Silence fell over the ruined arena.
Stone was shattered.
Walls were cracked.
Dust drifted in the air like ghostly mist.
Every cultivator who had been conscious was now unconscious.
Every guard was collapsed on the ground.
Every spectator had fled in terror.
The only ones left standing were:
Lin Xue, clothes burned to ash.
Zhao Ming, trembling in quiet thought.
And the Silver Lamb, the calm center of a storm.
The Silver Lamb surveyed the area, her silver eyes glimmering faintly, searching for any lingering threat. Her presence alone kept even the unconscious bodies safe—no one dared approach, not even the wind.
Then she felt someone approach.
Lin Xue.
Still breathing heavily, but no longer consumed by flames. Her body suit clung to her form, charred around the edges, revealing scratches and bruises from the battle. Sweat covered her forehead, her hair clinging to her cheeks.
The Silver Lamb froze.
Her galaxy-like eyes widened a fraction.
Then she suddenly shrugged off her own silver coat and draped it over Lin Xue's shoulders in one smooth motion—almost too fast to think about.
"Cover yourself," she murmured.
Lin Xue blinked, surprised.
The Lamb's cheeks were lightly flushed, an emotion so rare it almost felt out of place.
"I… thank you," Lin Xue said, pulling the coat tighter around herself.
The Silver Lamb cleared her throat softly and looked away.
"What is it?" she asked. "You didn't come here just to thank me."
Lin Xue stepped closer. Her voice held neither fear nor hesitation—only the resolve of a phoenix whose flames had only begun to rise.
"I want to learn from you," Lin Xue said. "Your style. Your path. Your strength. Please—let me become your disciple."
The Lamb's expression didn't change.
She refused instantly.
"No."
Lin Xue straightened, lips tightening but not breaking. "Then—let me prove myself."
"You can't," the Lamb replied. "Not as you are."
"Then what must I do?"
The Silver Lamb finally looked directly into Lin Xue's eyes.
Her own were unreadable and cold—but something faint flickered behind them. Interest. Curiosity. Or something older.
"If you reach The Cloud," she said slowly, "on your own merit—then show me why I should accept you."
Lin Xue's breath caught.
The Cloud was the highest layer of the Cloud City. The hardest place to reach. The true domain of cultivators who had transcended limitation.
"If you can do that, I will watch your attempt."
Not accept.
Not consider.
Just watch.
Lin Xue bowed deeply, determination blazing anew.
"I will climb it."
"I know," the Lamb said, turning away. Her coat shimmered on Lin Xue's shoulders like starlight. "That's why I gave you a chance."
Zhao Ming watched from the distance, silent and still, leaning against the cracked wall of the Tower.
He looked at Lin Xue—
the girl who had just defeated a top-15 cultivator
the girl who had forced the Owl and Crow to retreat
the girl who had nearly broken the Tower with her flames
—being rejected without hesitation.
And he looked at Zhao Yuan lying unconscious, defeated without dignity.
Even the greatest prodigy of the Zhao Clan had been humbled.
Zhao Ming exhaled shakily.
His own heart felt… strange.
Twisted.
Stirred.
He looked toward the path the Owl had escaped through.
She called me a coward.
She said I hide behind others.
She said I never fight.
And when he fought back—
when he used Lei Sheng's teachings mixed with the Zhao Clan's techniques—
That moment still burned inside him.
"Would Lei Sheng be angry…?" he whispered.
He remembered the Thunder Rider's words.
'Your strength should not spill blood without necessity.'
But Zhao Ming had felt bloodlust.
Real, bitter, intoxicating.
The kind he had always avoided.
Was he losing himself?
Or finally becoming himself?
He looked at his trembling hands.
One path was Lei Sheng's.
One path was Zhao Clan's.
But the thing he used against the Owl—
That was neither.
That was something his.
A style born from conflict, from fear, from rejection, from instinct.
He swallowed hard.
"Lei Sheng… would he accept this?"
"...or would he hate me for it?"
He didn't know.
For the first time since leaving the Zhao Clan…
Zhao Ming realized he wasn't sure who he wanted to become.
But he knew one thing:
He couldn't keep running anymore.
Not from the Owl.
Not from his clan.
Not from his nature.
Not from himself.
The ruined arena was quiet.
But inside Zhao Ming's chest—
Something new was beginning to awaken.