su home.

In those three days, Su Qingquan rifled through every ancient scroll he owned, pages whispering like dry leaves. All human cultivation methods from the archaic age were broken shards. Only one exception—a basic body‑forging art for early awakening and below. It was self‑torment, a grindstone for flesh. Yet he was grateful. The other methods did nothing, only this made the blood‑mist around his soul‑flame stir. It was his last reed in a flood. Grip it, or drown.

“Quan’er, you must take this seriously,” Su Qinghe said, worry pooling on her brow like storm clouds. “Your strength is gone, and we can’t protect you. The Luoshui Border is nine deaths for one life. All I can give you is this jade pendant. It holds three strands of sword intent. Maybe it’ll save you at a cliff’s edge. Ai…”

Su Qingquan accepted the jade with both hands and bowed three times, head to floor, like a stone hitting water. It was three years, they said, but schemers could weave new nets. Would they block him at the very gate when he returned?

“Where’s Father? I haven’t seen him,” he asked, rising. Not seeing him all day left a hollow like an unlit room.

“He went back to the Murong clan,” Su Qinghe forced a smile, a candle in wind. “He’ll be a few days.”

“When Dad comes back, tell him his son won’t let him down.”

For a breath, Su Qinghe saw the boy Murong Tianjiao had once been, walking out with the sky in his eyes. The same steel, the same spring wind pride.

Su Qingquan slung on his usual longsword, took almost nothing else, and stepped into the teleportation array under his mother’s gaze, a lone figure into a circle of light.

He wanted to look back one more time. He bit his lip, holding the urge like a dam in flood. One look, and his resolve might crack.

“Sigh… Tianjiao, I hope your choice is right,” Su Qinghe murmured after his figure vanished into light, words falling like rain on empty stone. “To pin hope on Quan’er might be too cruel to him…”

Luoshui Border, Allied Army Grand Tent.

Su Qingquan staggered as he arrived, the tunnel’s kaleidoscope still whirling in his skull like a spinning sky.

Woooo— The horn blared, a wolf’s cry over the plain. A man burst into the tent and roared, “Enemy attack! It’s Wendiego legions from the Blood‑Sin Abyss!”

Before Su Qingquan could catch breath, ten men grabbed weapons and dashed out like arrows. Another shoved him hard, voice like a whip. “New guy at the front—if you don’t want to die, don’t block the way!”

He was shoved out. The stench of blood slammed into him like iron fog. Armored warriors with greatswords stood before a massive gate, steel trees waiting for the hinges to groan open.

“You! Get to the right flanking legion—there!” the bellowing officer barked, boot thudding into Su Qingquan’s hip like a hammer.

He didn’t understand the chaos, but he knew urgency when it bit. He sprinted right, merged with a corps of dragon‑spears, and drew his longsword, a thin line of light in his palm.

“Hmph. Fresh meat. I bet he won’t survive this battle,” someone snarled, a crow on a bare branch.

The battle ended. That was three days ago.

Since then, Su Qingquan had walked the ridge between life and death, feet cut and bleeding. Now he lay in a barracks tent, tending wounds, smoke drifting like river mist. War’s baptism had aged him a shade and cleared his eyes. He saw family ambushes and shadowed plots with new light.

“Damn Kain. I’ll settle that account,” he muttered, gaze sharp as a drawn blade, remembering the veteran who’d tried to take his life in the melee.

In a tavern inside the walls, the old hands drowned themselves in wine, waves breaking after a storm.

“I’m telling you, that was the General’s move,” one bragged, eyes bright as coals. “Crazy powerful.”

“Right? That bastard Wendiego got blasted to slag. Not even dust left, haha!”

“Exactly… haha…” Fresh from brushing past the Reaper, they packed into the only tavern in town and bragged about how godlike the General was. You couldn’t blame them. The border had always played shield, not spear. The General had erased a Wendiego king with one strike; it lit torches in every chest.

“Kain, I hear you picked up a promising rookie this time,” a grizzled soldier at another table called, eyes like knives under heavy lids.

The man in the middle of the crowd was Kain, the one who’d placed a bet. He was sipping, ready to spin more tales about that pillar of light, when the question splashed his thoughts with that annoying kid. He almost spit his drink.

“Heh. A brainless fool. Probably dead,” Kain sneered, lip curling like a dog’s. “Just like those scions— all shine, no edge. Haha!”

