The Ye Clan estate shimmered under a brittle dawn, its cracked stones catching the first rays like jagged teeth. The air hung thick with the echo of last night's growl, a tension that clung to the courtyard like damp fog. Ye Hua knelt by the fire, her hands steady as she stretched the bandit spoils—dried meat and bread—into a thin stew, her gray eyes darting to the woods. Ye Qing drilled Ye Jun and Ye Mei with wooden sticks, his gruff voice barking commands— "Thrust, not swing!" Ye Chen sat on a log, his fingers tracing a ward into a pebble, his twisted leg stretched out but his focus razor-sharp. Ye Ling paced the gate, her dagger a restless blur, her braid snapping with each turn.
Lin Feng perched on the western wall, his silhouette a quiet specter against the pale sky. The beasts in the dark had retreated, but their eyes lingered in his mind—a warning, not a farewell. His muddy-brown gaze swept the horizon, calm yet unyielding. Inside, Zhan Tian's divine soul roared, the seal's fracture a molten gash spilling golden qi into his veins. Each fight tore it wider—a river crashing against its dam, forging this frail frame into something harder. He clenched his fist, feeling the power coil beneath the skin—not yet the storm of his past, but a blade to carve through fools.
Ye Qing approached, his spear tapping the dirt, his grizzled face tight. "Those growls," he said, voice low. "Wolves?"
"Worse," Lin Feng replied, sliding down. "Bandits stirred something. It's watching us."
Ye Qing's brow furrowed, but he nodded. "We're tougher now—thanks to you. What's next?"
"Strengthen," Lin Feng said. "Walls, weapons, will. They'll hit again—harder."
Ye Ling overheard, spinning her dagger with a smirk. "Let 'em come. I'll gut twice as many with these stakes."
"Stakes won't hold forever," he said, meeting her fire with calm. "Get them ready."
The clan rallied in the courtyard, their movements a thread of iron weaving through their fear. Ye Qing gripped his spear, Ye Chen pocketed his pebble, and Ye Hua stood with the kids, her hands clenched. Lin Feng faced them, his presence a steady flame.
"Bandits won't stop," he said, voice slicing the air. "They'll bring numbers—maybe worse. We don't break. We cut them down."
Ye Qing's jaw tightened. "What's the play, Lin Feng?"
"Traps first," he said. "Gate second. I'll take the lead—hold the rest."
Ye Chen's sharp eyes glinted, his tone probing. "Always the front. You're no drifter."
"I get results," Lin Feng said, unyielding. "Move."
The clan sprang to life. Ye Ling darted into the woods, resetting snares with a predator's precision—thorns woven into twine, stakes sharpened to pierce. Ye Chen carved wards along the walls, his strokes bold, the air humming faintly. Ye Qing and the kids dragged branches, piling them into a jagged barricade. Lin Feng worked alone, etching a deeper array into the gate's base—a lattice of qi, unseen but lethal. The seal pulsed as he channeled power, pain spiking through his chest, but he gritted his teeth. This was a net for the reckless.
Midday brought a shift—smoke thickened on the wind, a dark plume rising from the trees. Ye Ling sprinted back, her face flushed, dagger drawn. "They torched the shed! Twenty—maybe more—closing in!"
Lin Feng's blood surged—not fear, but a hunter's pulse. "Positions," he said, voice steel. The clan scrambled—Ye Qing at the gate, Ye Ling beside him, Ye Chen behind the barricade, sling loaded. Ye Hua ushered the kids inside, her voice a whip despite her trembling hands.
Lin Feng stepped forward, alone beyond the gate. The woods erupted—bandits swarmed, their faces scarred and twisted, blades glinting in the haze. Their leader towered at the front, a brute with a mace studded with iron spikes, his grin a slash of yellow teeth. "Ye rats!" he bellowed, voice a landslide. "You bloodied my boys—now you're meat!"
Ye Qing roared back, spear raised. "Come taste us, filth!"
The brute laughed, hefting his mace. "I'm Goru—Black Claw's fist. I'll crack your skulls and feed the rest to the dogs!" He waved, and the bandits charged—a tide of steel and snarls.
