Wudang's Lost Sword Returns

The moment Yujin's voice trailed off, the disciples of Wudang sprang into action, disappearing into the dense foliage like spirits of the forest. Leaves crackled under hurried footsteps, the earthy scent of damp soil thick in the air as the teams split into their designated formations like whispers vanishing into the woods.

Jiang Chen took point for Team River, his sharp eyes scanning the terrain ahead. He could hear the subtle sounds of movement in the distance—Mount Hua disciples were already on the move. His mind raced, recalling Juan Lei's teachings.

Know the flow of battle, and guide it as a river shapes the land.

He signaled to his team, motioning for them to slow their pace. The air was thick with tension, the scent of damp earth and freshly broken twigs filling his lungs. They were close—too close for comfort.

A sudden flicker in his peripheral vision forced him to react. With a sharp breath, Jiang Chen twisted his body, narrowly avoiding a wooden training sword that came down like a hammer. The impact sent a tremor through the ground where he had stood moments before. His assailant, a Mount Hua disciple clad in rose-trimmed robes, wasted no time in pressing the attack.

Steel clashed in a ringing cacophony, sparks flashing as Jiang Chen barely managed to parry a relentless storm of strikes. His muscles screamed with each deflection, his fingers numbing under the mounting pressure. His opponent's technique was aggressive, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next—a hallmark of Mount Hua's famed sword arts.

"Not bad," the Mount Hua disciple mused, his blade hovering just inches away from Jiang Chen's guard. "But you hesitate. A real battle won't give you that luxury."

Jiang Chen didn't reply. Instead, he shifted his stance, adjusting his center of gravity before countering with a precise thrust. His opponent barely had time to react, jerking his head back as the tip of Jiang Chen's weapon grazed his shoulder—a narrow miss, but a miss nonetheless.

The disciple smirked. "So you do have some bite."

Jiang Chen returned the smirk. "More than just bite."

River!' Jiang Chen's voice cut through the air, and like a dam breaking, his team burst forth from their hiding spots, wooden swords slicing through the tension like lightning before a storm.

"Checkmate!" Jiang Chen shouted.

"Shit—!" The disciple barely had time to curse before a flurry of wooden strikes overwhelmed him, dropping him to the ground.

"That's one down. Be careful—it might've been a scout."

As if on cue, Mount Hua's team emerged from the trees, their wooden swords flowing like a storm of plum blossoms.

"Don't underestimate the might of Mount Hua!"

Their formation crashed into Team River like a sudden tide, forcing them back.

"Jiang! Now!" Juan Lei's voice rang out.

Jiang Chen's qi surged through his body—his master's signal.

Then, suddenly, the scroll materialized before him once again.

[Flowing River Sword Art (First Stance): Activated]

The knowledge seeped into his very being. He could feel it—every motion, every breath, as if his body and qi had trained in this technique for years. So that was it… The stance had been engraved into him when he won the sparring match.

But now wasn't the time to dwell on it. He focused his mind.

"Understood, Master!" Jiang Chen shouted.

Nearby disciples cast wary glances—was he speaking to a ghost? Their confusion barely had time to settle before his stance shifted—fluid, effortless, as if he had wielded this technique his entire life.

Like a river carving through stone, his blade moved—unstoppable, relentless, inevitable.

A younger Mount Hua disciple wobbled on his feet, swallowing hard. "Uh… senior brothers? Should we… should we surrender now?"

His taller companion scoffed. "Grow a spine, Xu. It's just Wudang."

"I don't know… he just knocked out Feng in two moves."

"That's because Feng's an idiot."

Even as they spoke, the battle raged on. Wudang's disciples clashed fiercely with Team River, neither side relenting.

"The hell!?" A Mount Hua disciple gasped, watching in disbelief as Jiang Chen carved through their ranks, his swordwork as fluid as water slipping through cracks in stone. One after another, opponents fell before him.

But Mount Hua would not crumble so easily.

One disciple surged forward, his blade gleaming as he launched into an elaborate sword dance. Each step, each movement, was honed to perfection, his strikes flowing like a storm of petals.

Jiang Chen narrowed his eyes. For the first time, he was forced onto the defensive.

"Now—get that opening," Juan Lei's voice guided him once more.

The moment the flurry ended, Jiang Chen struck. A precise blow to the head sent the Mount Hua disciple crumpling to the ground.

"You've studied well," Jiang Chen said, stepping back. "But battle isn't stiff like training. You need to improvise."

Around him, the rest of Team River held their ground. With their leader's overwhelming display, Mount Hua's remaining disciples faltered. Their formation wavered, hesitation creeping into their movements. One by one, they began retreating.

