Cold winds blew down from the mountain that loomed in the distance framing the Reclusive Mountain Sword Sect. Sitting at the foot of the mountain the sect was marked by the presence of three circular sections of wall each higher than the last. As each section went up it encircled a portion of the sect that sat atop a higher step further up towards the mountain and it seemed clear that originally this land had been a set of descending cliff sides that had been carved into flat steps atop which various buildings had been built within the fortifications.

On the remaining cliff walls of each step, small entrances could be seen indicating the private cave dwellings of various occupants of the sect. Though the idea of a cave-dwelling had sounded rather primitive to Fan Zhong after speaking with Xing Zheng he had learned that many of them were rather well furnished and usually well guarded with formations as well as talismans. As the group approached the large gates he couldn’t help being awed by the sight.

Although the walls of the lowest section of the sect were rather plain, prioritizing function over form, they still radiated the same stalwart resolve that Fan Zhong had often felt from the older warriors he had known. Thoughts of the elders, particularly his father and elder brother, brought pain and sadness forth within his heart however it had become easier and easier to calm those feelings. As it was, it only took them covering half the distance to the gate, which had been around 400 meters away when he had started focusing on them, to center himself.

Slightly in front of him and to his left Xing Zheng led the group as Fan Yong flanked the older swordsman on the other side in line with Fan Zhong. As they approached the gate he was once again amazed at the craftsmanship that had been put into such seemingly simple fortifications. Across the gates, which spanned 10 meters across and 20 high while sitting slightly set into the 50-meter high walls, was a depiction of what must be the sect crest. Atop a starkly clear rendition of the Green, Mist Mountain was a pair of crossed swords that seemed to emanate sword hymns and the sound of clashing steel.

Looking at the weapons gave Fan Zhong the impression that he was gazing upon two blades forged from the laws of cutting and swordsmanship instead of a relief carved into the stone gates. Taking a deep breath he was finally able to tear his eyes away from the image and examine what lay at the base of the entryway. In front of the gate to either side stood graceful-looking warriors with steel gray martial robes and swords at their hips.

Two of them were young men, one with flowing blonde hair and dull honey-colored eyes who stood shorter than even Fan Yong with a stocky frame. Meanwhile, the other young man was tall and lanky like Fan Zhong with short-cut rust-colored hair and piercing ruby eyes. Both of them stood in a pair on the left from the approaching group's perspective.

On the other side of the gate stood an older man with shoulder-length brown hair streaked with gray next to a middle-aged woman. The woman had a resoluteness to her posture and her auburn hair was streaked with subtle green tinges while her eyes seemed to contain a murky gray mist. For the older warriors' part, he stood slightly forward from the gate than the rest of the group with apparent vigilance and alertness in his steely expression.

Observing how the others kept switching glances between the approaching group and the man it became obvious he held some position of seniority over them. When Fan Zhong and his companions neared within a dozen or so meters the guards seemed to tense noticeably and each of them shifted their stance to allow the swords at their sides to be easily accessible.

“HALT! Who are you and what purpose do you have here? Speak quickly or don’t blame us for being rude.” The older man’s face twisted into a scowl as he spoke, obvious irritation and stress leaking into his tone.

Fan Zhong almost visibly winced at the words, only barely managing to stop himself. It seemed that whatever was going on, the Reclusive Mountain Sword Sect hadn’t been having an easy time of it.

“Hmph, this old man goes where the winds will take him and where the voice of true swords whispers throughout heaven and earth. Is your sect so rude that you would deny a fellow seeker of the true path an exchange of knowledge and techniques?” Xing Zheng spoke the perfect amount of indignation and contempt needed to convey his guise as a world-worn master mortal swordsman.

“Seeker of the true path? What rubbish, all you’ll find in these lands are bandits and whoresons. How is it that a vaunted seeker of knowledge finds himself here?” The leader of the sect guards shot back, his tone now carrying some contempt to match the disguised immortal and some warryness as well.

“The Dao is eternal, junior, as heaven and earth are boundless. Do you think such concerns block my path? It seems your faith in your own sword is lacking.” Xing Zheng intoned back as he narrowed his eyes, patience and calm slowly overtaking the contempt in his words.