Lin Feng flicked his wrist, scattering runed stones in a wide arc. The air shimmered, and six bandits stumbled, legs giving out as the wards drained their strength. They hit the dirt, cursing, blades useless. Goru barreled through, mace swinging—a crushing arc aimed at Lin Feng's head.
He ducked, the wind of it ruffling his hair, and tapped Goru's arm—a wisp of qi throwing the strike off. The mace slammed into the ground, spraying mud, and Goru staggered, fury twisting his face. "Fast little rat!" he snarled, yanking it free.
"Slow big pig," Lin Feng said, stepping aside. He palmed a stone, flicking it at Goru's shin—a sharp crack—and the brute lurched, howling as he clutched his leg.
The bandits hit the gate, a wave of blades and shouts. Ye Ling leapt forward, her dagger slicing a throat before she darted back, blood streaking her sleeve. Ye Chen's sling cracked, a stone smashing a bandit's jaw with a wet snap. Ye Qing thrust his spear, piercing a chest, his old frame shaking with effort. Ye Mei peeked from the hall, clutching a stick— "Now!" Lin Feng called. She hurled it, small but fierce, striking a bandit's knee. He stumbled, and Ye Ling finished him, her dagger a blur.
Goru roared, charging again, mace high, qi flickering—a crude spark of power. Lin Feng met it, qi surging—the seal's fracture splitting wide, golden light flooding his core. Pain seared his veins, but he channeled it, dodging the strike and slamming a fist into Goru's gut. A muffled crunch—bones bending—and Goru doubled over, gasping.
The tide turned—bandits faltered, eight still standing, hacking at the barricade. Ye Qing bellowed, spear driving through armor, while Ye Chen's stones rained down, precise and deadly. Ye Ling danced through, her dagger claiming another life, her grin wild. Lin Feng spun back to Goru, who staggered up, mace trembling in his grip.
"You're no man!" Goru spat, blood dripping from his chin. He swung, desperate and sloppy. Lin Feng caught the haft mid-strike, qi locking his grip like iron. He twisted, wrenching the mace free and hurling it into the trees. Goru lunged, fists flailing, but Lin Feng ducked, driving a palm into his chest—a golden pulse cracking ribs. The brute flew back, crashing into the dirt, out cold.
The last bandits broke, fleeing into the woods, dragging their fallen. Ye Ling cheered, a fierce cry, while Ye Qing's laugh boomed, raw and triumphant. Ye Chen lowered his sling, eyes wide with awe. Lin Feng stepped back, the golden qi fading, his hand trembling from the strain.
Ye Qing thumped his shoulder, grinning. "You're a damn tempest, lad! Broke 'em like twigs!"
Ye Ling wiped her dagger, her eyes glinting. "That pig hit the ground hard—I like your style."
Ye Chen limped over, his voice steady but sharp. "That wasn't chance. You smashed a cultivator."
Lin Feng flexed his hand, shrugging. "He was weak. Weakness shatters."
That night, the clan huddled around the fire, their spoils a meager feast—meat, bread, a splash of wine. Ye Hua pressed a bowl into Lin Feng's hands, her voice thick. "You're our backbone," she said. "We'd be dust without you."
"Backbones stand," he said, sipping. "We're building more."
Ye Ling sat beside him, her tone hushed. "You glowed—bright this time. Don't dodge it."
He met her gaze, firm as stone. "Fight with me, and you'll see."
She grinned. "Count on it."
Later, alone by the wall, Lin Feng traced the array's fading lines. The seal's fracture burned in his mind, a golden tide he could barely leash. Goru's qi—pathetic as it was—had torn it wider, a mortal's spark igniting a god's ember. He guided the power, forging his frame—pain a hammer, strength its steel.
Ye Chen joined him, his shadow faint. "You're not normal," he said, blunt. "That was power—real power."
Lin Feng glanced up, calm. "It's what we need. Keep up."
The cripple nodded, a spark flaring in his eyes. As silence fell, a howl pierced the night—low, guttural, not a wolf's. Lin Feng's head snapped toward the woods. Shadows shifted, too large, too many, their growls a chorus of hunger closing in.