The servants guided the group toward the training ground, their lanterns flickering in the night. The air was thick with anticipation, the weight of impending battle settling over them.
As they reached the open clearing, Master Daokan turned to Layla and Yan Shuren.
"Step forward. Choose a weapon."
Layla ran her fingers over the selection of wooden weapons, eyes lingering on the spear. It was the easiest choice—not just in this life, but in her past one as well.
Yan Shuren watched her quietly as she picked it up, twirling it in her grip. "A spear?"
She smirked. "Old habits."
Master Daokan gave a nod of approval. "A wise choice. Now, let's begin."
The servants extinguished the lanterns, plunging the training ground into near darkness. The only illumination came from the moon above, casting long shadows over the two warriors.
Layla shifted into position, spear tip hovering just above the ground. Yan Shuren mirrored her stance, his wooden sword held at the ready.
Then, they moved.
Layla lunged first, thrusting her spear forward in a precise motion. Yan twisted at the last moment, sidestepping the attack with fluid grace before retaliating with a downward slash. Layla barely managed to shift her grip, redirecting his strike with the shaft of her spear, the wood vibrating from the force of impact.
Yan advanced, his footwork impeccable as he closed the distance between them. Layla spun her spear, using its extended reach to force him back, each movement flowing effortlessly into the next. Their weapons clashed again, the resounding crack of wood echoing through the clearing.
Yan's sword came sweeping low, aiming for her legs. Layla leapt back, landing lightly on the balls of her feet. She took a breath, analyzing his stance—he was holding back.
She narrowed her eyes. "You're going easy on me."
Yan tilted his head. "I was told to make you stronger, not break you."
"Then stop treating me like glass."
The moment the words left her lips, the fight changed.
Yan Shuren vanished. Or at least, that's how it felt. His movements were so fast, it was as if he cast two shadows, each shifting in opposite directions, distorting Layla's senses.
She swung her spear instinctively, but she was already too late.
A single blow struck her midsection—a mere fraction of his true strength, no more than 1/10th of his power.
Yet it felt like a hammer had slammed into her.
Layla's body lifted off the ground, sent hurtling through the air before she crashed into the stone wall behind her with a sickening thud. Dust and debris scattered around her as she slumped to her knees, blood trickling from her forehead.
Pain flared through her body, her vision swimming for a moment. But she refused to fall.
With a trembling arm, she wiped the blood from her brow and forced herself to stand. Her legs screamed in protest, but she planted her feet firmly against the ground, spear still in hand.
Yan Shuren watched her, his expression unreadable. "You're still standing?"
Layla spat to the side, her breath ragged but steady. "Damn right, I am."
Atlas had seen many fights before—bar brawls, street duels, even the occasional tournament matches. But this? This was something else entirely.
Layla looked like a beginner. Her speed is slow, no overwhelming strength—only her intelligence. And intelligence alone wouldn't save her here.
Yan Shuren moved with the efficiency of someone who had done this countless times. His wooden sword wasn't just a training weapon in his hands—it was a tool of precision. Every strike was measured, every movement deliberate. Layla, for all her effort, was barely keeping up.
Lin Wuye stood at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, eyes keenly following the fight. He could see it clearly—the vast gulf between them. Yan wasn't just stronger; he was faster, sharper. Layla could think through strategies, but against an opponent of this calliber, she had no time to apply them. This wasn't about winning. It was about survival.
Layla gritted her teeth and lunged, her wooden spear stabbing forward in a desperate attempt to push Yan back. It was predictable. Yan sidestepped effortlessly and countered with a downward strike. Layla barely raised her spear in time, the impact sending painful vibrations up her arms.
Atlas winced. That was just a wooden sword, yet it looked like she had been struck by a hammer. If Yan had been using even a fraction more force, she would have been on the ground already.
Another exchange. Another devastating impact. Lin Wuye kept his eyes on Yan's form, noting the precision of each movement. Yan was holding back—significantly so. His strikes were just enough to push Layla, to force her body to learn, to make her instincts sharpen. This wasn't a fight. This was a lesson.