To punctuate his final words Xing Zheng pulsed a small amount of sword Qi outward in all directions. All around him the wind that buffeted the outside of the sect walls was stopped as a dome of air rushed outward from the immortal swordsman. Fan Zhong noticed that through the whole thing the same feeling of a wolfish amusement hidden deep within Xing Zheng’s actions had never left, the feeling especially evident to him as he had felt the old swordsman’s Qi often enough these past few days.

It seemed that Xing Zheng’s acting skills had a large range to show, if Fan Zhong hadn’t known he was playing a role the entire ensemble would’ve easily fooled him. As it was he could tell that Xing Zheng was simply acting how someone would expect a sagely older elder to act, slightly eccentric, irritable, prideful, and more than happy to dispense wisdom without being prompted to. After finishing his assessment of the exchange, Fan Zhong allowed his mind to slow down once again so that time stopped crawling by.

“Yo- Wha-” The guard leader seemed to be stunned by the display of Qi and it took him a few moments to collect himself, quite an embarrassing amount of time for a First-Grade martial artist in Fan Zhong’s estimation.”It would seem you are correct, senior.”

After that, the man calmed and he bowed to Xing Zheng, an understanding seeming to form in his gaze. At the gesture, the rest of the guards seemed to relax considerably.

“Hmph, took you long enough. That's senior Zhang Zheng ‘the worldly sword sage’ to you. Now, these youngsters and I have come seeking an exchange of pointers and knowledge. Personally, this is simply my path, to wander seeking the myriad styles of the sword. For them, it is an opportunity to deepen their martial arts and perhaps find a calling as they are rather displaced currently. Does your sect wish to deepen its knowledge? Or should I go elsewhere with the information that your doors remain closed?” Xing Zheng’s words were sagely and calm while also carrying the tone of a teacher talking to a particularly slow disciple who needed extra time to understand the lesson.

“As if these bumpkins can exchange pointers with us! Senior Huo Ru, let me show this ‘worldly sword sage’ that none of us, especially you, lack faith in our swords!” The youth with the rust-colored hair stepped forth from the other side of the gate, indignation, and pride burning in his gaze.

Under those words, Fan Zhong could see that the young man hid more than simply his arrogance. There was a wounded pride, one that had been forced into a cage unwillingly. If he had to suspect the young warrior had probably wanted to rush into battle against the Wei and his elders had forbidden him from doing so.

In that fiery expression of arrogance and anger, he saw the silhouette of a man that had become his friend, one that had done so on fields with dead bodies and broken dreams.

“Please sir, calm yourself.” Fan Zhong began walking next to Xing Zheng and addressing the youth, the sadness in his heart barely contained as he spoke patiently. “ Senior Zhang Zheng means no disrespect. We com-”

“What do you know? Pompous pretty boys like you make me sick, I’ll bet a week's worth of latrine duty you’ve never even so much as sparred before!” The young man's fury seemed to rise and he started to move forward before the leader, Huo Ru, held a hand out to block his advance.

Before the older man could speak the young man let out a furious roar and tried to rush past Huo Ru’s hand. To Fan Zhong’s eyes, it was painfully slow as if he was watching someone pounce forward at a walking speed. Thankfully the older guardsman delivered a well-timed chop to the youth’s back, knocking him off balance and into the ground.

Inwardly Fan Zhong was conflicted as although the insults hadn’t hurt him too much it seemed foolish for a Second-Grade martial artist to speak to him in such a way. Thinking about it his elder brother had said that sensing others' mental energy wasn’t something commonly done before the First-Grade realm, perhaps he had never been taught to spot the differences. He kept musing to himself, wondering if he truly would’ve stooped low enough to fight the junior disciple before the sound of Huo Ru’s voice broke him from the contemplation.

“ Please forgive Junior Disciple JieYun, seniors, and fellow Daoists,” Huo Ru began, pausing to bow to them slightly before continuing. “It has been difficult for the sect lately as I’m sure you can tell from my earlier actions. Bandit raids are frequent and everyone is on edge however, it is no excuse for any of our sect to act this way. Accept my sincerest apology and know that we would be honored to exchange pointers with you.”

