"Kill him."
Riven turned, slowly.
Vaern had stepped inside the cell. He stood a few paces away, arms crossed, golden eyes unreadable.
"…What?" Riven's voice was rough. Dry.
"Kill him," Vaern said again. "He wouldn't let you live. Kill him."
Riven looked at the man.
Then at his own hand.
His knuckles were raw. His legs shook. He had fought hard — harder than he ever had — but this?
This wasn't training anymore.
"I…" he started, but no words followed.
Riven might have lived through quite some ordeals, but in the end he was still not a trainer warrior. He didn't want to kill someone. Why did he need to? He just wanted to find his family.
He glanced again at the criminal. Or rather the bloody mess of him.
His fingers twitched.
He deserves it.
He tried to kill me.
He's a murderer.
But still…
"I thought you wanted to get stronger," Vaern said behind him.
"I do," Riven replied, quieter.
"Then why not finish it?"
A pause.
Riven looked down again.
He really didn't want to do this.
But...
If he couldn't find a good reason, Vaern wouldn't let him off.
"Riven?" Vaern asked again.
„"Because." Riven calmed down. His voice was steadier now, even if his hands weren't. "Because he can still be used. As a sparring partner. For someone else."
Vaern blinked. Just once. Then let out a short laugh.
"Hmph. Creative excuse," he said. "Not the truth, but I'll take it."
He turned and walked toward the cell door.
"You'll have to kill eventually, Riven. Maybe not today. But soon. And if you don't, you'll probably die."
The door creaked open.
"We will pick this up again later."
Riven stood a moment longer, staring down at the unconscious man's face. The way his mouth hung slightly open. The way blood trickled from his side.
He could see his own reflection in the blood pooling on the stone.
He didn't like what it showed.
>>>
Today, Riven didn't head home directly after leaving the Combat Dungeon.
Instead, he made a turn toward a place he hadn't visited in almost two weeks.
The Resource Hall.
He passed through the public square that stretched out in front of it.
At the center stood a massive slab of black stone.
Ten names were carved into its surface in jagged silver script. No explanations. No details. Just a list.
The Failure Board.
Riven let his eyes flick across the list.
Not long enough to linger. Just long enough to check.
Not there.
A quiet breath slipped from his lungs.
He was glad.
Glad he'd solved the Nightfang poison on his own two weeks ago.
He really wouldn't have been a fan of having his name displayed like that.
He was sure, whoever was on there now... They were probably still hiding…
Afraid to show their faces.
Afraid to be mocked.
Riven shook his head and turned from the stone, stepping toward the Resource Hall.
Once inside, he quickly found who he was looking for.
Slouched behind the counter, chin propped on one hand, a pen in the other.
Her hair was tied up, two loose strands curling along her jaw.
Same robes as always — black, gold-threaded, dark green sash — fitted sharp, somehow elegant despite the setting.
And somehow, her face looked too pretty to belong in a sect like this.
Lumi.
He walked up.
Lumi didn't look up right away.
She spun her pan lazily between her fingers. For a moment, it seemed like she hadn't even noticed him.
Then—
"Two weeks and not a single visit."
She clicked her tongue without lifting her gaze. "I was starting to think you ran off."
Riven blinked.
Then snorted. "Why would I do that?"
She finally looked up.
Pen stopping mid-spin.
"To escape your debt, of course."
A slow, lopsided grin pulled at her lips. "That's a thing disciples do sometimes. Disappear into the mountains. Cultivate in peace. Think they can dodge their responsibilities."
"Sounds peaceful," Riven said.
"Doesn't sound like you."
Before he could say anything, she leaned back in her chair, folding her arms.
"So? Did you come to pay up?"
"I got my monthly stipend."
"Mm. Twelve points, right? Very fancy."
Every disciple in the sect received a monthly stipend of merit points.
Outer disciples got three.
Inner disciples got six.
Core disciples — like Riven — got twelve.
A small perk, supposedly meant to help them focus on training instead of too much menial work.
She reached for a small round badge behind the counter and slid it toward him with a finger.
"Put your badge on this."
He didn't move.
Then scratched the back of his neck.
"…Actually. I need more salve."
Lumi stopped mid-slide.
"More?"
"Yeah."
"You already bought a large jar last time."
"I know."
"That should've lasted at least a month," she said, eyebrows rising. "Did you drink it?"
He said nothing.
Blame Vaern.
She gave him a long look…
And noticed how he stood —
Stiff. Guarded.
The kind of posture people had when they were holding in pain.