Master Daokan's brows furrowed slightly from where he stood, observing. He had seen this before. The tree Layla struck days ago—its inner roots blackened, the decay slow yet inevitable. Now, here it was again. Her spear trembled in her grip, the shift almost imperceptible. He remained silent, watching closely.
Yan swung again, his wooden sword a blur in the darkness. Layla raised her spear to block, expecting the same jarring pain to shoot through her arms.
But something changed.
The moment her spear met his strike, a faint tremor ran along the wood. Yan's eyes narrowed slightly, sensing the shift. The force of his blow seemed to dissipate, the impact duller than before. He stepped back, studying her carefully, something gnawing at the back of his mind. Something was wrong with the wood—but he couldn't tell what.
Layla didn't notice. She was too focused on staying upright, too lost in the battle to realize what had begun to take root. The manifestation of her qi, slow and unseen—like the creeping decay beneath a tree's bark, waiting for the right moment to spread.
Then, she moved.
She knew she should stop. She should listen. Her body was pitiful, her qi reserves even worse. She wasn't strong, she wasn't fast, and she had already overstepped her limits. But that part of her—the part that refused to bow, the part that clawed and bled and fought even when it was hopeless—wouldn't let her yield. She had been a queen once, and even then, she never stopped trying.
Fueled by nothing but adrenaline, Layla threw herself forward, spear striking in rapid succession. Her body was battered, bruised, but she ignored it. The pain was secondary. She had to keep going. Had to try.
Yan deflected her strikes with ease. Every hit she took sent her skidding back, her limbs screaming in protest, but she came back like a ghost—relentless, ceaseless, refusing to stay down.
Layla's breaths grew heavier. Her vision blurred at the edges, a sickening heat rising in her chest. Her Qi was pushing too hard, burning through her reserves at a dangerous rate. Her body wasn't ready for this. She could feel it creeping through her veins, poisoning her from the inside out.
She was losing. But she wouldn't stop.
Yan parried another strike, his expression unreadable. He saw it now—the reckless overexertion, the way her movements were becoming erratic. This wasn't just determination. This was desperation.
Then, it happened.
The Qi poison hit her like a truck, her body freezing mid-strike as an unbearable wave of nausea and pain consumed her. Her breath hitched, her vision flickered, and her legs buckled beneath her. But before she could collapse, Yan's final strike landed.
His wooden sword crashed against her, sending her hurtling through the air. She slammed into a stone pillar, the impact cracking it, dust and debris scattering in all directions.
A deafening silence followed.
Before Layla could hit the ground, Shen moved. In a blur of motion, matching Yan's speed, she caught Layla just before impact, cradling her limp form with surprising gentleness. Without hesitation, she rushed toward Master Daokan, her expression unreadable, but the urgency in her movements unmistakable.
Yan's grip on his sword faltered as he turned to watch. He felt it—a slow, creeping sensation. He looked down.
The wood of his sword had begun to blacken.
Eyes widening, he instantly let go, the weapon dropping to the ground with a dull thud. His fingers tingled, a faint numbness creeping through them.
Master Daokan stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "Now, you see it. The decay."
Yan stared at the sword, then at Layla, realization dawning on him. "What… is this?"
Master Daokan's gaze remained on Layla as Shen laid her down before him. Before he could begin, Lin Wuye stepped forward, his face set in a deep frown.
"What is happening to her?" His voice was tense, edged with something between concern and demand.
Master Daokan exhaled slowly. "Her Qi doesn't attack instantly. It lingers, spreads, rots from within. And right now—she is completely consumed by it. If I do not intervene now, it will consume her entirely."
Lin Wuye's fists clenched at his sides.
"That is my daughter's body. I demand answers, Master Daokan. What is happening to Meilin?"
Within Layla's consciousness, darkness swirled. She could feel it—the strange, foreign qi that wasn't hers. It moved, pulsed, whispered in the void. A voice, vague and distant, called to her, its presence both haunting and familiar.