While he was finishing speaking the other young man who had been standing guard next to Jie Yun walked forward and helped him to his feet while also holding him back from charging forward once again. Anger, defeat, and shame crossed over Jie Yun’s face however, this did nothing to stop him from struggling to still charge at Fan Zhong.

“Difficult? Do you call keeping me here while those Wei bastards roam free difficult? Letting the murders of my mother enjoy the open skies carefree merely puts me on edge? NO!” Jie Yun’s anger seemed to reach a boiling point and he seemed to be just as angry at Huo Ru as he was with Fan Zhong.

“Senior, if he wishes to spar them let him, I’ll try to be gentle” Fan Zhong’s lips subconsciously took on the barest hints of a wolfish grin as he said the words.

His emotions about Jie Yun were conflicted and it was hard to sort them even with his mental energy. Instead, he chose not to, he funneled all of it into his intent to battle. Huo Ru shrugged and nodded to the other guard to release the youth as Xing Zheng raised a barely perceptible questioning eyebrow at Fan Zhong.

With a huff he waved his hand slightly at the old swordsman, now was time to speak in a language only martial artists understood. Watching the approaching Jie Yun he focused on the anger that hid in the deepest corners of his heart and the threads of it that had wrung loose when the youth had insulted him. Slowly under careful control, he let the image of a bleeding sun enter his mind as the familiar tones of a song played in his mind, the song of his own personal war.

As the young man approached he felt a pressure overtake him like a tide of blood and blades washing over his entire body. It felt as if small cuts were springing forth all over his body even though no wounds were present and as he looked at Fan Zhong it was as if a dangerous beast had stood in front of him instead of a man. This was further amplified by the howl of Little White who revealed himself slowly as he sensed his master's killing intent leaking outward.

In a blur of motion as Jie Yun was still six meters from Fan Zhong his vision blurred and the next thing he knew the world was spinning.

Xing Zheng eyed the young man as he moved to strike the arrogant disciple from the Reclusive Mountain Sword sect. It amazed him how much progress Fan Zhong had made with his clan's movement techniques as even now he saw the fruits of that work as the young warrior used the scant momentum of falling into his stance to build his forward dash. Of course, the Second-Grade youth never stood a chance and he had almost stopped the exchange from happening for fear that Fan Zhong had let his aggressive temper loose.

As two shifting palm strikes connected with the disciple and he was spun sideways he paid special attention to the force inside the blows. Finally, as the youth spun Fan Zhong connected a rising origin palm hard into his stomach well below his dantian catching him with enough force to take the feet out from under the poor disciple. However, the entire time the force had been controlled, ferocious yes but controlled enough to avoid serious injury to Jie Yun.

It seemed that there was nothing to worry about and in the back of his mind he secretly let out a sigh of relief. The mental state of Fan Zhong had been a constant worry for him and he had done much to make sure the young man’s mind had been occupied during their trip. Most of it had simply been physical exercise or tales from his travels and youth, not much of real technique training.

By his estimation, that was what not just Fan Zhong but Fan Yong needed as well. They had spent too long stewing on the troubles of their past with little structured training and work to get them into a habit to push forward. This was a small step but a necessary one and it seemed to be working judging by the fact that Fan Zhong had refrained from attempting to kill the youth.

“Junior Huo Ru, apologies for this. I should’ve warned your disciple in advance as it was clear this fight was far from even. This old man will do you a favor and give some guest lectures during our stay free of charge to all of your disciples. Hopefully, this will help ease any hard feelings.” Xing Zheng’s tone never wavered from the sagely and calm guise that he had assumed as he acted quickly to make sure the scene was smoothed over as amicably as possible.

“There's no need for that.” Huo Ru began, shaking his head while speaking “It should be me apologizing for our disciple’s behavior. Zhen Lan, please go and inform the elders and the sect master of our guest’s arrival. Meanwhile, Junior Disciple Ding Heng, watch over things here and makes sure Junior Disciple Jie Yun is alright when he wakes.

