Wudang's Lost Sword Returns

A chilling silence settled over the battlefield. The clash of wooden swords and the cries of combatants faded into the background as the new arrivals emerged from the darkness. Clad in flowing black robes with crimson embroidery, their presence was an unspoken declaration—they did not belong to Wudang or Mount Hua.

 Their movements were eerily smooth, like shadows slipping between the trees. The crimson qi that had torn through the treetops still crackled in the air, its residual energy causing the nearby leaves to wither and curl.

Yujin's grip tightened on his sword as he instinctively stepped back. "Who are you?" he demanded. His breath was steady, but his muscles coiled like a spring, ready to react at a moment's notice.

The tallest of the three figures took a step forward, his face obscured by a lacquered mask painted with the visage of a snarling demon. His voice, when he spoke, was smooth and mocking. "Does it matter?"

The Mount Hua disciple leveled his sword at him, eyes narrowing. "Answer him, demon." His tone was sharp, unwavering. "You said it yourself, didn't you? The brightest stars of Mount Hua and Wudang, standing right in front of you." A sneer curled his lips.

"You think three of you can stand against the best of Mount Hua and Wudang?" His sword pulsed with radiant pink, the air thick with the scent of plum blossoms. Confidence gleamed in his eyes.

Yujin stepped forward, leaving the defensive circle to stand beside the Mount Hua disciple. "He's right," he said, voice steady. "We're not going down without a fight." His blade shimmered with a cold, cerulean glow, his gaze calm—yet beneath it burned an unyielding fierceness.

The masked figure chuckled, his voice laced with amusement. "Oh? How interesting. You two might actually be worth my time." Then his lips curled into a sneer. "As for the rest… kill them."

With a snap of his fingers, the two other figures lunged forward, shadows streaking toward the Wudang and Mount Hua disciples.

"Gather with Wudang!" The Mount Hua disciple's voice rang out as he raised his sword. His blade pulsed with a soft pink radiance, the scent of plum blossoms thick in the air. "I, Shen Mei, will give you a fitting end!"

Yujin smiled, his grip tightening on his sword. "And I, Yujin, will do the same."

The masked figure's laughter rang through the battlefield. "Then come at me, brats!" With a single step, he closed the distance, his first strike streaking toward Shen Mei like a starved beast.

"Watch it!" Yujin shouted, throwing himself in front of Shen Mei to intercept the strike. Their blades clashed, the force rattling up his arms, pain blooming in his wrists.

Shen Mei seized the opening, pivoting around Yujin as he braced against the masked figure's force. "You're wide open!" He lunged, his blade flashing in a precise arc toward the masked figure's legs.

"Tch. Subpar."

With a sharp twist, the masked figure adjusted his stance and brought his blade down in a brutal arc, slicing Shen Mei's wooden sword clean in half. Before the splintered weapon could hit the ground, he kicked the broken piece into the air—then sent it hurtling straight toward Yujin.

"Shit—!"

The jagged fragment shot forward like an arrow, slamming into Yujin's chest with crushing force.

"Aghhh—!"

The impact sent him flying, his body crashing hard against the bark of a tree.

Shen Mei's eyes flicked behind him, taking in the sight of Yujin slumped against the tree, struggling to catch his breath. His comrades and the Wudang disciples were still locked in a desperate battle against the other two masked figures.

His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, frustration bubbling beneath his skin. Damn it. This wasn't supposed to go like this.

"Where the hell are the guards Yuan assigned to us?!" he barked, his voice cutting through the chaos. But no answer came—just the endless sound of steel meeting steel, of comrades gritting their teeth in desperation.

Shen Mei let out a sharp breath. No one's coming.

"It doesn't matter!" Shen Mei snarled, tossing aside his broken sword. In one swift motion, he seized Yujin's wooden blade and surged forward, his movements relentless.

Plum blossoms scattered in his wake as his sword sliced through the air, each step driving him closer like a storm rolling in without warning. His grip adjusted seamlessly to the unfamiliar weapon, wielding it as if it had always been his own.

The masked figure's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Desperate, are we?"

Shen Mei didn't answer. He was already moving.

"Falling Plum Execution!" Shen Mei roared. No hesitation. No arrogance. Just cold certainty. The verdict of a swordsman.

His movements were no longer driven by reckless fury but by an unsettling calm. The scent of plums thickened in the air, no longer a fleeting fragrance but a heavy, suffocating omen—like the stillness before a storm, like the weight of a blizzard poised to descend.

The masked figure scoffed. "A pretty light show won't save you." He raised his weapon to intercept—

Too late.

Shen Mei's sword blurred, splitting into countless afterimages, each one falling like petals in a winter storm. The first strike came low, forcing the masked figure to shift his stance. The second arced high, a feint that lured his guard upward.

Then came the third—the true execution.

A diagonal slash—impossibly fast. The air shrieked as the blade tore through it, trailing a flurry of phantom plum blossoms, each petal a whisper of impending death.

The masked figure twisted, narrowly avoiding a fatal blow, but a sharp sting bloomed across his shoulder. Blood spattered the ground, bright against the fallen petals.

Shen Mei didn't stop. His footwork flowed seamlessly, each step perfectly measured as his sword danced through the air like a winter gale. Another slash. Then another. Each cut chased the last, relentless, inevitable.

