The Inner Grounds were silent in a way that felt unnatural.
Kael stepped through the jade gate as it slid shut behind him, the soft hum of formations sealing the boundary with finality. The air on this side was richer—dense with spiritual energy, layered with the residue of countless cultivators who had trained, broken through, and died here over generations.
To others, this place was opportunity.
To Kael, it was a hunting ground.
He did not rush forward. He stood still, letting the environment settle against his senses. The devil sigil within his chest pulsed faintly, reacting to the suppressed fear hidden beneath cultivated calm. The Inner Grounds were filled with confidence, arrogance, ambition—and beneath all of it, insecurity.
Perfect.
A paved stone path stretched ahead, branching into several directions. Courtyards lay beyond it, each marked with banners denoting different bloodlines and factions within the clan. Towers rose in the distance, some reserved for elders, others for favored disciples.
Kael walked.
Eyes followed him.
He felt them without needing to look—glances that lingered too long, whispers cut short when he turned his head slightly. His presence did not inspire open hostility yet. Curiosity ruled for now.
That would change.
He reached a modest courtyard at the edge of the Inner Grounds. Smaller than most, but clean. Controlled. Deliberately isolated.
House arrest, indeed.
A thin barrier shimmered briefly as he stepped inside, then faded. Not a prison. A reminder.
Kael exhaled slowly and sat down on the stone platform at the center of the courtyard.
Only then did he allow himself to truly look inward.
The sealed fear roiled beneath layers of authority, like a chained beast testing its restraints. The Trial Mark pulsed faintly, not painfully, but insistently—an ever-present signal that higher layers of existence had acknowledged him.
"Too early," Kael murmured. "But unavoidable."
He began circulating energy.
Not traditional cultivation.
He guided ambient spiritual energy toward his body, but instead of forcing it through his broken meridians, he let it pass around them, brushing against bone, blood, and soul. The devil foundation responded, reshaping the flow into something sustainable.
Pain flared briefly.
Then stabilized.
Minutes passed.
Then an hour.
Kael's breathing slowed as his focus deepened. The courtyard darkened as clouds slid over the sun, shadows lengthening across stone.
And then—
A ripple.
Kael's eyes opened instantly.
Someone had entered the Inner Grounds barrier.
Not a servant.
Not a messenger.
A cultivator.
Strong.
Deliberately suppressing their aura, but not enough to fool him.
Kael stood and turned toward the courtyard gate.
A young man approached openly, robes embroidered with the sigil of a main bloodline branch. His cultivation was at the third layer—high for his age. His expression was relaxed, almost friendly.
"Kael Draven," the man said with a smile. "Welcome to the Inner Grounds."
Kael did not return the smile.
"You know my name," Kael replied calmly. "That means you came prepared."
The man chuckled. "Hard not to, given the recent… disturbances."
He clasped his hands behind his back. "My name is Lin Hao. I'm here to help you settle in."
"Help," Kael repeated.
"Yes," Lin Hao said smoothly. "The Inner Grounds can be… dangerous for outsiders. Accidents happen. People misunderstand each other."
Kael tilted his head slightly. "And you're here to prevent misunderstandings."
Lin Hao's smile widened just a fraction. "Something like that."
Kael studied him.
This one was careful. Confident. Used to testing others without revealing his hand. In Kael's previous life, Lin Hao had lived long—but never mattered.
Until now.
"Speak plainly," Kael said.
Lin Hao sighed theatrically. "Very well. Some people are uncomfortable with your presence. You've been… disruptive."
Kael nodded. "I intend to continue."
Lin Hao laughed. "Bold."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "There's an opportunity for cooperation. Stay quiet. Don't provoke attention. Accept your place. In return, no one will bother you."
Kael looked past him, toward the Inner Grounds beyond.
"I didn't come here to be ignored," Kael said softly.
Lin Hao's eyes hardened. "That wasn't an offer, Kael. It was advice."
The devil sigil pulsed.
Fear stirred—not explosive, but subtle. The confidence in Lin Hao's posture wavered just slightly.
Kael took one step forward.
"Then here's mine," Kael said. "Leave. And don't return unless you're ready to kneel."
The words were calm.
They landed like a blade.
Lin Hao's smile vanished.
"You're mistaken if you think the clan head's interest protects you," he said coldly. "Interest fades. Death doesn't."
Kael's gaze sharpened.
"Then remember this moment," Kael replied. "It's the last time you spoke to me as an equal."
Lin Hao stared at him for a long second, then scoffed.
"We'll see."
He turned and left.
The barrier shimmered briefly as he exited.
Kael exhaled.
"That was the warning," he murmured. "Next comes the test."
Night fell.
Lanterns lit the Inner Grounds, bathing courtyards and towers in warm light. Cultivators trained, argued, laughed—life continued, oblivious to the tension tightening beneath it.
Kael did not sleep.
He cultivated lightly, carefully, reinforcing the devil foundation without provoking backlash. The sealed fear remained contained, but restless.
Then—
Movement.
Fast.
Hostile.
Kael rose instantly.
The barrier around his courtyard flickered violently as something struck it from the outside. A second impact followed, stronger than the first.
The barrier shattered.
Figures poured in.
Five of them.
All wearing neutral robes. No clan insignia. Faces partially concealed.
Assassins.
"Efficient," Kael said quietly. "No witnesses."
They didn't answer.
They attacked.
Two moved to flank. One charged head-on. The remaining two hung back, preparing techniques.
Kael stepped forward.
The first assassin's blade slashed toward his throat.
Kael twisted aside and drove his elbow into the man's ribs. The impact sounded dull—but something deeper cracked. The assassin collapsed instantly, breathless.
Fear surged.
The devil sigil responded.
Kael seized the falling blade and spun, hurling it backward. It pierced the throat of the second assassin before he could react.
The remaining three hesitated.
That hesitation was fatal.
Kael moved like a shadow, each step precise, each strike economical. He did not overpower them—he dismantled them, exploiting fear, uncertainty, and timing.
One fell.
Then another.
The last assassin turned to flee.
Kael let him run.
Three steps.
Then—
Kael spoke.
"Stop."
The word carried intent.
The assassin froze mid-stride, body trembling violently as fear crushed his will. Kael approached slowly.
"Who sent you?" Kael asked.
The man shook his head desperately. "I—I don't know. Orders came through an intermediary—"
Kael placed a hand on his chest.
The devil sigil flared.
Fear was ripped free violently.
The assassin collapsed, unconscious, mind shattered but alive.
Kael straightened.
He looked up.
On the rooftops surrounding the courtyard, silhouettes watched silently before melting away into the darkness.
"So it begins," Kael murmured.
By morning, the Inner Grounds would know.
The cripple had survived.
Again.
Kael returned to the stone platform and sat down calmly, blood staining the courtyard stones around him.
Inside his chest, the sealed fear rattled its chains, eager, impatient.
"Not yet," Kael whispered. "Soon."
Far above the clan, unseen to all—
The Trial Mark pulsed once more.
And somewhere beyond the heavens, a record was quietly updated.