Cultivation starts with picking up attributes

The first light of dawn cut across the Feilun mountains like a silver blade. Mist clung to the ridges, curling through the terraces, carrying the scent of scorched earth and the lingering remnants of the previous battle. The Feilun Sect, though battered, moved with purpose. The air was tense, but not with fear; it was a rhythm of urgency, a heartbeat of preparation.

Tian Shen walked along the western ridge, his silver-threaded eyes scanning every shadow, every ripple of qi in the wind. His spear was strapped across his back, still faintly glowing with residual silver flames. Even in the calm of the morning, he could feel the pulse of the sect beneath his feet, the qi weaving through the mountains like veins of life.

Behind him, Feng Yin followed silently. Her hand brushed over the hilt of her sword, and though her expression remained composed, her eyes betrayed the calculation of a strategist. "They will not wait," she said softly. "The Western Dominion's remnants will regroup. The day we rest is the day they strike again."

Tian Shen's lips pressed into a thin line. "We will not be caught unprepared," he said. "But we also cannot let our strength blind us. We must understand them first." His voice carried weight, not of authority alone, but of someone who had stared at the edge of death and returned.

The Root Division was already drilling in the courtyard below, their movements sharp and precise. Disciples carried spears, talismans, and elemental arrays, each coordinated with the other in a dance that belied the danger that waited beyond the sect's borders. Tian Shen descended the ridge, feeling the subtle rhythm of their formations, adjusting here, strengthening there. Every detail mattered. Every hesitation could cost lives.

"Commander Tian Shen," Elder Su's voice came from the courtyard, calm yet commanding. The old man's eyes gleamed with a quiet pride. "The formations have been strengthened according to your specifications. But there is more. The Hidden Sky Vault… it stirs. Its influence reaches farther each day. I suggest you prepare for contingencies."

Tian Shen's silver light flared slightly at the mention. He nodded. "I know. Its awakening coincides with the Western Dominion's movement. They will not act separately. This is no coincidence." His gaze swept across the training disciples. "We must ensure that our roots are unbreakable before the storm reaches us again."

Feng Yin stepped beside him, holding a stack of scrolls detailing new purification arrays. "I've incorporated your adjustments into the talismans. They should stabilize energy fluctuations around the mountain, even if the Vault's influence bleeds outward."

Tian Shen reached out, his fingers brushing over the edge of a scroll. Silver sparks danced along his fingertips, responding instinctively to the latent power within. "Good. Begin deployment immediately. Have the Root Division coordinate with Elder Su and the Azure Phoenix teams. The arrays must be seamless, or even the smallest crack will invite disaster."

By mid-morning, the Feilun Sect resembled a hive of quiet, deliberate energy. Talismans were affixed to the cliff faces, formation circles etched into courtyards and terraces, and spirit beasts lined up along the ridges, their presence a subtle deterrent to any who might consider attacking from the shadows. The air itself seemed heavier, charged with the anticipation of war yet tempered by meticulous control.

Tian Shen stood atop the northern cliff, surveying the sect from that vantage. His Core pulsed steadily, silver flames licking his veins. He closed his eyes, extending his senses beyond the mountains, feeling the subtle shifts in qi as if reading the whispers of distant lands.

There. A tremor far to the west, beyond the borders of the Central Region. The pulse was faint, but deliberate, precise—a heartbeat of foreign cultivation, disciplined and bound by something beyond ordinary technique. Tian Shen's eyes opened. Silver fire flared in their depths. "They move," he said, voice low.

Feng Yin approached quietly, her expression taut. "Already? So soon?"

"They are organizing," Tian Shen replied. "They sensed our recovery and will not allow us a moment's weakness. Their leader… he survived. And now he gathers more than remnants. His army will be different this time—disciplined, stronger, and infused with the knowledge of our clash."

Elder Su, appearing beside them without sound, observed the horizon. "Then we prepare not just for an attack," he said. "We prepare for a war that will test the very foundation of the Feilun Sect. The Vault stirs, their forces grow, and yet…" He paused, eyes meeting Tian Shen's. "You will be the spear that pierces the storm."

