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026 Unreasonably Foxy
🕑 Added 2025-02-21 10:31:01 +0000 UTCFan Shi’s breath came ragged. Her body ached, her limbs burned, and though the gap between her and Jia Yun was only three stars, it felt as though she were striking an iron wall with bare fists.
Each time her chains lashed out, they met only ice—walls rising in an instant, absorbing the impact before twisting into jagged spikes that hurtled toward her. She dodged, but her movements grew sluggish, exhaustion weighing her down like lead.
And then there were the illusions.
Born from the swirling mist of Jia Yun’s icy domain, specters flickered in and out of existence, multiplying with every failed strike. Fan Shi knew they weren’t real, but that knowledge did nothing to still her hands. The moment she cut one down, two more took its place, like a hydra that could never be slain.
Her consciousness pulsed as she searched for the real Jia Yun. There—hidden among the fakes, a flicker of killing intent. She tensed, ready to strike.
But before she could act, a fresh wave of ice daggers streaked toward her.
She twisted aside, barely avoiding them.
She was losing.
Then a voice echoed in her mind. Not Jia Yun’s. Not her own.
A familiar voice—one she had never quite trusted.
"The Sect has placed a wager with the other sects and City Governor Ren Jin," Da Wei’s voice was calm, almost casual. "If you win this match, you may claim one treasure from the spoils."
Fan Shi staggered mid-step.
Da Wei. She had always been wary of him—not just for his unpredictability, but because her Mind’s Eye warned her of his presence. Whenever she observed him, an instinctive fear clawed at her, treating him as an insurmountable threat.
But now, that fear faded, if only for a moment.
"What treasures?" she asked, cautious.
"Qi Fire Seed Nether Ghost Flames, Molten Black Steel, and True Royal Divine."
Her gaze sharpened.
She prided herself on her knowledge, yet these names were unfamiliar. Still, she could guess their worth.
A Qi Fire Seed—likely a rare fire core, invaluable for alchemy or artifact refinement. Molten Black Steel—undoubtedly a divine forging material, capable of crafting top-grade weapons.
But True Royal Divine?
"What does the True Royal Divine do?"
"If eaten raw, it will temporarily raise your cultivation by an entire realm. If properly refined, it grants a permanent breakthrough—but only for those below the Sixth Realm."
Fan Shi’s heart pounded.
A treasure that could directly elevate one’s cultivation? If true, then even a cultivator at the Fifth Realm could ascend in a single step. Fan Shi knew the chances of claiming it for herself were slim. But if the sect won, they would have to reward her.
With that, she could reach the Third Realm far sooner than she had ever hoped.
"I want it," she murmured.
The words left her lips before she even realized.
A sudden gust of cold reminded Fan Shi—she was still in battle. Jia Yun had not paused her assault just because she was lost in thought.
Fan Shi exhaled sharply. She had to win.
Her fingers curled, tightening around the hidden chains within her sleeves. She took a slow breath, steadying the storm in her mind.
The sect had chosen to bet on her.
The thought stirred something deep inside—pride, perhaps. But more than that, an unbearable weight settled upon her shoulders.
It was too much.
She remembered the day she found the tome.
A dusty, unassuming book, buried among the forgotten relics of an old ruin. She had been a child—too curious, too reckless. She remembered opening its pages, the ink shimmering, the paper dissolving into motes of light.
And then, the pull.
A flood of knowledge, searing into her mind like a brand.
She remembered dying.
Or rather, something inside her had died that day.
She was no longer the same.
She had magic. Magic she should not have.
She hid. She feared. She buried her power beneath layers of pretense, dreading what would happen if anyone saw.
But secrets had a way of slipping through the cracks.
One day, someone saw.
One day, they pointed.
One day, they screamed.
Demon.
She ran.
Through villages, through forests, through the endless whispers of fear and hatred. Until, at last, she met him.
The Sect Master of the Isolation Path.
He looked at her—not with fear, not with anger, but understanding.
And then, he made an offer.
A place in the sect. A place to belong. A path to walk.
Now, she stood in this arena, bearing the weight of that choice.
She would not lose.
"I will not lose." Fan Shi’s voice was calm, yet resolute.
Jia Yun scoffed. The air around her grew colder, her relaxed stance shifting at last. No doubt, she had received orders from her elders. The gambling happening above was pressuring her to end this match quickly.
Fan Shi’s gaze flickered toward the VIP section.
Her eyes met Da Wei’s.
He watched her with an unreadable expression. A challenge, silent but undeniable.
