"Are you sure about this bet?" a heavy voice came from the contestants' bench. A stocky youth sat there, his face dotted with a large black mole on his right cheek. Ryouken — one of Mo Feng's close comrades — spoke with an uncommon edge of worry. "I feel something different about Mo Long. He isn't the weak boy he used to be…"
Mo Feng fell silent. A flash of memory from a year ago streaked through his mind.
Back then, Mo Feng had just returned from the academy. In the clan yard he'd found Mo Long — small, gaunt, pale, eyes wide with fear. A single look from Mo Feng had made the other boy bow his head and tremble.
"An embarrassment to the clan," Mo Feng had spat.
"Respect, eldest brother," Mo Fei, Mo Shou, and Mo Hu had said, bowing past him.
"Hey. What a lucky sight — there goes the clan disgrace. Teach him a lesson. Make him remember his place."
On Mo Feng's word, the three boys had leapt at Mo Long. Kicks and punches, flamed with black qi, struck the little figure again and again.
The boy had tried to fight back — blocking some blows, kicking up dust, even tripping Mo Fei for a moment. He almost ran, but Mo Feng chased him down with ease.
A kick wrapped in black Qi hit Mo Long in the back, sending him sprawling; blood had spewed from his mouth. The terrified look in that boy's eyes that night remained etched in Mo Feng's memory.
Now Mo Feng stood near the arena, watching the changed Mo Long, trying desperately to convince himself the change meant nothing.
He clenched his fists, jaw tight. "No matter how much he's changed, if he only just awakened Shadow Qi, he can't control it yet. Maybe he'll pass… but faster than me? Impossible. I'll win this wager."
Beside Ryouken, a thin young man with a long face, narrow eyes, and sunken lips chortled. His name was Akira. "I can't wait," he said, licking his dry lips. "I want to smash that arrogant Mo Long in the face. I want to hear him beg at my feet."
Mo Feng turned, grin cruel. "You can hit him all you want… after I finish."
Another of their group, Daigo — a lean youth with a long scar along his left temple who had roused Mo Feng at the brothel last night — only sighed. He watched the arena with calculating eyes. 'To parry Mo Feng's brutal kick without flinching… that's not normal. That kid's truly different now,' he thought. Then he exhaled inwardly, forcing his doubts into restraint.
'Even if Feng loses that bet,' Daigo thought, the corner of his mouth curling faintly, 'there's no way he'd ever let himself be struck.'
Mo Feng's jaw tightened, teeth grinding audibly. The knuckles on his fists cracked like snapping twigs.
"After I'm done with Mo Long," he growled under his breath, "I'll make sure Hu Wei learns who his real master is."
CLANG!
A sharp bell rang through the arena. The crowd hushed.
Mo Long stepped into the first trial circle—four massive wooden logs hung from iron chains around him, each suspended on a pivoting frame.
"Begin!" the examiner barked.
WHOOSH!
The four logs swung at once, cutting through the air with lethal force, converging toward Mo Long from every direction. Spectators leaned forward, expecting to see him crushed or thrown out of bounds.
But the opposite happened.
With a single stomp, Mo Long released a surge of Shadow Qi.
The ground trembled. A violent burst of black wind exploded outward, shredding the iron chains with a sound like thunder.
KRAAAANG!
The logs shot outward like missiles, crashing beyond the ring—one even narrowly missing the crowd, who screamed and stumbled back in panic.
The entire field fell silent.
"W-What was that?!" one examiner shouted, face pale.
Mo Feng stood frozen. His pupils dilated, disbelief tightening his features. "Impossible…" he hissed, voice trembling with fury.
Up on the platform, Mo Long turned his head slowly—his cold, sharp gaze locking directly on Mo Feng. The faintest, mocking smile touched his lips.
That single look was enough to make Mo Feng's blood boil. His entire face flushed red as he clenched his fists harder, nails digging into his palms.
Then came the second trial.
Mo Long stood in the center of a much larger ring. Around him, the ground rumbled as hidden mechanisms activated. Dozens—no, hundreds—of small cannons opened along the walls, their barrels glowing with faint runes.