As he spoke Huo Ru indicated for the women to move towards the gate while nodding toward the other young man that had been standing next to Jie Yun. Quickly the two of them went to work and the now passed-out arrogant disciple was set against the wall while the female disciple named Zhen Lan knocked on the gates harshly causing a large crashing sound to echo over the entryway. With quick and practiced motions she slipped through the gate as it was opening and began running into the sect. Moments later the large gates fully opened to reveal her running up a long staircase that led outward for some 30 meters with sheer walls rising on either side.

At the base of the stairs, there was a flat landing to give enough room for the gates to swing inward while the top of the stairway ended level with the walls that rose to either side. Looking at it from the bottom it seemed that someone had come to a sheer cliff and simply carved a rectangular staircase forward at an angle until it became level with the top of the terrain.

“Please follow me and I’ll lead you all to some guest rooms while we wait for one of the elders to arrive.” Huo Ru started to walk to the stairs before freezing as he felt a chill on the back of his neck.

Turning around he met the piercing gaze of Fan Zhong.

“Senior Zhang Zheng may take no offense at this; however, I think it wise we know that the Reclusive Mountain Sword Sect is able to provide ample instruction to me and my fellow clansmen. This humble one is Fan Zhong and requests a duel with Senior Huo Ru as recompense for your junior’s behavior.” Fan Zhong’s mind whirled with the feelings of battle and adrenaline that his movements had brought forth.

During his training with Xing Zheng, he hadn’t felt he or Fan Yong were improving all that much, however, in that single exchange he had felt fast and powerful. His movement technique had acted like never before allowing him to move with speed and precision that made his previous usage of the technique feel clunky and amateurish in comparison. Now his heart beat for a fight, something to truly test these skills.

In the back of his mind, there was a voice that seemed to nag at him, something about responsibility and honor. None of that mattered in battle, no honor shielding your neck from a sword nor responsibility stopping your allies from dying. As he bowed slightly to the older man Fan Zhong felt the sound of war drums grow ever so louder in his mind while the world seemed to tinge with red.

“Brother Zhong, you're being rude to Senior Huo Ru.” Fan Yong spoke while Huo Ru was still processing the request, a clear worry in his voice.

“Fan Zhong… as in the Fan clan?” Huo Ru’s expression was stunned, seeming unable to accept the fact.

“Indeed one and that same. Junior Zhong, need I remind you that you represent not only your clan here but me as well? Please keep yourself in check, or did the events just now not demonstrate clearly enough what happens to those that let their emotions get the best of them?” Xing Zheng spoke before Fan Zhong could reply, leveling a calculating gaze at him.

“Of course, Senior Zhang Zheng.” Fan Zhong replied bowing slightly to the older man “I simply wish to exchange pointers with Senior Huo Ru. That is the entire reason for this journey after all.”

The older swordsmen stared at him for a long moment before sighing and nodding while waving a hand dismissively.

“Fine, fine, as long as he is willing I have no objections. Let him be Junior Yong.” He said while looking over at Huo Ru for a response.

“It would seem that Warrior Fan Zhong simply wishes to test my martial prowess, as such there's no reason to make a big deal of it. I’ll ask that Senior Zhang Zheng mediate, to prevent any serious injuries.” Huo Ru seemed to relax before nodding his assent.

As he did so the air around him seemed to grow slightly heavy and he drew his sword in a blurring motion bringing the blade to a guard position. Fan Zhong fell into a fighting stance as well, his body fitting into the Voidgate Stance like a well-worn glove as Huo Ru extended his sword arm in a mid-guard position with his off hand-drawn behind him.

All those around backed away to give them room and the moment they stopped moving Fan Zhong burst forward. His opponent's sword gave him a reach advantage and without a staff, he would need to close the distance. Fan Shun had offered to give him a clan staff when they had departed; however, he had opted to ask only for the traditional natural treasure hand wraps that the clan warriors used. With this, his only real weapon was the brick to be used in conjunction with this palm techniques.