"You are not from here" it murmured.
Layla hesitated. "Who are you?"
"A presence" it whispered. "A truth hidden beneath your own."
Layla's breath caught. "You… you know who I am?"
The figure's fingers trailed along Layla's essence, a figure so dark it is devoid of anything, making her shudder.
"Oh, I know much more than that…"
The voice chuckled. "I know you were a ruler. I know you held power. And I know you thought your Qi was ordinary. But it isn't, is it?"
Layla shivered. "What do you want?"
"Oh, don't worry. I won't reveal you're a fake. You adapted well, for being a fraud. You led a battle to victory when the Silver Lotus should have lost. You defeated Shen Mu—though only by luck, and Master Daokan's intervention. But you did it, Layla. Or should I say… the ruler of Eternal Crescent, Queen Layla al-Zahira."
Layla's breath hitched. The darkness curled around her, the figure's presence suffocating yet eerily intimate.
"Who… what are you?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
The figure chuckled softly, fingers tracing an unseen path along Layla's very essence.
"Names are trivial, fleeting. I am what lingers. What festers. What watches. And you… you are far more interesting than I anticipated." Layla shuddered, unable to move, her consciousness seemingly suspended in this abyss.
"What do you want from me?"
The figure tilted its head, considering her. "Want? Oh, Layla, this isn't about what I want. This is about what you are becoming. A queen once more? A warrior? Or just another lost soul grasping for purpose?"
Layla clenched her fists. "I am not lost."
"Aren't you? You wear another's face, live another's life, yet your heart still beats to the rhythm of a fallen throne. How long will you pretend, Layla? How long before they see you for what you are?"
The words cut deep. Layla recoiled, but the figure only drew closer, its touch grazing the edges of her soul, a suffocating weight pressing down.
"Enough!"
Layla forced the word out, her very being shaking. "Leave me be!"
The figure sighed, amused yet indulgent. "Very well. For now. But know this—I am watching. And one day, you will have no choice but to let me in."
As the figure withdrew, its presence dissipating like mist, Layla gasped for air, though none truly existed in this realm. Darkness faded, and slowly, painfully, she felt herself slipping away…
Master Daokan exhaled, his palms hovering above Layla's chest as the last of his Qi sealed the raging storm within her. The glow around her flickered before settling into an uneasy stillness.
He pulled away, sweat lining his brow. "She is stable for now."
Lin Wuye watched intently, arms crossed, but there was no mistaking the concern in his gaze.
"She needs proper care. We should send her to the physician immediately."
Master Daokan nodded and motioned to the waiting servants. "Take her to the physician's quarters. See that she is treated well."
As they carefully lifted Layla's unconscious form, Master Daokan lingered, eyes narrowed in thought. He had felt it—something beyond the decay, beyond the poison corrupting her Qi.
Something had touched her soul. And whatever it was it had not let go.
Master Daokan exhaled sharply and turned toward Yan, his expression shifting from grave contemplation to mild irritation. With a swift movement, he flicked his knuckles against Yan's forehead.
"Ow!" Yan rubbed the sore spot, scowling. "What was that for?!"
"That," Master Daokan said dryly, "was for going too hard on her. What were you trying to do? Kill her?" His voice carried a hint of amusement despite his serious tone.
Yan huffed, crossing his arms. "She kept getting up. It's not my fault she doesn't know when to quit."
Master Daokan smirked. "And now she doesn't have a choice in the matter, does she?"
He shook his head before lowering his voice.
"Take that rotted wooden sword and bring it to my informants. I need to know what this corruption truly is."
Yan blinked at the sudden shift in tone but nodded, picking up the blackened weapon carefully. As he did, Master Daokan leaned in slightly, his voice a near whisper.
"And keep your ears open about Meilin. Something about her disturbance does not sit right with me. Not a word of this to anyone else."
Yan's eyes darkened slightly, but he gave a firm nod before stepping away.