"Fire!" shouted the examiner.
In the next instant—
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Hundreds of hardened clay balls blasted toward him from every direction like a storm of bullets.
"This time he's done for," Ryouken muttered nervously, trying to steady his voice.
"Yeah… there's no way he can handle that," Akira echoed, though even his tone shook slightly.
Mo Feng said nothing. His eyes followed every motion in the arena. Inside, a creeping unease grew. 'Shadow Qi shouldn't move like that… that stomp earlier—no novice could release that kind of force. Just what the hell has he become?'
CRACK!
Mo Long suddenly jumped, body twisting mid-air. The black qi around him condensed, spinning faster and faster until it became a roaring vortex.
SHHHHK!
Like a black storm, the whirlwind devoured the barrage. Every clay ball that came close shattered instantly into dust, disintegrating before it could even touch him.
He landed gracefully—feet light, posture steady—standing once again in the exact center of the ring. Not a single speck of dirt marked his robe.
The arena erupted. Cheers, gasps, and stunned cries crashed together.
Mo Long's lips curved slightly. 'So this is it… that spinning kick I used to wield with Light Qi—combined with Shadow Qi, it creates pure destruction.'
He exhaled slowly, the air around him swirling faintly with black smoke, while in the stands, dozens of jaws hung open—including his brother's.
The third arena.
Silence fell heavy, so thick that even the wind seemed to stop breathing. Every eye locked on the young man from the Shadow Dragon Clan—the boy who had just stunned the crowd twice in a row.
Hu Wei stood near the edge of the field, his palms slick with cold sweat. His stiff smile betrayed the storm in his chest.
'There's no way he can beat the final examiner that easily. Impossible! Even if he does… I'm not laying a hand on Mo Feng. He can handle that lunatic himself…'
From the opposite gate, a tall, broad man stepped into the ring. The single word Chief was emblazoned across the back of his vest. His hair was tied neatly in a topknot, an old scar ran across his face and arms, and his stance was as solid as a fortress wall.
He studied Mo Long for a moment, his voice deep and resonant.
"Judging from what I've seen, my subordinates wouldn't stand a chance against you."
Mo Long said nothing. His eyes, calm yet cutting, traveled over the man from head to toe, measuring every movement, every breath.
"You might pass, boy," the chief continued, lowering into a stance, "but don't expect it to be easy."
Mo Long's lips curved faintly. His gaze burned like a blade drawn from its sheath.
"That's exactly what I want."
He spread his legs into a solid stance, left fist extended, right hand drawn inward. Around him, black qi flared to life—dense, violent, and alive, pulsing like the breath of a storm.
TENG!
The bell rang.
WHOOSH!
In an instant, Mo Long's right fist shot forward. A gigantic black shadow of a hand burst from his arm, slicing through the air with terrifying speed.
The chief blocked with both forearms wrapped in amber qi, but the impact tore through him like a shockwave. His feet scraped harshly across the floor, dragged back several meters, nearly flung out of the ring.
Before he could even gather his strength to counter—
Mo Long was already airborne.
"Shadow Dragon Dive Kick."
The words were soft, almost inaudible, yet every person in the stands felt them vibrate in their bones.
From above, a colossal black dragon silhouette descended with him, coiling and roaring as it crashed down.
BOOOOM!
The explosion rattled the arena. The chief's body was hurled backward, slamming into the arena fence before being thrown out entirely.
TENG! TENG! TENG!
Three chimes rang—the sign of victory.
For a moment, absolute silence.
Then, all eyes turned toward the incense stick burning beside the examiner's table. Only a thin wisp of ash had fallen. The stick remained almost whole.
When Mo Feng had taken the same test earlier, his incense had burned halfway down.
The realization struck the audience all at once.
Gasps. Murmurs. Then chaos—cheers, shouts, disbelief echoing through the grandstand.
But Mo Long heard none of it. He stood unmoving, his breath steady, his eyes scanning the crowd.
Searching.
Yet among the noise and the celebration… Mo Feng was gone.
Mo Long swept his gaze across the stands — and there he saw him.
