No sooner had the Elemental Test concluded than the outer sect erupted in chaos—not among disciples, but among the Peak Masters.
In private halls, behind veiled screens and tea-scented chambers, the elders of each elemental peak began making their move.
Some were blunt, approaching Huang directly, extolling the virtues of their disciples, their personal libraries, and "cozy" private training pavilions.
Some were subtle, offering "gifts" of rare herbs, silk robes, and top-tier Qi-gathering pills through veiled messengers.
But the truly cunning ones?
They went after Lan Qin.
The cheerful youth, suddenly receiving far too much tea, flattery, and promises, looked half overjoyed and half overwhelmed.
One Peak Master even said aloud in front of Elder Wu, "Surely such a close bond should not be broken. Young Lan, if you come to Windstrider Peak, your friend Huang will follow. And you'll both rise together."
Elder Wu scowled, but said nothing. He knew this was always how it went—potential drew vultures.
It escalated.
Two Peak Masters began exchanging barbed insults in the disciple courtyard, loudly debating which affinity deserved precedence—Lightning or Fire.
Another declared loudly that Huang would be "wasted" in the Swift Sword Peak, claiming that his soul strength screamed Refined Combat Dao, not Elusive Movement Dao.
That was when it became too much.
The skies shimmered gold.
A vertical slit of light opened in the air above the training courts—quiet but commanding.
From it descended a robed figure in imperial blue and steel-gray—a broad-shouldered man with a blade at his hip and a decree in hand.
His voice carried across the mountain like thunder wrapped in order.
> "Deputy Sect Master Jeon speaks for the Supreme Council!"
Instantly, all Peak Masters fell silent.
Even Lan Qin took a step back unconsciously. The air shrank beneath Jeon's presence. This was no outer sect elder.
Jeon unfurled the scroll, golden characters glowing faintly.
> "In accordance with Sect Edict 1390-A of the Supreme Council…
Huang is hereby appointed to Central Peak of the Outer Sect under Master War."
Gasps swept the courtyard.
> "He has been granted access to all Outer Peaks and their associated techniques.
His movement shall not be restricted, and his loyalty to no Peak shall be demanded."
Some elders looked offended. A few looked threatened.
But Jeon continued—
> "He shall serve as Head of the Freshman Disciples, to monitor their cultivation progress and recommend elite candidates for advancement."
Then the final line made even the boldest Peak Masters go quiet:
> "This appointment is approved by Sect Leader Kang."
The decree folded. The light vanished. Jeon turned once toward Huang.
Their eyes met.
He didn't smile.
He simply nodded—acknowledging not just a student… but a decision made by the heavens.
And then he vanished.
—
Later that night, Lan Qin lay in his new courtyard, arms crossed behind his head.
"Head of the Freshman Disciples, huh?" he said, glancing toward Huang. "Well… at least I'll get good rankings if I stay near you."
Huang didn't respond. He was practicing the Four Step Sword Movement under moonlight, his spirit blade wrapped in glowing Qi.
After a long moment, he spoke quietly.
"Master War… do you know who that is?"
Lan Qin blinked. "Not really. Heard he fought in the Border Wars before becoming a Peak Master. Said to be… weird."
> "They say he doesn't take disciples. That he trains warriors, not scholars."
> "They say he once cleaved through an Immortal Array just to save an outer sect student who was falsely accused."
Jiang Fei's voice pulsed faintly from the sword.
> "They say Master War… was one of the six candidates for Sect Leader twenty years ago. And the only one who withdrew his own name."
> "If this man wants to train you, Huang… don't waste the opportunity."
Huang closed his stance and sheathed his sword.
"I don't intend to."
Lan Qin looked over again. "So what now, Head Disciple?"
Huang answered simply:
> "Now… we grow strong enough that no one ever dares to ask who we are."
Lan Qin had just finished laughing when a voice, deep and gravel-edged, echoed from the shadows beyond their courtyard wall.
> "I like that thinking."
Both boys turned quickly. The Qi in the air thickened—not oppressive, but heavy like a storm cloud preparing to break.
From the treeline stepped a man draped in battle-worn robes of midnight steel and ember thread. His boots were soaked in the dust of hundreds of battlefields. A long scar ran across the side of his neck, half hidden by his unkempt beard. At his side was a battered iron sword with no ornamentation—but its very presence seemed to drown out all lesser weapons.
Master War.
He didn't introduce himself. He didn't need to.
Huang straightened instinctively, his hand hovering near the hilt of his spirit sword.
Master War's gaze flicked to it—then to Huang.
"You draw your sword in response to pressure," he said with a faint smirk. "Good. You're not soft."
He turned slightly, giving Lan Qin a side glance before walking forward and stopping just a few feet from Huang. He looked him over, not like a master studying a disciple, but like a veteran appraising a comrade—a survivor.
"I'm not going to waste breath on rules or lectures," Master War said. "If you want to sit in a library, do it. If you want to learn a forbidden technique, name it. If you want to walk into another Peak and take a scroll off their shelf…"
He raised a hand and pointed toward Huang's chest.
> "Just say the word. Who dares stop you?"
Lan Qin blinked. "That's not really how the sect normally—"
"Hush, boy," Master War interrupted without turning his head. "You're clever. You'll figure it out."
He turned his full attention back to Huang and pulled something from his spatial ring—a folded robe, black with deep blue trim, embroidered with a single silver sword on the back, its tip pointed down—a sword that neither threatened nor submitted, but simply was.
The robe pulsed faintly with defensive Qi. Not gaudy, not arrogant—meant for battle, not parade.
"This," he said, "is the robe of the Head of the Freshman Disciples. Tailored to you. Woven with a thread from my own battle mantle. No disciple has worn it in nine years."
He handed it to Huang.
"You'll rest tonight. Then tomorrow… you meet the others. Not just the loud ones from the arena. The hidden ones too. The quiet talents. The waiting knives."
He looked up at the stars.
"This sect is peaceful on the surface. But beneath, there are old debts, jealous minds, and snakes in sect robes."
He paused, looking back at Huang.
"Your job isn't just to represent them. Your job is to protect them. If you do that right, they'll follow you for life."
Then, as if the air had decided he was no longer needed, Master War's presence flickered—and he was gone, not by flash or sound, but by displacement, like a missing heartbeat.
Lan Qin let out a slow breath.
"...Was that a visitation or a warning?"
Huang quietly unfolded the robe and looked at the sword on its back.
"No," he said softly.
"That was permission."
And then he stepped inside to rest, not as a drifter or shadow, but as the one standing between the youth of a sect and the gathering storm.