215 The One Left Behind (Part 2)

[A few visions ago…]

The Destiny Seeking Eyes were as powerful as they were dangerous. Much like Nongmin’s Heavenly Eye, they could simulate brief moments of reality… alternate outcomes, branching timelines, illusions made real for but a second. When Yuen Fu and I switched to steel, I glimpsed one such outcome: a reality where I lost decisively. I saw it clearly. He struck true, and I—Wen Yuhan, Da Wei—fell with broken ribs and pride.

And perhaps that prediction still lingered. Because the moment our swords clashed in earnest, I found myself immediately overwhelmed. Despite my reaching Soul Recognition and his merely standing at Will Reinforcement, Yuen Fu’s martial foundation was superior. After all, the cultivation method only enhanced what one had built. It did not build it for you.

I kept my footwork light and evasive, gliding backward as shallow cuts opened on my robe and cheek. The air shimmered around his blade. That was aura… a phenomenon exclusive to Supreme Masters. It wasn’t qi. Its texture, its resonance, reminded me of mana back in the Hollowed World. A will-born force not drawn from heaven and earth but conjured from within. The difference was subtle, but undeniable.

I inhaled sharply, drawing qi into my lungs and flooding my muscles with strength as I counterattacked. My blade danced through the air, tracing the curved arc of Hollow Line. Yuen Fu met it head-on, parrying with precision. For a moment, surprise flickered in his eyes. Even I was surprised. My Hollow Line had disarmed Grandmasters before. He held firm.

In the past five years guarding the Sacred Grove, I had fought my share of Masters and Grandmasters, but never once had I clashed blades with a Supreme Master. According to my intelligence, many Supreme Masters had either gone into hiding or were being hunted. There were rumors the remaining Sages saw them as dangerous… too independent and too strong.

Another flash of silver and I weaved sideways, narrowly avoiding a horizontal slice of aura that hummed with potential. Yuen Fu’s style had evolved. Wind and lightning… Fluid and sudden… He was an artist of the blade, and it showed.

“Your dodging is remarkable, Lady Yuhan,” Yuen Fu quipped as his sword sparked, sending small arcs of lightning through the air. “To think you could even slip past that one.”

I said nothing. I couldn’t afford the breath. His sword emitted sparks even without external qi. That was the mark of mastery. Elemental reactions occurring through technique alone… no spell, no art, just skill. A true martial artist in this world, if trained enough, could reach such heights.

In this world, martial arts weren’t merely forms and footwork. They were philosophies encoded in motion… each movement a testament to a life of struggle and repetition. While cultivation was the systematic pursuit of transcendence through qi refinement and spiritual enlightenment, martial arts were born from necessity. They were the fists that built cities, the blades that protected homes, the breath and body honed to their limit. And at their peak, martial artists could manifest effects not unlike sorcery… tearing trees from roots, splitting earth, evoking thunder and fire… not through external qi, but through sheer mastery of motion and breath.

That was the gap between us. While I had climbed realms, Yuen Fu had polished each step until it shone. I, for all my scheming and arcane tricks, was sloppy. Not because I lacked talent… but because I had spread myself too thin. Too much politics, too many titles, and too many divine responsibilities.

Now, stripped of my spells and techniques, I felt it. I was fighting with one arm tied behind my back. Each clash reminded me of what I had neglected. I relied on a compressed version of Zealot’s Stride to barely evade a vertical strike that cracked the earth behind me.

Still, I wasn’t without pride.

I muttered under my breath, "I didn’t get this far just to be outclassed now."

I tightened my grip and launched into a burst of sword strikes using Divine Speed. Each slash was accelerated with internal qi, refined for speed and tempo rather than force. The flurry was meant to break his rhythm. But Yuen Fu pivoted, dipped low, and parried all of it like a flowing river.

He was smiling.

Damn it. I hated that smile.

While our blades crossed, Yuen Fu spoke. “Do you look down on martial arts?” His voice rang clear over the clash of steel.

I dodged sideways, letting the back of his sword graze my ribs, and grimaced. I looked down on a lot of things, really… things that didn’t scale, didn’t adapt, didn’t solve problems immediately. Martial arts was one of them. Or rather, I never prioritized it. Between spells, domains, system skills, and Paladin techniques, it had always seemed inefficient… an art of nuance in a world of explosions.

“This martial arts of yours,” I admitted, side-stepping and redirecting his blade with a quick flick, “is really amazing. But I don’t have time for it.”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s what’s wrong with you, Lady Yuhan… or should I say, Da Wei. You see power as a means to an end. You chase dominion, cultivate schemes, build weapons, and fashion philosophies. But you forget the body… your own body. You forget what it means to trust your breath, your step, your blade. Martial arts is not a crutch for the weak. It is the strength of the self, made manifest.”