Jiang Chen's mastery of the Flowing River Sword Art had turned the tide.

"How the hell did you get that strong, Chen?"

"Damn… Qin and Yujin were right about you."

"By the heavens, when did you become this strong? You're at least in the late stages of Qi Refinement!"

Murmurs spread through Team River as they caught their breath, eyes filled with awe and disbelief.

Before the moment could settle, a sharp whistle cut through the air—a prearranged signal from Yujin.

Team Air had made first contact with the enemy.

Jiang Chen's instincts screamed at him to move, to rejoin the battle unfolding in the shadows of the trees. His gaze snapped toward the sound, eyes sharp with resolve.

"River! Forward!"

Without hesitation, he turned and disappeared into the forest, his team following close behind.

The unconscious bodies of Mount Hua's disciples lay scattered in their wake—only for shadowy figures to emerge from the darkness. The Veiled Sentinels moved in absolute silence, unnoticed by Team River, effortlessly retrieving the fallen and vanishing just as swiftly.

Among them, Elder Jung-hi watched with keen interest, his gaze lingering on the battlefield.

"I don't recall Yuan ever teaching the outer disciples the Flowing River Sword Art… Intriguing indeed."

With that, he melted into the night, following the Veiled Sentinels into the unseen.

Further up the mountain, Qin Tianzhao's Team Leaf moved in silence, their steps almost ghostly as they maneuvered through the dense undergrowth. Unlike the others, Qin Tianzhao did not rush into combat. His approach was patient—calculated.

He crouched by a cluster of rocks, his fingers brushing against the dirt. A single set of footprints led deeper into the forest. He narrowed his eyes.

They want us to follow.

"Hold," he commanded in a hushed tone. His team halted instantly, their hands tightening around their weapons.

"Something's wrong," one of the disciples whispered. "They're baiting us."

Qin Tianzhao smirked. "Let them."

He gestured to two of his fastest runners. "Flank from the east. The rest of us will advance slowly. If they ambush us, we'll catch them between both sides."

The disciples nodded and split accordingly. As Qin Tianzhao and his remaining team advanced, a low chuckle echoed through the trees. A figure emerged from the shadows—a Mount Hua disciple, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with confidence.

"You caught on quick," he admitted. "But knowing the trap doesn't mean you can avoid it."

With a snap of his fingers, figures descended from the branches above, their training swords poised like fangs of a predator. Qin Tianzhao merely chuckled, unshaken.

"Then let's see whose strategy reigns supreme." 

At the heart of the battlefield, Yujin's Team Air had engaged the enemy head-on. Sparks flew as wooden swords clashed, the sound of combat rippling through the trees like rolling thunder.

Yujin danced between strikes, his movements fluid as he parried and countered with practiced ease. Mount Hua's disciples were powerful, their swordplay refined to near perfection—but Yujin fought like the wind itself, untouchable and unpredictable.

With a final strike, he disarmed his opponent, sending the weapon flying into the underbrush. The Mount Hua disciple gritted his teeth but stepped back, raising his hands in surrender.

Yujin exhaled. One down—but the battle was far from over.

From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a disturbance in the treetops. Shadows shifted unnaturally, a presence lurking beyond the reach of ordinary perception.

Something isn't right.

The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. This wasn't just a test of skill between sects. There were others in these woods—watching, waiting.

His fingers tightened around his sword.

Who else is here?

Suddenly, a burst of crimson qi tore through the treetops, aimed directly at Yujin. He reacted instantly, sidestepping just as the blast seared past him.

"Air! Group up!" Yujin commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos. At his order, Team Air broke away from their clash with Mount Hua, forming a tight defensive circle.

A Mount Hua disciple, more notable than the others, smirked. "What's wrong? Wudang's teachings not helping you enough?"

Before Yujin could respond, another blast of crimson qi streaked toward the Mount Hua disciple. With a swift, practiced motion, he swung his sword, deflecting the energy into a nearby tree. Wood splintered, and with a loud crack, the tree collapsed.

"What the hell—?" The Mount Hua disciple barely had time to react before three figures emerged from the darkness, their movements like shadows rising from the earth.

One of them, clad in black, let out a mocking chuckle as he unsheathed his sword. A faint, ominous glow pulsed along its edges—demonic qi.

"Wow… I was holding back, but I didn't expect them to shrug it off so easily," he sneered, his grip tightening around the hilt.

"Let's see how the prodigies of Wudang and Mount Hua perform," he laughed, his eyes gleaming a sinister red.

"I wonder… how will your sects fare when their brightest stars are snuffed out?"