The wind shifted. Jin Seong felt it immediately.
Not the natural kind that danced through mountaintops, but something sharp—precise. A change in the world's breath. The old man beside him vanished into the shadows without a word. He had fulfilled his purpose.
Now, Seong would face his first storm alone.
Snow began to fall—odd, considering the season. Each flake struck the ground like a blade, cutting through the dirt. The clouds above weren't storming. They were waiting.
She was close.
Seong steadied his breathing, letting the black lotus feed. The sword of pain hovered at his side, humming. His hands didn't tremble. His rage didn't burn. Everything was... still.
Then he saw her.
Descending the mountain trail like a wraith carved from frost, her robes untouched by wind, her steps silent. The air around her froze with each motion. Not in metaphor—literally. Trees she passed withered, moisture turned to ice, and the earth recoiled.
Do Rina. Sister to Do Yun. Core Elder. Wielder of the Glacier Vein Blade.
And the sect's most ruthless executioner.
Her eyes met his. Silver. Empty. Not cruel—worse. Indifferent.
"You should have stayed dead," she said.
Seong stepped forward. "Then let's fix that mistake."
She didn't answer with words. The air cracked. A crescent slash of ice exploded from her blade, moving faster than thought. Seong dodged, barely. The attack sliced through the stone pillar behind him, clean as silk.
He lunged forward, his pain-forged weapon cleaving upward.
She parried with elegance, not force. His sword trembled.
"Slaughter energy," she murmured. "So the scroll did choose you."
Seong twisted, slamming his knee into her ribs. She flickered backward—no movement wasted. Her counterstrike came with frost coating her arms. Each blow didn't bruise. It tried to freeze his very blood.
Seong channeled the second technique—Echo of Wrath—and released a pulse of anguish. Her movements faltered for a second. Just enough.
He slashed across her shoulder.
Blood froze before it left her skin.
She looked down, mildly surprised. "You hurt me."
"I'll do worse," Seong growled.
She didn't flinch. Instead, she smiled.
And the sky darkened.
From the heavens above, thousands of crystalline needles descended. A technique known only to the Elders—Sky Burial of Frost. One cast in the entire history of the sect. Designed to end battles in seconds.
Seong stared upward.
Then he laughed.
He didn't run. He didn't shield.
He let the lotus consume more. Let the scripture turn agony into power.
As the frost spears rained down, Seong roared—and met them head-on.