AN: If this chapter feels a bit like, “Okay, that happened, but where are we going with this?” that’s intentional. This is a winding-down interlude. The next two, however, are much more plot-relevant, and meant to close Book 1 properly.
The next interlude dives into MJ’s plans (so far, we’ve only heard that he’s heading to the capital, but this will explore why). And interlude five is… well, you’ll see.
Think of this as a breaking point, or at least a dividing line, after the whole ODF incident, marking the shift into what comes next.
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Deep within the heart of the Lava River, in a place known as the Lake of Lamentation, there lurked a lava dragon.
By the reckoning of its kind, it was young and unseasoned, not yet ascended into the august realm of Rank Eight, where dragons spent the vast majority of their long, terrible lives. It had not fully adapted to its molten domain. Traces of its original flesh-and-blood form still clung stubbornly to it, imperfect remnants yet to be refined by fire. Among the ancient dragons of the Sword Trench, it would have been regarded as little more than a juvenile.
The lava dragon did not concern itself with such judgments.
Here, it was sovereign, master of the Lake of Lamentation and undisputed ruler of the beasts that haunted the burning arteries of the Lava River. None dared contest its authority, for fear of provoking its wrath. Its scales were harder than tempered steel, its fangs and claws capable of rending stone as though it were brittle clay. Its breath could scour the surrounding reaches into a wasteland of ash and glass. To the creatures that crawled and slithered along the molten banks, it was not merely a predator but an embodiment of the domain’s will, a presence as inevitable as the fire itself.
True, there had been… irritants, once. A pair of them. They had been bold enough to wound it and then clever enough to flee.
The memory festered like a shard lodged beneath a scale. They had fled before it could finish them, and though they had never returned, the fact that they had escaped gnawed at its pride. Still, the dragon remained strong. It was proud and unbowed, a fierce and unrivaled beast that answered to no one.
Which was why, when a colossal green sword punched down from the heavens, cleaving cloud and ash alike, and drove tip-first into the heart of the Lava River, striking the Lake of Lamentation and barely missing its diamond-hard flank, the dragon did not hesitate.
It awoke in fury. The lake erupted as sinuous coils of living lava unfurled and twisted. Magma fountained skyward in blazing pillars. The dragon reared, incandescent eyes blazing, and its roar split the air, a sound like mountains grinding themselves to dust. It fixed its gaze upon the being who had dared strike at it.
Its wrath would be catastrophic. Its revenge would echo through the ages. Its victory was already written in the stars-
“Oh, shoot,” said a cheerful voice from above, sounding not at all sorry. “I missed.”
The colossal green sword, already as large as the dragon itself, swept sideways. The magma lake split along its path in a shrieking arc as the blade carved through it, and then it struck the dragon square across the face. The impact rang out like a hammer against an anvil. The dragon’s vast body snapped sideways, as though a serpent had been caught mid-lunge and clubbed with a timber beam. It was lifted bodily into the air and hurled into the encircling obsidian walls.
The domain trembled. Cliffs where lava dripped in unending rivulets fractured and split, and masses the size of fortresses sheared free to plunge into the molten waters below. The dragon roared again, the sound sharpened now by humiliation as much as fury, and lashed out with its tail even as it was flung aside.
The green sword met the strike midair. Steel met scale with a peal of thunder. The blade pivoted with impossible precision, catching the dragon’s tail and turning it aside. The immense coil of muscle and living flame was forced off its trajectory and driven downward into the lake. Magma erupted in a scalding surge, towering walls of molten stone rising high enough to brush the distant ceiling.
“The Star Iron really is phenomenal, master,” said the same damned voice, bright and conversational even as the world burned. “I can’t even feel the heat through the Green Destiny Sword. Its toughness has improved considerably.”
“You might want to pay attention to the dragon, Bai Ning,” came the dry reply from elsewhere, calm, measured, and achingly familiar to the beast below. “It’s more than a match for you right now. A moment of carelessness could see you dead. Look closely. It’s charging a breath.”