I parried, but my wrists ached with the weight of his sword pressure.

Yuen Fu continued, pressing the advantage. “Martial arts isn’t about strength or speed or dominance. It’s about balance. It’s about tempering your heart through motion. It’s not that you don’t have time. You’re just afraid it won’t be enough. You think swords and fists won’t save you when gods fall. But what if they’re the only things that will?”

His words hit harder than his strikes.

I changed stance.

Drawing from a technique I created alongside Lu Gao in the Hollowed World, I narrowed my range. Hollow Point… It was our invention. Unlike a cultivation spell, it didn’t burst with energy. It was subtle, built on redirection and precision. A martial skill meant for assassins and counter-fighters, designed to pierce momentary weakness at the exact collision of intent.

My sword became a needle. I moved not to cleave, but to interrupt. His aura resisted, but I began biting through his guard. The edges of his defense, once impenetrable, were now fraying with every successive stab. He was backing up.

Hollow Point... I had relegated it to the back of my mind for so long, allowing it to live passively within my style. Some sort of passive skill that functioned in the background. That had been a mistake. Martial techniques weren’t just bridgework. They were towers of their own.

With renewed insight, I invoked Divine Might… one of the three aspects of the TriDivine passives. A faint gold shimmer coursed up my arm as our swords connected in full force. The clash resounded like a bell tolling through the heavens. Yuen Fu’s blade flung backward, but he held on, refusing to release it. That was my opening.

Thunderous Smite, usually a cleaving art, I compressed into a stabbing thrust, layered with Hollow Point. The fusion cracked the air. I lunged.

“Flash Parry!” Yuen Fu shouted.

A burst of white arced through the night. His sword blurred, and in one motion, mine was gone from my grip. I staggered, stunned, watching the fragments of my blade scatter like dry leaves in the wind.

He exhaled slowly, sheathing his sword in silence.

“I transformed it,” he said, his voice calm. “The skills you taught me… I turned them into a martial system.”

Yuen Fu stepped forward and whispered, “Divine Speed…”

He stomped once. The air cracked. Lightning coiled around his form.

“Flash…”

He vanished.

“Thunderous Smite.”

A flash of white light surged behind me. I didn’t even see it until it was over. I turned just in time to see his blade resting by his side, while mine lay broken.

“I win, Lady Yuhan,” he said gently. “That’s my sword style now. I call it Stormedge. And that technique… is my Heavenly Thundering Flash.”

I inhaled deeply, then lowered my gaze. “It’s my defeat.”

More than just a match lost, it was a revelation. With just a sword, discipline, and willpower, Yuen Fu had stood even with me… one of the strongest beings in the Sacred Grove. That… that was terrifying.

Because if martial arts, in its purest and most refined form, could reach me…

Then it could reach ‘them’ too.

I stared at the deep gouge where I had once stood… a long, arcing scar scorched into the stone, still hissing with leftover lightning. Sparks danced in the cold night air, remnants of Yuen Fu’s strike. His martial presence still lingered like heat after a storm, and despite the outcome, I couldn't help but smile.

He had always been special.

Among the old 112th Bronze Squadron, among the entire host of Guardians, he alone had seen the ‘Da Wei’ in me… not the fabricated god or the aloof leader. Just me. Perhaps it had been talent. Perhaps something more.

“Let’s talk,” I said, gesturing toward the rooftop of the shrine.

We climbed in silence, both too exhausted to pretend. The city lights of New Willow glimmered faintly below us, and a thin layer of mist curled over the streets. Up here, it felt distant and unreal. Above, the stars bore witness without judgment.

“Did you finish it?” Yuen Fu broke the silence with that one question.

I knew what he meant. I didn’t even need to look up from the haze to remember the dusty book in my inner sleeve. I reached for it and flipped through the pages, brittle from age and touch. “Didn’t really have the time,” I said. “Been prioritizing.”

Yuen Fu nodded, though his eyes seemed a little disappointed. “It’s alright. I just thought… maybe you’d get something out of it.”

The novel he had given me years ago… Mighty Fist of Goryeo. I had read it slowly over time, a page here and there between council meetings and skirmishes, but I never got around to finishing it. I was always short by just a few pages.

Now, though? I opened the book.

“Now I feel obliged to read it,” I said. “Guess I’ll finish it.”

I read silently as Yuen Fu watched. The ending unfolded in solemn words.

…

..

.

At the end of his journey, Goryeo, the martial prodigy, lay dying under a twilight sky. No crown adorned his brow, no castle bore his name. Yet, a man he once saved—an orphan without clan or title—gathered the people touched by Goryeo’s kindness and strength. In time, they built a nation, not of conquest but of reverence. They feared his name more than any blade, and no calamity, demon, or god dared step foot upon that land. Thus came into being the nation of Providence, safeguarded by the shadow of a man long gone, whose mighty fist had once shattered tyrants.