Mo Feng was storming away from the arena, face crimson, teeth grinding audibly as rage twisted his expression. His three companions hurried after him, their faces pale and anxious.
In the center of the field, Mo Long stood unmoving. The black qi that enveloped his body still pulsed faintly, coiling around him like living smoke. A cold, razor-thin smile curved on his lips.
Far from the cheers and chaos of the arena, a completely different air lingered in the narrow alleys of the city. Between two soot-stained walls, Mo Feng and his three friends moved quickly, their steps echoing in uneven rhythm.
'I'm not running away. I'm protecting the clan's dignity, Mo Feng told himself over and over. If I were running, I'd already be using qinggong.'
Yet his strides grew longer, faster, betraying the panic that boiled beneath his chest.
"How… how could he be that strong?" Ryouken muttered in disbelief, his voice shaking. Sweat rolled down his temple as he tried to keep up. The image of that black dragon shadow smashing the examiner still haunted him. "That was the chief examiner of the Demon Cult's central division! He was thrown like a rag doll! That's… that's insane."
Akira snorted, his messy long hair half-hiding his face. "Don't be stupid. The examiner just got careless. Mo Long's attack caught him off guard. Anyone would get blown away if hit that suddenly."
Ryouken stopped short, glaring at him. "Careless or not, unless that kid's power was monstrous, no one could've sent the chief flying like that!"
Their voices rose, clashing against the walls, but their feet kept following Mo Feng, who strode ahead without a word.
"Shut up!" Mo Feng suddenly barked. His voice exploded through the alley, echoing sharply. "Say one more word, and I'll beat the hell out of you right here."
Silence fell at once.
Only Daigo sighed softly. Through a quiet Qi Transmission, he warned, 'Mo Feng's temper's worse than ever. Keep your mouths shut for the next few days… or keep your distance.'
Mo Feng gritted his teeth, rage and humiliation twisting inside him. 'If I see him again, I'll crush him! That bastard tricked me into that stupid wager!'
But his thoughts froze as a calm, mocking voice cut through the air above them.
"Well, well… look who's scurrying through the alleys like rats in the dark."
All four men's heads snapped up.
There — standing atop the tiled roof of a pavilion — was Mo Long. His long black robe billowed in the twilight wind, his eyes gleaming coldly like sharpened obsidian.
Across the alley, on the opposite rooftop, Hu Wei stood poised, his expression unreadable but his stance ready for battle.
"Mo Long!" Mo Feng roared. Fury surged through him; black qi instantly flared from his body, coiling around his arm.
With a deafening crack, he hurled a punch toward the roof.
BOOOOM!
The shadowy blast ripped through the air, pulverizing the tiles where Mo Long had just been standing. Shards rained down like hail.
But Mo Long had already moved.
With a graceful twist, he dropped lightly to the ground, landing in the alley without a scratch. The remains of the shattered roof clattered behind him.
Hu Wei descended from the opposite side, boots crunching against the dirt road as he came to stand silently beside Mo Long.
The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder in the narrow, dim-lit alley — one cloaked in shadow, the other calm yet vigilant — while across from them, Mo Feng's rage burned like a wildfire about to ignite the night.
Mo Long folded his arms across his chest, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.
"I used to think my brother was a real man," he said quietly, almost lazily. "Turns out, I was wrong."
A vein pulsed visibly on Mo Feng's temple. "What did you just say?"
Mo Long's eyes glinted with cold amusement. "Only women," he continued, voice calm yet sharp as a dagger, "fail to keep their word."
That single sentence shattered Mo Feng's restraint.
"YOU—!"
With a furious roar, Mo Feng lunged forward. His right fist flared with dense black qi, the air trembling around it. But his rage ruined his form — the swing came too wide, too slow, too raw.
CRAACK!
The Silver Dragon Sword, still sheathed yet wrapped in a layer of shadow qi, struck upward in one smooth arc. The blow was clean and precise, slamming straight into Mo Feng's abdomen. The force pierced through his qi flow, hitting directly at his dantian.