The lava dragon hauled itself free of the shattered cliff face. Slabs of obsidian slid from its shoulders as it rose, molten streams coursing down its flanks. It was entirely uninjured. If anything, it seemed larger, its presence swelling with anger until it pressed against the limits of the domain.
It had begun gathering its breath the instant the second voice entered the field. It recognized that voice and the qi that accompanied it. One of the cultivators who had once wounded it and escaped had returned.
The dragon’s long-simmering hatred flared into open flame. Heaven would bear witness. The Lake of Lamentation would become their grave, and its triumph would be abso-
The mountain-sized green sword contracted in an instant. Its vast form collapsed into a streak of emerald radiance before dividing into dozens, then hundreds of identical blades. They fanned outward in a widening spiral, each sword humming with contained force as it assumed a precise station in the air.
Golden lightning leapt between them.
At first it appeared as scattered sparks, slender filaments of light snapping from edge to edge. The filaments thickened and branched, multiplying until, within a handful of breaths, a lattice of searing gold spanned the sky like an intricate net woven from thunder. The suspended swords anchored it in place, their edges blazing as fresh arcs poured forth to reinforce the construct.
Layer upon layer interlocked, radiance compounding upon radiance, until a dome of living lightning stood between dragon and cultivators, a barrier wrought of star-forged will.
The dragon’s throat expanded. Molten light seeped between its fangs. The air distorted beneath the mounting heat and pressure as qi and magma compressed within its chest to a catastrophic density. The entire Lake of Lamentation shuddered under the strain.
Then it exhaled.
A cataclysmic torrent of magma and incandescent qi erupted from its jaws, less a breath than a newborn volcano unleashed at close range. It struck the lightning dome and erased it in a single heartbeat.
The golden lattice flared white and vanished. The flying swords were blasted apart and hurled spinning through the air like leaves caught in a hurricane. The dragon’s breath did not diminish. It tore upward through the cavern’s mouth, slicing through stone as though it were parchment, and burst into the “skies” above the Lava River. It struck the sea, and for an instant it was as though the ocean had met the sun. Millions of gallons of water flash-boiled as steam detonated skyward in towering columns. The breath punched through the surface and carved a glowing wound through the waters, parting them to the depths before lashing out across the heavens themselves.
Clouds were obliterated, the sky scoured bare. In their place rose roiling banks of white and black smoke and vast walls of scalding mist as entire tracts of ocean churned and boiled. Waves convulsed in disarray. The sea trembled beneath the violence. Then the magma borne within the dragon’s breath, flung high enough to sweep the heavens clear, began to fall.
Burning masses screamed back toward the world, trailing fire and ash. They plunged into the ocean in a rain of ruin, each impact driving geysers of steam and molten stone skyward, completing the devastation the breath had begun. Where water and sky had stood moments before, there remained only smoke, flame, and a trembling world marked by draconic wrath. It was an attack that proclaimed, without doubt or apology, the might of a dragon.
The dragon followed the path carved by its own annihilation. It surged upward through the rent sea, magma streaming from its jaws, steam unfurling from its scales in vast white banners. The ocean parted beneath its ascent, still seething from the violence. It broke free of the waters and rose into open sky, obsidian scales unfolding in immense lengths as it hovered amid smoke and ruin.
It coiled and uncoiled in the air, a blazing presence suspended above devastation. Below, the sea heaved. Burning fragments hissed into the waves. Entire regions lay veiled in steam and ash. The hatred in its heart eased. This was proof; proof that no pest, no wandering cultivator, or no insolent mortal dared stand before a dragon and live. The Lake of Lamentation had been avenged, and its superiority reaffirmed.
Then the infuriating voice returned.
“Oh, wow. That was amazing,” it said, bright with open admiration. “It is fortunate you were here, Master. Against an attack like that, I truly would have had to retreat.”