The salve she'd given him two weeks ago should've fully healed the bear wound by now.
Which meant these were new.
Different, too.
She glanced at the visible bruises.
Sharper. More deliberate.
Wounds made by people, not beasts.
Was he getting bullied? It must be cause of the one arm.
Lumi didn't say it out loud.
But her brow furrowed slightly.
This wasn't a kind sect — she knew that.
But for someone to be hurting enough to need more salve already?
Even for the Venomthread Sect, that wasn't normal.
"Alright. I'll bring you another salve. Together with the debt from the last one, that makes four merit points. Put your token on this."
She pushed the small round badge forward again.
Riven reached into his chest pocket and pulled out the thin octagonal tag.
Cold to the touch.
The pocket being on the inside of the chest really was a typically practical design for the sect.
Could even block a fatal strike if you were lucky.
Core gold shimmered faintly in the low light as he held it out.
Lumi pressed two fingers on the back of his hand, nudging the badge toward the round receiver.
The embedded qi-seal pulsed — a soft flicker of light rolling across the surface.
So warm.
"Four points transferred," she said, watching it flash green.
"Debt paid. Miracles do happen."
Lumi turned to grab a new jar of salve from the shelf behind her.
She didn't say anything else as she passed it to him — just gave a short nod, then sat back down, picking up the pen again, intent on getting better at spinning it.
Riven took the jar, tucked it into his sleeve, and stepped back from the counter.
He gave a small nod of his own. Hesitated. Then turned toward the door.
"Hey, Riven."
He paused. Glanced back.
Lumi didn't look up — still focused on her pen — but her voice carried.
"Try not to mess up your face next time, yeah?" she said lightly.
"Would be a shame to ruin your only redeeming feature."
There was a teasing lilt to her tone.
But under it… something else.
Riven blinked.
Was that concern?
It can't be. Not in this sect.
He shoved the thought aside.
Don't get fooled.
Then turned and stepped outside.
The air felt different somehow.
Cooler.
Quieter.
Without thinking, he glanced down at the back of his hand.
The skin looked the same.
But something about it felt strange.
It felt warm.
He shook his head.
Don't get fooled.
She was too nice.
Like a warm place with no fire behind it.
A flower that hadn't yet wilted in a garden full of rot.
He couldn't trust it.
But…
He didn't hate being near it, either.
>>>
The next two weeks passed in a blur.
Mornings were still for Falconburst Kick.
Midday, the Combat Dungeon.
Evenings, cultivation until his limbs fell asleep.
But this time, there were no sparring partners. No drills. No mercy.
He fought criminals daily — each fight more brutal than the last.
They didn't hold back. And slowly, neither did he.
He improved faster now.
Adapted to dirty tricks.
To wild strikes, surprise feints, and the kind of killing intent you couldn't simulate in a ring.
One week in, he was finally allowed to channel qi and use the Falconburst Kick.
But Vaern still hadn't taught him the qi integration for his Basic Martial Arts Volume.
He said he'd changed his mind — wanted him to focus on real combat experience instead.
Riven had a feeling Vaern had overestimated how much prior training he'd had… and was now correcting for it.
By making him focus on just one thing.
With the increased intensity of the fights came wounds.
Bruises layered over bruises.
Cuts split open again before they healed.
He started visiting the Resource Hall more often.
And somehow, he liked it.
Not the injuries. But having a reason to go.
When he used up the salve that was supposed to last a month in just one week,
he swore he saw a vein pop on Lumi's forehead.
He'd almost felt like laughing.
His merit point wallet wasn't as amused though.
He spent another two merit points for a second salve —
and another one near the end of the second week.
That left him with four points.
But with the Trial rapidly approaching, that was enough.
On this morning, Riven stood at the edge of the main plaza.
High up on the northern terrace, carved from flat gray stone and ringed with tiered walkways.
From here, the rest of the sect fell away like a series of layered cliffs — rooftops vanishing into morning haze.
Other disciples were already gathering.
Some alone. Some in small groups — whispering, pacing, stretching shoulders, adjusting belts.
Some looked nervous.
Some tried too hard not to.
Riven exhaled once through his nose, watching the mist shift with the breath.
He adjusted the fold of his robe, brushed his thumb once over the top of the sash.
The trial was about to begin.
He looked up.
The sky above was pale — just past dawn — tinged with streaks of cloud.
Then…
Something shifted.
The wind pulled back.
A low rumble vibrated through the stone beneath his feet — quiet, but heavy.
A shadow began to fall across the plaza.