Mo Feng's eyes bulged; a strangled gasp escaped his throat.
"G—gah…!"
Blood burst from his lips. His body crumpled, knees slamming to the dirt as he clutched his stomach, trembling violently.
"Y-you… bastard—!"
Before he could rise, his three companions charged at once.
Ryouken was the first. Sword raised high, he shouted incoherently as he closed the distance—
THUD!
Mo Long's sheathed sword whipped horizontally, smashing into Ryouken's throat. The fat man gagged, air and saliva bursting from his mouth as he stumbled back, eyes bulging in shock.
Akira leapt next, screaming. His blade cut down fast—
CRACK!
Mo Long flicked the hilt upward; the blunt pommel smashed directly into Akira's nose. Bone cracked audibly. Blood sprayed, and the man collapsed, shrieking in agony.
Daigo tried to use the opening. He slid behind Mo Long, blade flashing for a silent strike—
—but Hu Wei moved first.
His leg spun in a sharp arc, dark qi swirling around it.
"Shadow Gale Kick!"
BOOM!
The kick hit Daigo square across the face. His body flew backward, crashing into the alley wall hard enough to splinter it. Dust rained from above as he slumped to the ground, groaning, blood pooling beneath his cheek.
Mo Feng staggered to his feet, panting, fury drowning the pain in his gut.
"Hu Wei!" he rasped. "Why… why are you siding with that failure of our clan!?"
Hu Wei stepped forward, standing protectively before Mo Long. His voice was cold and iron-hard.
"I was ordered by Patriarch Mo Han himself — to guard Young Master Mo Long from anyone who dares to harm him."
His tone dropped even lower, filled with quiet finality. "And the Patriarch's orders… are absolute."
Mo Feng's eyes went bloodshot, veins bulging in his forehead.
"Get up, you worthless trash!" he bellowed at his fallen men. "Don't just cower like dogs! KILL THEM!"
Ryouken pushed himself up, clutching his bruised neck. Akira, nose broken and bleeding, snarled through gritted teeth. Daigo, half-conscious, dragged himself upright, the blade trembling in his hand but his killing intent burning hot.
Like wounded wolves, the three of them charged again — desperate, reckless, united by rage.
Hu Wei moved first to intercept. His legs blurred, each motion accompanied by a swirl of black dust.
"Whirling Shadow Kick!"
A circular gust of black qi exploded outward. Daigo raised his sword to block—
WHAM!
The impact lifted him clean off the ground. His body convulsed midair, veins bulging under his skin as the dark qi surged through his meridians like venom. He crashed down hard, coughing up blood, limbs twitching uncontrollably.
At the same time, Mo Long turned to face Ryouken and Akira head-on.
With deadly precision, he swung his still-sheathed sword. Each strike left an afterimage, shadow trails slicing through the air.
THUD!
The sheath struck Ryouken's shoulder. The impact looked harmless—but within seconds, the skin around it blackened, veins spreading like ink under his flesh. His arm shook violently, the sword slipping from his grip.
He screamed, collapsing as the Shadow Qi gnawed at his nerves from within.
Akira hesitated—just for a blink—but that single heartbeat sealed his fate.
Mo Long vanished from sight.
"Wha—"
A shadow flashed behind him.
WHACK!
The sheathed blade struck the back of Akira's neck. His eyes rolled white before his body crumpled to the ground, motionless.
When the dust settled, only the sound of Mo Feng's ragged breathing filled the alley.
Hu Wei lowered his stance slowly, scanning for any remaining threats.
Mo Long exhaled softly, his gaze falling on his brother—bloodied, trembling, and barely standing.
The smile returned to his face, faint yet cold as winter steel.
"Now, brother," he murmured, stepping closer, "let's see if you still think I'm the shame of the clan."
Akira swung wildly, his blade slicing through the air in panic.
Mo Long didn't even draw his sword. With one fluid motion, he blocked the strike using the back of his hand—his skin glimmering faintly under the layer of black qi that coated it.
CRACKK!
The sound of cracking bone echoed sharply. Akira's fingers twisted unnaturally, pain stabbing all the way to his marrow.