The dragon froze mid-coil. Its eyes blazed brighter. They were still alive? It twisted violently through the smoke-choked sky, scanning the heavens with molten pupils that could pierce ash and flame alike. There, suspended amid the drifting ruin, hung a speck so small it might have swallowed it without notice. It was a blue-black cauldron, round-bellied and balanced upon three short legs, its lid sealed, drifting calmly through the air.
The voice came from within. Recognition struck the dragon like a spark in oil. It recognized that thing; it was the artifact from before, the tool of the man who had once blocked its attacks, who had dared confine it within the Lake of Lamentation long enough for the pests to flee. The memory reignited old humiliation.
Its fury surged hotter than its own magma. With a roar that bubbled like boiling seas and tearing metal, it launched forward, a comet of living flame. It would crush that metal vessel. It would incinerate the fools within and grind what remained into slag.
The second voice answered, dry as a desert wind and entirely unhurried despite the charging dragon.
“If I hadn’t come, you would have caused a disaster and then run off,” the man said mildly. “Besides, a dragon like this isn’t something an early-stage Core Formation cultivator should handle alone. If you truly insisted on refining its soul into an artifact spirit, I could have killed it already and saved us the trouble.”
Killed it; those words were oil on flame. The dragon closed the distance in an instant and struck. Its claws, each talon long enough to carve ravines, raked down upon the tiny cauldron with force enough to sunder mountains. The air detonated under the pressure. Space itself seemed to shudder.
The cauldron did not move.
Claws larger than the artifact scraped across its surface with a shrill rasp, yet left no mark. The dragon’s jaws followed, fangs crashing together with strength sufficient to fracture islands. Heat, crushing force, and draconic qi flooded the bite. The cauldron remained suspended, indifferent.
A sharp jolt of pain ran through the dragon’s skull. Its fangs throbbed.
With a snarl, it recoiled and spat a mass of condensed magma, white-hot and dense enough to liquefy bedrock. The molten glob struck the cauldron and slid harmlessly away, cascading off like rain from polished stone. The dragon’s tail whipped around in a full-bodied strike, every measure of its prodigious strength driven into the blow. The impact reverberated through its bones, and a clear, faint chime carried across the sky.
The cauldron trembled no more than a bell brushed by a drifting leaf.
Like a storm breaking against fortress walls, the dragon’s assault achieved nothing at all.
More galling still, the voices within continued their conversation.
“That would have been such a waste,” said the first voice, righteous and earnest. “This dragon is an opportunity, master. I need real combat experience. If you stepped in, it would be over just like that.” A sharp snap of fingers echoed from within the cauldron, showing just how fast she meant.
“Unless you’re planning on throwing yourself out there and trying again,” the second voice replied, edged now with faint exasperation, “that plan seems rather flawed. Stand aside. I’ll deal with it so we can put an end to this incident.”
Deal with it. The words struck harder than any blade. The dragon roared again, fury eclipsing reason. Was it some wandering beast to be handled and dismissed? Some stray hound to be put down at leisure? It raked its claws across the suspended ding again and again, shredding the air with enough force to fracture mountains. It bit. It struck. It lashed with its tail until the sky itself quivered.
The blue-black cauldron remained impervious.
Unseen by the dragon, another presence emerged.
From atop the cauldron’s sealed lid, a translucent scorpion took shape, pale as moonlight diffused through mist. It was small and outwardly unremarkable. To the dragon’s blazing perception, it did not exist.
The scorpion leapt. It settled upon the dragon’s scales without disturbance. Heat sufficient to boil oceans flowed over it without effect. Draconic qi passed as wind over vapor. It moved with delicate precision, skittering across armor harder than diamond until it reached the crown of the dragon’s immense head.
There it paused for a single heartbeat. Its translucent stinger descended. In and out again, as lightly as a passing breeze. The lava dragon died.
Its vast body stilled, and the immense pressure of its power vanished as though a lamp had been snuffed out. The colossal form hung motionless in the air for less than a breath before gravity reclaimed it. It began to fall, a collapsing mountain descending through parting steam. The ocean below churned in anticipation.