That hit a vein. The veterans roared. The Luoshui Border might wear the badges of two Eastern empires, but ancient clans had long threaded themselves through its bones. Young elites came “to temper” all the time. Besides a few monsters, most were baggage on the battlefield, pretty scabbards with dull blades. The old soldiers felt no need to spare them.

“Kain, you still owe the deputy commander a hundred silver,” a lazy, amused voice floated in from the crowd’s edge, cool as a breeze off snow. Kain’s face drained. It wasn’t anger at being interrupted—cold sweat slicked his back. He tried to melt into the bodies around him.

“Where you going?” A pale hand snagged his collar from behind and tightened, a noose made of silk. Kain’s face purpled at once. “Loos—”

“What? Speak up?”

He stared at the owner of the hand in pain, throat creaking like an old hinge.

“Adjutant, let him go,” came a deep voice. The crowd parted like reeds before a boat. They all knew that voice and didn’t have Kain’s kind of death wish. “Hmph. Lucky you,” the commander's adjutant said, releasing him.

Kain fell to the floor, gulping air like a beached fish. He started to babble excuses, but the golden‑haired man before him flicked a hand, cutting them off like a blade. “If you care about that hundred silver, go get it. If you don’t, I’ll strip your rank. Then get out.”

Kain’s face went ashen. The deputy commander meant every word, and had the power to make them iron. Kain had failed his task and groped for a lie, but the adjutant flicked his wrist, voice light and cruel as frost. “A waste who can’t finish a small task—what good are you? Better off dying in battle.”

“You bastard—who talks like that?” Kain’s face went green, then white, fury like fire in a cage. He didn’t dare lash out at that level of predator.

“In the East, we say a ruler’s word isn’t a joke,” the deputy commander said, flat as a calm lake. “How do you plan to repay your debt?”

“Deputy Commander… I… I’ll fight on the life‑and‑death stage,” Kain said, deflating like a pierced bellows. “Please don’t strip my rank.”

The adjutant shot the deputy a glance. A small nod. They’d achieved their aim; no need to waste another breath on this guttering lamp. They turned and left.

“The life‑and‑death arena? Kain, are you insane?” someone hissed, voice like wind through bare bones.

“Yeah. You think you’ll win it all? What if you run into that guy…”

“Hey, don’t say his name. If he hears, you’ll be cursed for eight lifetimes.”

“Yeah, yeah...” Once the two debt collectors drifted off like shadows, the crowd closed around Kane, voices buzzing with “wisdom.”

He couldn’t take another word; emptiness pooled behind his eyes like dead water.

He sank onto the stool, slow as dusk, and drained the last stain of wine.

Like his soul yanked out by cold fingers, he lowered his head and walked out of the tavern.

If he lost his rank, the cliff under his boots would crumble. He’d be finished.

His palm slid over the great axe, steel cool like night rain. A hard gleam cut through his eyes.

He’d already put his life on the table—on the life-and-death arena. This was a bout he could not lose.

“Life-and-death arena? What is that?” Su Qingquan sprawled on the cot, wilted like a cut reed, and glared at the young man.

Ten minutes earlier, the man who called himself Sima Fufeng had pushed through the canvas like a gust into the army tent.

He dragged Su out of sleep like tearing a veil, and anger smoldered in Su’s belly.

“Mm. The life-and-death arena’s simple—a ring on hard earth,” Sima said.

“It’s where soldiers burn off personal grudges like smoke, or where we punish those who ignore orders on the field.”

“You know how it is—an army’s full of hot blood. Clashes are storms that come and go.”

“So we need a place where both sides stand on level ground. That’s why we have the life-and-death arena.”

“I don’t think I’ve provoked anyone, right?” He kept his hands still, nerves twitching like trapped sparrows.

Inside, the truth pricked like thorns—what he’d done almost counted as desertion.

“Your legion’s deputy commander thinks that big fellow, Kane, failed to protect you.”

“So he’s giving you a chance to settle it—in the arena.”

Su’s eyebrow rose; the tune was off from what he’d expected.

Dereliction—no, not quite.

When he first stepped onto the battlefield, he wanted only battle, only killing, the red mist in his lungs.

Without madness, there’s no living—he’d been that kind of monster.

He didn’t dare let that side show. This wasn’t the Su clan; here, no wall would shelter him.

And it cut across the plan he’d sketched like lines in sand.

“Fine. I’ll fight.”

“Excellent, Brother Su. With you this sensible, I don’t need to abuse my authority.”