The masked figure gritted his teeth.

As the battle around Yujin continued, he let out a raw, guttural scream as he forced his battered body to move, every muscle burning, his qi surging wildly around him. "I'M NOT DONE YET!"

He staggered to his feet, bloodied and bruised, his stance unsteady yet defiant. His presence shifted—no longer a disciplined swordsman, but a starved beast, cornered yet unbroken.

"I don't need a sword to fight!" He roared, surging forward. No sword? No problem. He moved—fluid, untamed. Taijiquan in its rawest form. Graceful. Devastating. A storm refusing to be contained.

"Tch… impressive." The masked figure staggered for half a breath, his crimson qi flickering. But then—he grinned. "Not bad, brat. But you're still not enough."

The masked figure, now locked in battle with the two prodigies, struggled to keep up. One struck relentlessly, his blade weaving a storm of plum blossoms that clouded his vision, while the other deflected his every attack with effortless Taijiquan, turning his own strength against him.

"Persistent little gnats! I'll crush you!" he roared, frustration boiling over as he lashed out in fury.

Suddenly, the rustling of leaves and the snap of twigs cut through the tension—more footsteps. Another wave of Wudang disciples emerged from the trees—Team River had arrived.

Jiang Chen stepped into the clearing just in time to witness the chaos unfold. His gaze sharpened as he took in the masked figures, his instincts screaming that something was off. Their presence felt unnatural, their aura twisted—like the air itself recoiled from them.

"River! Fall back! Get to the instructor or anyone who can send reinforcements!" Jiang Chen's voice rang out, cutting through the clamor.

"More of them?" the masked figure growled, his irritation boiling over. A pulse of demonic qi flared around him, distorting the air with its suffocating presence.

"New orders—kill them all! Stop wasting time gauging their strength!" he barked, his voice laced with fury.

His gaze lingered on Jiang Chen for a brief moment, eyes narrowing as if weighing something unspoken. But the moment passed. With a sneer, he turned back to Shen Mei and Yujin, his blade rising once more.

"I wanted to test you two, but it seems that luxury is no longer mine."

And with that, the battle resumed.

The air shifted.

A stillness settled over the battlefield, thick and suffocating, like the silence before a storm. Even the masked figures hesitated, their instincts flaring in warning.

Then—like the crack of thunder—Jiang Chen struck.

A blur of silver. A sharp gust of wind. His sword whistled through the air, its arc seamless, fluid—unstoppable.

Wasting no time, Jiang Chen surged forward. With Yujin and Shen Mei keeping one masked figure occupied, he carved a path toward the others, his presence like an onrushing torrent. His stance shifted effortlessly into the first form of the Flowing River Sword Art.

His blade was no longer a weapon—it was the river's current, relentless and inescapable, each strike flowing into the next, shaping the battlefield as water carves through stone.

For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though his attack would land. But just as the blade neared its mark, the masked men twisted unnaturally, their bodies bending at impossible angles, evading by mere inches.

The two figures hesitated, glancing at each other mid-battle.

"What the—?"

"I thought this was supposed to be an outer disciples' match."

They stepped back, wariness flickering across their masked faces.

"That flow... impossible. No mere outer disciple wields a sword like that." The shorter one muttered.

The taller, bulkier figure scowled. "Did Wudang send inner disciples as reinforcements?"

Before they could fully regain their footing, Jiang Chen surged forward. His blade danced between Taiji's flowing grace and the River Sword's cutting edge. He deflected, redirected, and struck in an unrelenting tide.

"Keep your eyes on me!" Jiang Chen's voice cut through the chaos, forcing them to refocus.

And then—

"Air! River! In trouble!"

Right on cue, Haoyu burst onto the battlefield, leading Team Rock.

"Fucking hell! I've been running around this goddamn forest looking for a fight!" he bellowed, frustration melting into exhilaration as he charged in with his team. But as he neared, his grin faltered. His eyes swept over the scene—Wudang and Mount Hua disciples strewn across the forest floor, a single masked figure still standing against two prodigies.

It only took him a second to process.

"Rock! Split up! Recover the bodies!" Haoyu's stance tightened as he drew his weapon. His gaze locked onto the enemy.

"I'll handle these bastards with Chen!"

Unexpectedly, Qin Tianzhao shouted from the trees.

"Right with you, Junior Brother!" Qin Tianzhao descended from the treetops like a drifting leaf, his landing effortless, as if he were merely stepping onto solid ground. His team, Leaf, followed close behind, accompanied by Mount Hua disciples—another wave of reinforcements arrived.

"If Yujin and that Mount Hua brat are struggling with just one of them, then you and Haoyu won't be enough either. I'm joining in." His tone was resolute, brooking no argument.

"Don't forget about me!" Another Mount Hua disciple strode forward, gripping his wooden sword with a confident smirk. "Our match from before isn't over—we'll settle it properly after this!"

Qin Tianzhao barely spared him a glance before barking out orders. "Leaf! While the others recover the wounded, find reinforcements as well! Get to Yuan or those black-robed overseers—we were promised supervision!"

(Authors Note: I'll be uploading an optional chapter about Qin Tianzhao's fight and a bit on Haoyu's team as well)