Chapter 4 – Smiling Blades
The outer disciple courtyard was louder than usual that evening.
News of the mine collapse had spread quickly. Twelve disciples were confirmed dead. Three injured. One survivor from Tunnel Seven.
Arin Vale.
He sat quietly near a stone pillar, his back straight, eyes half-closed as if meditating.
In reality—
He was listening.
"They say the entire section collapsed instantly."
"Tunnel Seven, right?"
"I heard Darius assigned him there…"
Whispers traveled faster than wind.
Arin did not react.
Inside his dantian, the faint spirit vein pulsed steadily. The single star burned brighter than before, its light spreading faint warmth across the barren land.
Controlled.
Contained.
For now.
Footsteps approached.
Heavy. Confident.
Darius Holt stopped directly in front of him.
The courtyard slowly quieted.
"Well," Darius said with a faint smile, "the dead return."
A few disciples chuckled nervously.
Arin opened his eyes.
Calm. Unhurried.
"You seem disappointed," he replied evenly.
The courtyard fell silent.
Darius's smile stiffened.
"I assigned you to that tunnel because you were closest," Darius said smoothly. "Don't misunderstand."
"Of course," Arin nodded. "I would never misunderstand Senior Brother's kindness."
The words were polite.
The tone was neutral.
But something underneath them felt sharp.
Darius stepped closer.
"You're fortunate. Many weren't."
His gaze flickered across Arin's body.
No broken ribs. No visible serious injury.
Impossible.
"I heard the rocks completely sealed that section," Darius continued. "How exactly did you escape?"
There it was.
The real question.
Arin met his eyes directly.
"There was a small air pocket," he said. "I waited until rescue came."
A lie.
Delivered without hesitation.
Darius stared at him for several seconds.
Then—
He struck.
Without warning.
His palm shot forward, aiming directly at Arin's chest.
Gasps erupted in the courtyard.
Arin's body moved before the thought fully formed.
He tilted slightly.
The strike grazed his robe instead of landing cleanly.
Too fast.
Darius's eyes widened for a fraction of a second.
Arin had always been average.
Slow.
Predictable.
That reaction speed was not average.
Darius followed up immediately, sweeping his leg low.
This time Arin jumped back cleanly, landing three steps away.
Dust scattered between them.
The courtyard froze.
No one expected Arin to dodge twice.
Darius lowered his stance.
"So your reflexes improved after almost dying?" he said coldly. "Interesting."
Arin's gaze remained steady.
Inside his dantian, the spirit vein flickered.
Qi responded instantly to his intent.
He suppressed it.
Now was not the time.
"I was lucky," Arin replied calmly.
Darius stepped forward again—
"Enough."
A sharp voice cut through the tension.
An outer sect instructor stood at the entrance of the courtyard, eyes cold.
"Fighting without authorization will result in punishment."
Darius straightened immediately.
"My apologies, Instructor. I was merely testing Junior Brother's condition."
The instructor's gaze lingered on Arin briefly.
That earlier fluctuation…
Was it him?
No.
Impossible.
He turned away.
"Both of you. Training field. Three days from now. Formal spar."
The courtyard buzzed instantly.
A scheduled duel.
Darius smiled faintly.
"Recover well, Arin," he said quietly as he walked past him. "You wouldn't want to die from another accident."
When he was gone, the noise returned.
But Arin remained seated.
Unmoved.
Inside his dantian—
The barren land trembled faintly.
The spirit vein pulsed stronger than before.
And above, the cracked sky flickered once… as if anticipating something.
Three days.
Arin closed his eyes slowly.
He did not need revenge.
He needed advantage.
If the heavens denied him talent—
He would cultivate his own world.
And when they met in the arena…
Darius would understand.
Luck had nothing to do with it.