The stench of sulfur and char clung to Ren Wei's robe as he stepped back into the light.
The alley outside the forge was louder now — metal clanging, vendors barking, beggars arguing over scraps. Life went on, unaware that beneath their feet, a pill had been forged from blood and broken memory.
Ren Wei stood still for a moment, staring at a smithy across the street. Weapons hung like bones from rusted racks. Swords, spears, knives — all imperfect, but alive with purpose.
He stepped inside.
"Looking for something?" the smith asked, wiping sweat from his brow.
Ren Wei didn't speak. He ran his hand across a jagged blade — dented, chipped, but resonating faintly.
"Thirty silver," the man grunted. "Or ten spirit coins."
Ren Wei stepped back.
He didn't even have one.
> "Not even enough for a rusted blade. Great."
He turned to leave — and nearly bumped into her.
The veiled woman from earlier stood in the entrance, arms crossed, eyes locked on his.
"There you are," she said flatly. "I've decided. I want that pill."
Ren Wei walked past her without stopping. "I told you. I'll do it when I reach Grandmaster realm."
She followed, matching his pace. "You're joking, right?"
"I don't joke."
She scoffed, brushing her hair behind one ear. "I reached Grandmaster level in 27 years. That's considered fast. How many years should I wait for you? Ten? Twenty? Thirty?"
He paused in his stride.
"Waiting is your price," he said without turning. "If that's too high, don't ask again."
She blinked — not insulted, just... surprised. "You're serious."
"More serious than you'll ever be."
"And when you reach that realm?" she pressed. "What will it cost me then?"
He looked at her now. For the first time.
"A debt," he said. "And a name etched in bone."
She stared for a long moment. Then — a soft, amused laugh.
"You're insane," she muttered. "But I'll wait."
From her sleeve, she drew a worn black token — etched with the seal of a mid-grade forge license. She tossed it toward him.
He caught it midair.
"Use that," she said. "Make something worthy of all that pride."
Without waiting for thanks, she vanished into the crowd.
Ren Wei stood there, fingers closing over the token.
> "Worthy, huh?"
His eyes lifted toward the edge of the city, where smoke rose from the slums and forgotten forges hid beneath collapsed temples and alley roofs.
He began to walk.
The flame hissed low as the final sparks danced across the anvil.
Ren Wei's hands didn't tremble. They never did — not when forging.
Before him, resting on a battered slab of obsidian, lay the weapon: slender, sharp, glinting with veins of crimson Qi that pulsed faintly like blood vessels.
> *Ding!*
> **Forged Item: Echo Fang (Mid Earth Grade)**
> → *Passive Trait: Qi Reflection (10%)*
> → *Durability: Above-average*
> *Note: This item has resonated with forbidden Qi.*
A second chime followed — colder, more distant.
> **System Interference Detected... Adjusting Grade.**
> → **Item Re-classified: Echo Fang (High Earth Grade)**
> *Trait Upgraded: Qi Reflection (15%) + Suppression Aura*
Ren Wei ran a finger along the blade's edge. It sang — not in sound, but in presence.
> "You were born to cut fate."
He wrapped the blade and leaned it against the altar, then sat cross-legged once more.
---
Time passed.
He consumed one **Blood-Nectar Recovery Pill**, the taste bitter, alchemical smoke trailing from his lips.
He closed his eyes.
He breathed once.
Twice.
And then, the Qi roared inside him.
Veins pulsed. Muscles burned. Spirit trembled.
> *Ding!*
> **Qi Refinement Level 3: Achieved**
> +1 Vital Endurance
> +3 Internal Qi Flow
> +1 Suppression Aura (residual)
He opened his eyes slowly.
The blade pulsed in response.
> "Five hours well spent."
---
The silence broke.
Boots echoed across the cracked stone streets above the forge. Arrogant. Heavy. Loud on purpose.
> "So this is the place?"
**Liang Fei** descended with a swagger that could flatten lesser men. His robe bore the colors of the Western Cloud Sect, though he'd added far too much gold. His Qi was fast, aggressive — like a whip.
> "Ren Wei, you little worm. I don't care what tricks you pulled on Zhao Fenglin. I'm here to break your legs and drag you home."
Ren Wei stood without emotion. The wrapped **Echo Fang** leaned against the wall, humming low.
Liang Fei scoffed.
> "Is that your weapon? What did you forge it with — scrap metal and shame?"
He stepped forward, raising a palm.
The air shivered.
> *Ding!*
> **Auto-Defense Triggered: Suppression Aura (1x/day)**
> *Status: External threat neutralized via pressure*
A pulse erupted from the sword — invisible, but absolute. It slammed into Liang Fei's core like a tidal wave of hatred.
He gasped.
Dropped to one knee.
Then both.
Sweat poured down his brow. His Qi spiraled out of control.
> "Wh-what is this...!?"
Ren Wei walked forward, his shadow stretching over the humiliated disciple.
> "That's the difference between forging a weapon… and becoming one."
He didn't lift a finger.
Didn't draw the blade.
He simply walked past — and left the echoes of failure to ring in Liang Fei's ears.
The storm was coming.
And it had just spoken.