Above, the lid of the cauldron slid aside with a smooth metallic whisper.
Two figures emerged into the smoke-stained sky, a man and a woman. They hovered with effortless composure, robes unstirred by heat or ash, their gazes following the falling corpse. The woman raised a hand, fingers curved slightly inward. At her subtle grasping motion, a tremor rippled through the dragon’s descending body.
Its soul tore free.
A spectral duplicate burst from the corpse, translucent and immense, writhing with phantom flame as it released a silent roar. It struggled briefly, but an unseen force bound it and drew it inexorably toward the woman’s outstretched hand.
As it traveled, it diminished. From mountain-sized spirit to hill-sized presence, from hill to boulder, and from boulder to a compact ember. By the time it reached her palm, the once-mighty dragon had been reduced to a slender strand of pale fire no longer than an earthworm, twisting helplessly between her fingers.
With practiced ease, she flicked it into a waiting jade vial. A stopper sealed with a talisman inscribed in scarlet slid into place, and the final glimmer of spiritual light was cut off.
Her eyes lingered on the vial, bright with satisfaction.
The man spared it only a brief glance before turning his attention to the falling remains. He gestured lightly toward the cauldron at his side. It descended at once. As it flew, it expanded, swelling from pot-sized to monumental in the span of breaths, its mouth widening until it yawned like a canyon.
The dragon’s corpse dropped cleanly within.
The cauldron contracted immediately, compressing back to the proportions of an ordinary cooking vessel before returning to hover beside him. He gave a small, satisfied hum.
“A dragon’s remains are extremely valuable,” he said mildly, glancing at his disciple, who was still gazing at the jade vial with poorly concealed excitement. “Bones, blood, scales, marrow… all of it can be put to excellent use. No point in wasting it.”
Below, the sea continued to boil. Above, the sky remained stripped bare of clouds.
With their prize secured, the two cultivators turned away and departed, streaking across the open air in lines of blue and green, leaving only steam and silence in their wake.
……………………………………………………
When Mo Jian stepped out of his meditation chamber on Jadeflame Island, Bai Ning was already waiting.
The new residence granted to him after Cloud Veil Ridge had sunk and left him without a home, was cavernous to the point of absurdity. Perched at the highest point of the entire island (at Liu Hong’s emphatic insistence), the estate was so lavish that Mo Jian feared crossing the floors too carelessly, lest he scuff a priceless rug or topple an antique vase and plunge himself into crushing debt.
Still, lacking the ability to raise his shattered island from the depths and restore it to its former glory, he had little choice but to endure the extravagance.
For all its impractical size, however, the residence served one vital purpose: isolation. A steady stream of cultivators had begun flocking to Jadeflame Island, each eager to “discuss important matters with Lord Mo Jian.” Mo Jian had no interest in entertaining opportunists or currying favor with hangers-on. The few people he wished to see already knew how to reach him.
Besides, he was occupied. Refining and merging the Hell Reflecting Mirror into the Heaven Enshrouding Ding demanded immense focus and time. Before the tournament, such a feat would have been impossible for him. Refining a fragment was one thing, but doing so to a Nascent Soul cultivator’s whole artifact, while still at a lower realm, was another thing entirely. However, ever since his increase in strength, it had gone from unthinkable to merely hard.
And though he tried not to dwell on it, Mo Jian could not deny the quiet satisfaction that stirred in him whenever he imagined just how powerful the Heaven Enshrouding Ding would be in its completed form.
“Master!” Bai Ning waved enthusiastically as he approached. “I’ve just finished attaching the dragon’s spirit to the Green Destiny Sword. Look!”
She flourished the blade. A ghostly dragon surged from it, coiling into existence, its spectral body as long and thick as Mo Jian’s arm.
Alarmed, he raised a hand. “Wait. Don’t be reckless. The first refinement doesn’t purge all of a spirit’s memories. It may still be hostile.”
