Moments after the lakeside clash
Rana Flare stormed through the forest trail, her clothes half-dried and spirit still prickling with frustration. That boy—if he could even be called that—had left her rattled. He was unreadable. Like standing near a bonfire with no heat. Her flames had found no traction, her rage no target. And worst of all—he hadn't even taken her seriously.
He was hiding something. Or everything.
Where had he come from? What clan did he belong to?
It didn't matter. He had humiliated her, and she will get revenge.
She didn't realize how deep she'd wandered until a twig snapped behind her.
Three men stepped from the trees in near-perfect formation, all wearing travel-worn grey and the smugness of predators who'd already picked their prey. Their cultivation pulsed hot and steady—peak Pearl Realm, all three. Dangerous. Worse, their expressions lacked discipline. Especially the two who lingered behind the leader—their eyes raked across her with intent she'd rather burn than endure.
Rana raised her hand. A blade forged of pure flame bloomed to life. "Move," she snapped, "or die."
But they didn't take her seriously. Out here, alone and beyond her family's or clan's protection—she was vulnerable. And they knew it.
They attacked. The air exploded with martial force.
The leader surged forward first—an axe wreathed in vibrating qi, his strikes heavy and deliberate. Earth qi. That's why his movements felt like falling boulders—slow, but impossible to ignore.
The other two flanked her with paired strikes. One moved with slicing gusts—wind qi, fast and evasive. The other wielded bladed light—metal qi, sharp and surgical, always aiming for joints.
Rana's flame met theirs in a storm of sparks.
She lashed a whip of fire toward the wind cultivator—he twisted aside, scattering the heat with a gust. Her flame roared, but wind danced.
She pivoted, striking the metal cultivator's blade with a burst of concentrated heat. The steel hissed, edges warping. He recoiled, eyes wide.
But the leader's earth qi soaked her fire like sand smothering embers. His sealing technique bit into her shoulder before she could parry, disrupting her qi flow.
Her breath caught. Her foot faltered. A second attacker nearly impaled her from behind—saved only by instinct and a desperate flare of heat.
Three elements. No synergy. No mercy. Her fire could hold its own—but not against all three at once. Especially not the Earth element. That sealing strike had drained her faster than she expected. She needed space. Time. A miracle.
She ran.
Not cowardice—necessity.
They pursued, relentless and cruel, hoping to end her before she reached aid. The forest blurred in streaks of shadow and blood, each step aching louder than the last. But somehow—through stubborn will alone and unintentionally—she found the lake again.
And there he was.
That perverted boy, bathing in the lake as if she weren't out here struggling for her life. As if he weren't the most infuriating person she'd ever met.
She stumbled forward—but the last of her strength failed her. Her knees buckled. Vision swam.
She collapsed.
Her attackers arrived moments later, blades still slick with intent. They barely spared Jalen a glance—he wasn't the target. She was.
One of them stepped forward, blade raised. Ready to strike.
Jalen didn't rise. Didn't speak. He simply looked up.
The attack was swift and invisible.
The attacker's eyes bulged. His mouth twitched once in confusion—
Then he dropped. Blood steaming from his nose. Nerves scorched from the inside out. Dead.
Jalen had released the fourth form of his Spirit Wind Art—Wind Spirit Needle.
A thread-thin strike, nearly invisible, fused with spirit sense energy and shaped like a needle of condensed wind. It bypassed flesh and bone, slipping through the assassin's defenses like mist through silk.
And when it struck, it didn't wound.
It unraveled.
The other two froze.
That kind of pressure didn't come from a Pearl Realm cultivator. It belonged to someone far beyond—hidden behind sect walls and centuries of cultivation. And yet it came from… a boy. Wet hair. Lean frame. A gaze too calm for someone so young.
Wind qi lifted Rana like silk on a breeze. But it wasn't just wind—it was the third technique of the Spirit Wind Art: Gust dance. She rose gently, as if the forest itself had decided to carry her.
Wind qi lifted Rana like silk on a breeze. But it wasn't just wind—it was tempered, precise, almost… intelligent. No ordinary cultivator shaped qi like that.
The attackers no longer wanted smoke, so Jalen saw no reason to deliver it.
They ran. No threats. No words. Just fear and flight.
Jalen sighed.
He never sought trouble, nor did he like getting involved—especially in things that didn't concern him. But no matter how rude this girl had been earlier, he couldn't just sit back and watch her die.
He floated her gently to a moss-covered boulder and placed two fingers on her wrist, injecting his aura into her meridians.
It took nearly an hour before her breath evened.
__
When Rana woke, her body still hurt, but her wounds were sealed. She was whole. She sat up sharply, weapon half-formed—then paused.
No enemies.
No signs of danger.
Just that perverted boy taking a bath in the lake.
"You're awake," Jalen said, as if they were just two travelers sharing a morning. "Good. I'm new to this continent. I'll need a guide."
Earlier, he'd considered walking away. Easier that way. Cleaner. But if he did, those assassins might return—and finish what they started. That didn't sit right. So, he improvised. If he was going to be forced to protect her, she might as well be useful while she was still breathing.
Rana blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I want you to accompany me to the nearest town's library, that's all," Jalen said, as if it were a minor favor. "It's the least you can do. I did save your life."
"You?" Rana stared at him, incredulous. To her, he was just blowing smoke. Sure, he was strong—but there was no way he took on three late-stage Pearl experts alone and lived. Was there?
"Yes. Me." He didn't flinch. "I killed one. The other two ran."
She stared. Pearl stage assassins didn't just run.
"You're lying."
"Am I?" He tilted his head, eyes calm. "Believe what you want. So—are you coming or not? I could manage on my own, but having a local might make things easier."
He rose from the water with zero urgency, completely unbothered by modesty.
Rana flushed and spun around. "Shameless!"
"What?" he shrugged. "I'm just naked. It's no big deal."
"Are you stupid?" She snapped, rolling her eyes. "Put on your clothes!"
"I will—if you agree to take me to a library."
She gritted her teeth. "Fine! I'll take you to the damn library. Just—get dressed already!"
His robe flew into his hand as if summoned. In one smooth motion, he tied the last sash.
"Lead the way."
Rana's jaw clenched. She said nothing—but obeyed.