Tian Shen felt the weight of the statement, but he did not flinch. His Core pulsed, silver light weaving through his veins, steady as the mountain itself. "Then let them come," he said. "Every strike they deliver will be met with equal precision. Every formation they attempt to unravel will find the Root Division waiting. The Feilun Sect is unbroken, and it will remain so."

The day passed in rigorous training. Disciples sparred tirelessly, their bodies pushed to limits, their spirits tempered by exhaustion. Tian Shen led drills with the Root Division, moving seamlessly among them, correcting footwork, adjusting spear angles, synchronizing elemental responses. Feng Yin moved among the archers and talisman mages, her presence a steadying force, a reminder that even amidst chaos, there was discipline.

By evening, the sect gathered once more. Fires blazed along the terraces, illuminating the newly constructed arrays and the talismans etched into the cliffs. Spirit beasts prowled the perimeters, their senses heightened by the discipline of the day's exercises. The atmosphere was charged, electric with anticipation.

Tian Shen stood at the center of the main courtyard, spear in hand. His eyes swept over the disciples, the elders, and the formations, taking in every detail. "This is not the time for hesitation," he said. "We fight not for glory, not for pride, but for survival. The storm approaches, and we will meet it head-on. Those who stand with the Feilun Sect will stand without fear."

Feng Yin stepped forward, her gaze locking with his. "And those who cannot… will fall behind," she added, her voice carrying over the murmurs of the gathered disciples.

Tian Shen nodded once, sharply. "Let them watch, let them test us. The Root Division, the Azure Phoenix allies, and every disciple willing to fight will hold the line. And when the Western Dominion's remnants arrive, they will find not a sect weakened by war, but a fortress strengthened by it."

As night fell, the stars blinked faintly above, obscured partially by drifting clouds. But to Tian Shen, each twinkle was a reminder: forces far beyond their sight were converging, aligning their wills and testing the strength of those who dared resist. The Hidden Sky Vault pulsed faintly on the edge of perception, its influence growing, a silent signal that the world itself was shifting beneath the feet of mortals.

And Tian Shen, spear in hand, Core burning steadily, eyes glinting with silver light, prepared for the storm that would not wait.

The first signs of the foreign advance came at midnight. Scouts reported movements along the western ridges—quiet, precise, disciplined. The pulse of their qi was unmistakable: the remnants of the Western Dominion had learned from the previous clash. Their formations were tighter, their warlocks bound more intricately to their soldiers, their artifacts humming with preternatural resonance.

Tian Shen gathered the Root Division atop the northern cliff. "They have adapted," he said, voice low but carrying. "Which means we must evolve faster. Watch their movements, anticipate their formations, and strike not with brute force, but with precision. Every feint they send is a question, every charge a test. And we will answer all without faltering."

Feng Yin stood at his side, eyes scanning the horizon. "The Hidden Sky Vault…" she murmured, almost to herself. "Its influence grows as they move. If they can harness even a fraction of it…"

Tian Shen's gaze hardened. "Then we must be sharper than any fraction. The Vault is a tide, but the Feilun Sect is a mountain. We do not yield to currents, we stand immovable. Let the foreigners come. Let the storm rise. And let them find that even the fiercest gale cannot uproot what is bound by roots of iron and blood."

As the night deepened, the sect braced for what was to come. Fires flickered in the wind, illuminating newly reinforced battlements. Spirit beasts growled in quiet warning. The Root Division's formation spread like an unbroken lattice across terraces and ridges, each member attuned to the other, their breathing and movements a synchronized rhythm.

Tian Shen stood at the edge of the cliff, spear resting across his shoulders, silver light reflecting faintly in the flames below. Feng Yin's hand touched his arm briefly, a silent acknowledgment of their shared burden.

"They will come," she said softly.

"They always do," Tian Shen replied. His silver eyes scanned the western horizon, where the faint shimmer of foreign qi hinted at the approaching army. "And when they do, the Feilun Sect will not break. We will meet them, spear in hand, flame in vein, unyielding as the mountain itself."

The night held its breath.

The storm approached.

And Tian Shen—scarred, silver-eyed, and unrelenting—waited to meet it.