…

..

.

I closed the book and let out a quiet exhale. How ironic. I wasn’t sure if I was the Goryeo in this story… or the orphan trying to build something in his memory. In my case, I guessed I was both.

“It’s been criticized a lot by scholars and masters alike,” Yuen Fu said, voice soft. “Scholars say it’s unrealistic. They call it satire. After all, societies are built by societies. They’re ruled by systems, shaped by countless hands across generations. But in that book, one man became a symbol, and his symbol built a dynasty.”

I didn’t need him to say it.

I knew what he was really telling me. Just like Goryeo, Da Wei had become a symbol through my manipulation, my words, and my scheming; I made him something divine.

But maybe the symbol mattered more than the man ever did.

Yuen Fu stood, brushing dust from his robes. “Let’s not wait any longer and—”

“I’m sorry,” I cut him off gently. “You still need to stay.”

His face darkened. “What is the meaning of this? Are you going to break your promise?”

I didn’t answer at first. I merely looked him in the eye and said, “The fight’s not over yet. We’re inside a vision.”

He blinked. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Ah… so that’s what this is.”

“Unfair?” I asked before he could speak. “Probably. But Immortal Arts weren’t excluded from our duel. And Destiny Seeking Eyes... it doesn’t necessarily use external qi. It only observes…”

Yuen Fu chuckled, but his voice carried no malice. “As expected of you, Lord Wei. When you said you wouldn’t hold back, you really meant it. Even if you’re using a cannon against an ant.”

“Don’t say that to yourself,” I smiled. “You’re no ant.”

He didn’t reply, and for a moment we watched the city quietly, letting the illusion hold just a while longer.

I didn’t want to admit how badly I needed that conversation. The world was too large and too sharp. Wen Yuhan was lost to her own path and wanted my fate. Jue Bu was scheming something in the shadows of my stolen body. Even my sister felt… off. I couldn’t tell why yet. But something was fraying.

So to talk, truly talk, without lies or calculation… even in an illusion… was a gift.

“Thank you,” I whispered, “really. See you again…”

And then the vision shattered. Like a mirror unstuck from time, it cracked, dissolved, and rewound.

I stood once more in the shrine courtyard. Yuen Fu still held his sword.

I didn’t give Yuen Fu time to breathe.

He was new to the realm of Supreme Master, and though his aura was impressive, it lacked the honed edge born from life-and-death battles. That was the difference. He moved fast, but I was faster. His strikes were clever, but I had seen too many blades, parried too many angles, to be caught off guard. His swordplay was graceful and wild, crackling with internal force. However, it was met with my cold, deliberate control.

I didn’t mock him. I didn’t belittle him. I simply shut him down.

Whenever he tried to build momentum, I cut it off. When he charged his aura to swing a heavy blow, I redirected him with footwork or a calculated feint. When he tried to bait me, I refused to bite. It wasn’t elegance, it was pressure. Constant, surgical pressure until he was boxed in.

In truth, I imagined I’d be in trouble if he had access to his full cultivation and if he had more experience. His Thunderous Smite, paired with true external qi, might’ve reached me. He might’ve even won. But this duel had rules, and within them, I would not lose.

When his final swing fell short, I caught the blade with my palm and pushed him gently to the side. It was over.

Yuen Fu lowered his sword in silence, limping away from his broken leg.

I didn't say anything. I couldn’t. I just gave him a quiet nod and turned away.

[Back to the present…]

The hour had come.

The Guardians waited outside the city walls, cloaked in quietude, armed and armored for movement beyond borders. Their training, the gear, the supplies… we had spent the past week in endless preparation. Now, everything was packed in our one storage ring. My shrine was locked down, the necessary letters delivered, my contingency plans in place.

Without a word, I left New Willow.

…

..

.

[Yuen Fu]

Yuen Fu stood alone in the dark, high above New Willow, hidden in the shade of an old bell tower overlooking the city gates.

Below, figures flickered across rooftops and alleys like ghosts. Dozens of them. Black cloaks. Soft boots. They moved with discipline and silence, melting into the distant trees. The Guardians. His brothers and sisters. All of them were leaving… without him.

He clutched the sword strapped to his side, the one that hadn’t left its sheath since his defeat.

He thought he had steeled himself. He thought he had accepted Da Wei’s decision. But as the last shadow disappeared into the forest, he felt it… warm trails slipping down his cheeks.

Yuen Fu realized, then, that it wasn’t anger that stung most. It was the ache of being left behind.

He gritted his teeth.

His voice trembled with quiet grief and pride.

“Next time,” he whispered, “I’ll be marching alongside them…”