Azure qi surged around him, forming a protective barrier as he prepared to pull Bai Ning to safety.
But it wasn’t necessary. The dragon, who should not have been refined so easily or so quickly, and who should certainly have retained at least some resentment, let out a cheerful hiss at the sight of Bai Ning. Instead of attacking, it looped around her shoulders, coiling as though embracing her.
Bai Ning laughed, delighted. “He’s a good boy,” she declared, reaching up to rub the scales atop its head.
The dragon’s tongue lolled out, absurdly canine, its massive body practically melting against her. It looked nothing like a fearsome beast of legend.
“Huh,” Mo Jian murmured, dismissing his barrier. He watched as the dragon leaned its head against Bai Ning’s shoulder, exposing the softer scales along its underside in complete trust.
That was… unexpected.
More importantly, the spirit showed no signs of damage from the refinement. When Bai Ning advanced to mid- or late-stage Core Formation, the dragon would likely ascend to rank eight alongside her. That alone would grant her strength surpassing most Core Formation cultivators, present company excepted. Still, raw power was not everything. An artifact spirit, no matter how formidable, remained constrained by its wielder’s qi, by the strength of the natal artifact, and by the cultivator’s control. A dragon’s spirit should have required months of painstaking refinement before even the slightest obedience could be achieved.
Yet here it was, pliant, affectionate, and wholly devoted. Apparently, in this as well, Bai Ning was unique.
“I am going to call him Xiao Miantiao,” she announced proudly, looking up at him with a pleased smile.
Mo Jian choked. “Little… noodle?” he sputtered, aghast. That was her choice for a dragon’s name?
Bai Ning let out a little huff, tossing her hair back defiantly. She refused to look ashamed of her ridiculous choice. “It’s a fine name,” she said firmly. “Besides, you didn’t even bother to name the Netherworld Scorpion. That poor spirit must be feeling so sad.” She shook her head mournfully, and Mo Jian let out a long sigh.
“It’s a scorpion with no intelligence,” he muttered. “It doesn’t care what it’s called. That” -he gestured at the dragon, which now seemed noodle-like in his mind- “is another matter entirely.”
Bai Ning ignored him, cheerfully playing with her artifact spirit. Mo Jian finally rolled his eyes and reached out, about to pat the dragon. He had to admit; it did look kind of cute.
But the dragon did not share his sentiment. The moment Mo Jian’s fingers neared, it recoiled, hissing violently. Its cheerful expression vanished, replaced by a slavering, gaping maw and a look of pure menace. It snapped its jaws, aiming straight for his fingers. Mo Jian yanked back just in time, barely saving his hand from disaster.
The dragon, still coiled protectively around Bai Ning, hissed again, glaring at him as though he were the very embodiment of evil.
Mo Jian froze, speechless, as Bai Ning soothed it with gentle pats and whispered nonsense. Then she turned to him, looking highly disapproving. “Master, you scared him. Can’t you be more gentle and considerate?”
Scared him? Mo Jian stared, dumbfounded, as the beast continued to glare and snarl at him, its jaws snapping mere inches from his fingers. Every instinct in him screamed that the creature would happily (try to) shred him into ribbons if given the chance. Yet Bai Ning, completely at ease, stroked its head as if it were a harmless kitten.
He opened his mouth to protest, but the dragon’s next hiss cut him off. Its eyes were fixed on him, calculating, as if measuring the precise moment to leap from Bai Ning’s shoulder and tear into his throat. Mo Jian slowly drew back, slightly unnerved, and the dragon immediately calmed, settling back against her with a satisfied purr.
Bai Ning looked at him with innocent reproach. “See? You don’t need to be so scary. He trusts me, but you… not so much.”
Mo Jian groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I knew it. Your artifact spirit is as much of a headache as you.”
Both Bai Ning and her dragon glared at him in perfect unison, and Mo Jian knew, deep in his heart, that he was completely right. This dragon was going to be trouble.