"AAARGH!" he screamed, the sword slipping from his trembling hand.
Before he could react, Mo Long spun on his heel.
WHUMPH!
His kick slammed into Akira's abdomen with brutal precision. The man doubled over, the air punched out of his lungs. But then, from that small bruise on his stomach, Shadow Qi began to seep in—crawling under his skin like living fire. His body jerked violently as heat and searing pain spread from within.
Akira writhed on the ground, screaming.
Not far away, Ryouken clutched his shoulder, the spot where Mo Long's sheathed sword had struck him earlier. What looked like a harmless bruise had begun to change—black veins spread outward like ink bleeding through paper.
"A-aghh! What is this… poison?!" he gasped, his face turning ashen, his hands shaking uncontrollably.
Mo Long regarded them both with an unreadable expression. His voice came out calm, yet cold enough to freeze blood.
"It isn't poison," he said flatly. "It's Shadow Qi—the power of the Shadow Dragon. Even a scratch from it… feels like hell."
Mo Feng's mind screamed in disbelief.
'How… how is his Shadow Qi that strong?!'
His eyes widened, staring as the two men who had once mocked Mo Long were reduced to groaning heaps on the ground.
Hu Wei stepped back to Mo Long's side, chest heaving slightly from the earlier battle.
"Young master," he said quietly, "it seems they won't be getting up again."
Mo Long only gave a faint, icy smile. His gaze shifted toward Mo Feng—still standing, trembling with rage and pain, blood streaking down his chin.
"Y-you bastards!" Mo Feng's roar split the air. His Shadow Qi exploded outward in a furious swirl, forming a dense black haze that crackled around him like a living storm.
Then, in Hu Wei's ear, a voice whispered through Qi Transmission, low and cold:
"I'll draw his attack. You'll strike his face with everything you have. If you hesitate… I'll cut your hand off."
Hu Wei's head snapped toward Mo Long, eyes wide. Mo Long met his gaze with chilling calm.
"Remember your pride," he said softly.
Across from them, Mo Feng drew a deep, sharp breath. His mouth opened wide, the dark Qi that had been swirling around him suddenly collapsing inward—condensing violently into his chest. His body seemed to swell, veins bulging, eyes burning red.
"Dragon's Cursed Breath!"
A massive jet of black flame erupted from his mouth, twisting like a serpent of destruction. It pursued Mo Long wherever he moved, scorching the air and devouring everything in its path.
Mo Long leapt aside, flipped backward, and spun midair—but the flame chased him relentlessly. There was no room left to dodge.
KLAANG!
The Silver Dragon Sword flashed free from its sheath. Black qi wrapped tightly around the blade as he swung it in rapid arcs, slicing the stream of cursed fire into fragments. Each slash tore through the darkness, dispersing the flames into bursts of molten ash.
CRACK!
Just then, a loud roar burst from the side—
Hu Wei charged. His fist, engulfed in swirling Shadow Qi, came down like a hammer.
"HHRAAAGH!"
His punch landed squarely on Mo Feng's head. The impact thundered through the alley, the force cracking the cobblestones beneath their feet.
Mo Feng's body shot backward, crashing onto the ground. The black flames sputtered out instantly, snuffed by the shock.
Mo Long's foot was already raised, his body poised for the final strike—Shadow Dragon Dive Kick—when a shadow appeared before him.
A tall figure, cloaked in black, stepped between them. The face was hidden, but the presence was commanding, suffocating.
Mo Long's eyes narrowed. He halted mid-motion, landing silently on the ground.
He didn't have to look around to know—within seconds, the alley was filled with figures in dark uniforms. The Law Hall's enforcers.
They moved like shadows—some standing on rooftops, some blocking the exits, others restraining Mo Feng's half-conscious body.
From behind their ranks, a man in noble blue robes strode forward. Two burly guards followed close behind, long spears gleaming under the lamplight.
The man's gaze fixed sharply on Mo Long. His tone was calm but carried the weight of authority—and fury.
"This," he said coldly, pointing at the young warrior before him, "is the one who beat my son."