In that instant, ice spikes erupted beneath her.
She leaped.
"I will show you what I’ve got," she said, the barest hint of a smirk playing on her lips. "So don’t blink."
The air was sharp with frost, the ground littered with jagged ice.
Yet Fan Shi danced.
Mind’s Eye pulsed in her consciousness, reading every shift, every attack before it came.
Force Step sent her gliding across the battlefield, her movements erratic, unpredictable.
But against Jia Yun, it wasn’t enough.
So she layered it.
Drifting Willow.
The signature movement art of her sect.
She twisted and turned, light as a drifting leaf, weaving through the storm of ice with unnatural grace. Paired with Force Step, she seemed almost weightless, as if she belonged in the air.
Behind her, her chains slithered like serpents, gaining momentum with every step.
And then, she struck.
Fan Shi’s breath was slow and steady. Her body ached, her limbs screamed in protest, but her mind remained clear.
She had long stopped trying to comprehend the knowledge seared into her soul that day.
The mysterious tome from her youth… unreadable, its intent unknowable. Yet the moment she absorbed it, understanding had been forced upon her.
Psymancy Path of the Mage’s Legacy.
She still did not fully grasp its meaning. But she knew what it could do.
Spells that touched the mind.
Techniques that bent reality through sheer force of will.
A power that teetered on the edge of heresy.
Her chains struck true.
Jia Yun’s fans whipped up a howling tempest of ice, the air itself crystallizing into a frigid storm.
But the chains did not stop.
They tore through ice, through wind, through every defense she raised.
Thin red lines bloomed across Jia Yun’s skin, the price of using her own bladed winds as a shield.
Yet she endured.
Until she hesitated.
Until her hands stilled.
Her brows furrowed, confusion flickering across her face as she stared at the chains embedded in her arms.
She gritted her teeth, Qi surging as she tried to rip them free.
Nothing.
Ice gathered around them, trying to freeze and shatter the metal.
Nothing.
Wind blades slashed, trying to sever their hold.
Nothing.
Jia Yun’s breath hitched. “What is this?”
Fan Shi tilted her head, watching her struggle.
“Aren’t you curious what those Psychic Bolts I threw at you earlier do?”
Jia Yun’s head snapped up. “What?”
Fan Shi smiled.
The bolts themselves had been harmless.
But they had marked Jia Yun’s soul.
And now, with Mind Over Matter reinforcing her chains, every strike tore deeper, every impact bypassed her defenses, every struggle became futile.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
Fan Shi’s grip tightened. Her Qi pulsed.
She whispered, “Don’t worry. You won’t die.”
And then, she pulled.
“Soul Rend.”
Jia Yun’s scream shattered the silence.
It was a sensation beyond agony—her very soul ripped from its vessel, wrenched into the air like a phantom exposed to daylight.
Gasps rang through the stands as spectators bore witness to the chilling sight—Jia Yun’s body standing rigid while her translucent form writhed above, clawing at something unseen, desperate to return.
And then—
The Psychic Marks embedded within her erupted all at once.
Jia Yun screamed.
Her voice, sharp and unrestrained, echoed across the arena.
Her soul trembled. Her body convulsed.
She reached out—so close, so close—
Fan Shi let go.
Jia Yun’s soul snapped back into her body.
Relief barely had time to register—
Fan Shi was already there.
A blur of Force Step and Drifting Willow, her movement an art of deception and fluidity.
Chains coiled.
Arms bound.
And then—
A haymaker.
It connected.
Fan Shi had never trained in grand offensive techniques. No palm strikes that could split mountains, no sword arts that could cleave rivers.
She was a master of movement. Of stealth. Of refinement.
Her master had once told her: "Your techniques are already bizarre enough. Build your foundation first. When the time comes, your strength will follow."
So she had listened.
Years spent perfecting footwork, evasion, deception.
And now, against an opponent like Jia Yun—
She had but one answer.
A single, violent, instinctive punch.
Jia Yun barely reacted in time.
A flick of her fans—mist and wind exploded around her.
She reappeared a short distance away, doubled over, coughing violently. A thin line of blood traced down her lips.
She wiped her mouth.
Then, she froze.
The elegant, aloof mask she wore cracked.
Her ice-cold beauty melted—replaced by something raw.
Seething. Monstrous. Rage.
Jia Yun’s lips curled. Her eyes burned as she froze the little blood droplet. The acting referee remained quiet at the sight of blood, deciding not to declare her defeat, which probably had something to do with the bets or that something so minor didn't warrant such a decision with finality.