He had no desire to kill the man so the brick felt like overkill so he drove forward quickly hoping to get into Huo Ru’s guard and undo his opponent’s advantage. Seeing this, the other man quickly sent a wrist cut at his shoulder which he met with a mortal receiving palm. As the hand wraps that surrounded his palms barely started to contact the blade to bind it Fan Zhong saw the barest twist of his opponent's movements as he went from driving force into a cut to pushing forward to thrust past the catching technique.

His mind racing overtime he urged the momentum in his body to move and divert. Inside it felt like someone was hitting the walls of his muscles with hammers as the movement technique struggled to shift his movements into a shifting palm strike as he dropped his right hand and pushed outward with the left. As he moved the circular footwork put him on the inside of his opponent's guard and his right leg swept outward using the movement to finish the kick that would’ve accompanied the receiving palm technique.

Hot pain blossomed on the upper outside of his right arm as blood dripped from a shallow wound. The deflection had been good however, it was too late and the thrust had still just barely caught him. As he backed away a step to get out of swinging range a whistle in the air was the only notice Fan Zhong could perceive of the counter cut to his kick, the blade barely missing his chest.

Looking at Huo Ru it seemed that his kick had connected solidly as his off-hand was held to cradle his side while his sword was poised at Fan Zhong. Both of their gazes met and a smile crossed the two warriors' faces. Less than a single breath had passed in that exchange and within another, they rushed to attack again.

This time Fan Zhong was more reserved, approaching with shifting palm strikes to deflect aside his opponent's blade while building momentum by constantly circling while moving closer and further. Like this, they exchanged a dozen blows with his speed rising each moment. For his part, Huo Ru scored a half dozen minor cuts on his skin causing Fan Zhong to be covered in blood from multiple wounds.

His movements became like a set of waves that formed a circle as he moved inward to strike away the sword and then out as the opponent retaliated. Each strike meant to tear a gap open in the other man’s defense, to find a flaw in his technique. As his wounds started to grow more and more of the surroundings seemed to blur and fade, all of Fan Zhong’s focus concentrating on winning this duel.

His speed had reached 40 steps of momentum at this point and his focus was peaking causing even the falling drops of blood that flew from his cuts to fall at a walking pace. It was there, a brief lapse in the whirlwind that was the man's sword. A moment where he was slow to react on his left-hand side from the kick he had taken earlier.

Fan Zhong drove into that gap, his brick swapping hands for two swift shifting palms that expended four steps worth of moment. Huo Ru had been slightly off center and slightly too late such that the strikes to his blade drove it entirely out of position to defend. Howls played in Fan Zhong’s mind as the world turned red and he executed a piercing origin palm sending the brick spinning atop his right hand at ridiculous speed forming a drill of death aimed straight at the other man’s heart.

Triumph rang in his mind, the sweet sensation of destroying the enemy utterly before suddenly then the world blurred and spun.

Xing Zheng sighed heavily as the sound of an echoing explosion washed over all of them. Between the two fighting First-Grade experts he could feel the several phantom sword strikes he had sent out bending and redirecting the force of that blow. He had been hopeful at first and the bout had seemed to be doing Fan Zhong some good; however, the strike at the end would’ve surely killed Huo Ru.

As his divine sense worked to move the Qi he paid special attention to cutting through and redirecting the forces of their attacks, seeming to cause both men to stop moving entirely. Both of them would never know that it was simply a few larger sword phantoms being split into hundreds of discreetly angled and calculated smaller sword strikes that had nullified both of their movements. Thinking better of letting Fan Zhong off without a reprimand he gathered the remaining Qi and wove a net of smaller blows such that it hit the young warrior's lower torso like a fist.

This sent Fan Zhong tumbling end over end until he connected with the ground in a groaning heap some five meters away. Huo Ru simply stood there with his sword halfway through a defensive form meant to try to counter the deadly strike, his face twisted in horror and fear.

“It would seem that we both have troublesome juniors. Junior Yong, please collect your clansmen. Junior Huo Ru, if you would be so kind as to still lead us to those guest rooms?” Xing Zheng spoke with a composed calm and sagely wisdom, only letting the barest hint of a wry smile touch his lips.

“Ye... Yes, of course. Right this way” Huo Ru responded in a rush, seeming eager to get them inside and out of his hair as he moved quickly towards the staircase.