"You dare hit my beautiful face?"
Her voice trembled—not with pain, but unrestrained emotion.
Then—
A sharp turn of her head.
Her gaze locked onto the VIP section above.
Fan Shi followed her stare. Her stomach twisted.
Jia Yun’s expression shifted. The rage remained, but it twisted into something else—something predatory.
She exhaled.
And whispered:
"Understood, Elder."
A cold wind swept the arena.
Mist curled at her feet.
A storm gathered overhead.
And then—
"Bloodline Art: Nine-Tailed Fox Ascendance."
Blue flames erupted, coiling with icy mist and rolling clouds.
Her pupils stretched into slits.
Her once-human ears elongated—white fur covering their tips.
Three fox tails unfurled behind her.
The air thickened. The pressure spiked.
Fan Shi’s pulse pounded.
And then—
A voice rang in her ear.
"What are you waiting for?! Don’t let her transform! Attack her!"
That weird stranger—Da Wei.
"Fuck, they’re cheating!"
Fan Shi didn’t fully understand what he meant.
But she understood the urgency.
She moved.
With a flick of her wrist, her chains unlinked and shot forward like projectiles.
They streaked toward Jia Yun—
Only to waver.
A breeze. A simple, unnatural breeze. The chains were knocked off course, their path bending mid-air.
The mist parted.
Jia Yun stepped forward—transformed.
A woman with fox ears. Three tails. And an aura of unnatural cold.
Da Wei’s voice came again. This time, filled with deep regret.
"This is more than just being a little foxy…"
Fan Shi exhaled sharply, muttering under her breath.
"You are not helping."
The energy pouring from Jia Yun was oppressive.
This wasn’t a minor boost.
This wasn’t a clever trick.
Her cultivation had leapt an entire realm.
Will Reinforcement Realm.
First Star.
Mid-Stage.
Fan Shi’s fists clenched.
"This is just unreasonable."
Fan Shi barely dodged in time.
The moment her foot touched the ground, an explosion of frost erupted beneath her. Ice lanced up, jagged spikes aiming to impale her. She twisted mid-air, a desperate Force Step carrying her sideways—
Too slow.
A spear of ice ripped through her sleeve, slicing into her forearm. She bit down a cry, landing hard and rolling across the frozen ground.
The pain barely registered. She didn’t have the luxury to dwell on it.
Jia Yun was stomping her.
The fox-eared woman stood amidst swirling mist and biting cold, her three tails flicking lazily behind her. The difference in power was palpable. Her Qi surged, no longer refined and delicate—it was suffocating.
A flick of Jia Yun’s fan.
A freezing gale howled forward, razor-sharp and filled with shards of ice.
Fan Shi jumped—no, she tried to.
Her legs locked mid-movement.
The frost had crept up without her noticing, freezing her feet to the ground.
Her heart lurched.
Then the wind hit her.
Ice slashed across her arms and shoulders as she threw them up in defense. A sharp, burning cold crawled into her veins, numbing her limbs instantly. She stumbled back, gasping, fingers trembling.
Jia Yun tilted her head, her expression filled with amusement.
"You’re quick," she mused. "But not quick enough."
Fan Shi clenched her teeth. The frost clinging to her legs shattered as she forced her Qi through her meridians, her body heating up just enough to break free.
She had no openings. She had no way to strike back.
Jia Yun was too strong.
Her chains weren’t working. Her movements weren’t enough. Her Psymancy was landing but not sticking—Jia Yun’s cultivation had pushed past whatever advantage she had before.
It was hopeless.
She refused to accept that.
Jia Yun sighed. "You're still standing? Fine, then—"
She raised her fans—
A roar of wind followed, the mist surging.
“Ice Lotus Descent.”
The temperature plunged.
Glistening lotus petals, sculpted from pure ice, materialized above them, hundreds—thousands—suspended in the air like falling snowflakes.
A warning flared in Fan Shi’s instincts.
This wasn’t an attack. This was a finishing move.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
Then—
The petals fell.
Fan Shi moved.
She twisted, darting forward, chains lashing out. If she could reach Jia Yun—
A petal grazed her shoulder.
Her entire left side went numb.
Another petal brushed past her leg—she couldn’t feel her foot.
One more, and she was done.
Jia Yun smiled, her slitted pupils narrowing. "You should’ve stayed down, little girl."
Fan Shi forced her body to move, Qi flooding her limbs, pushing past the numbing cold.
“I am not… a little… girl…”
Frosty breath escaped her lips, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.
