The Cunning Treasure Hunter

At dawn on the day of the Peak Assembly, everything seemed the same as always.

Vera rose before the sun, just as she always did, and found herself facing Marcus in the dimly lit training grounds of the Blooming Peak Pavilion.

"Let's take a break today," Marcus suggested.

"...Yes, senior brother."

Yet, Vera drew her sword.

Before the confused gaze of Marcus, she raised her blade steadily. It was the posture of a cherry blossom swaying in a snowstorm—the signature opening stance of the Nine-Cherry Blossom Sword.

"...Vera."

"Please watch, senior brother."

With a slow and deliberate step, she began. Her movements traced circles in the air, and deep within her core, the black dragon stirred awake. Power flowed through her meridians—a force unlike anything experienced before.

The sword sang softly, its low hum reverberating before falling silent.

Then, at the silence's edge, light bloomed.

It was Sword Radiance.

Vera performed the first three forms of the Nine-cherry Blossom Sword for him. She moved at a speed nearly three times slower than usual, each motion deliberate and precise.

Even at such a reduced pace, the cold, flowing aura of the technique stirred the air. Time itself seemed to slow, her clothes and hair drifting lazily in the stillness.

Though she demonstrated it only once, Marcus knew he would never forget what he saw.

The glimmering tip of her sword traced a perfect arc. Her sorrowful gaze seemed to pierce through time itself.

Moments stretched into eternity, and eternity passed like a fleeting instant.

For the first time, Marcus thought that martial arts could be beautiful.

The weapon in her hand was a tool of death, a blade crafted to pierce the hearts of men. Yet, it sent shivers across his skin.

When the display ended and Vera returned her blade to its sheath, Marcus found he couldn't look away from her. Even the act of sheathing her sword carried an elegance that captivated him.

"Senior brother?"

Her soft, delicate voice broke through his trance like a hammer striking his consciousness.

Finally regaining his composure, Marcus responded.

"...Yes."

"I performed it slowly for your sake. Remember it well, and please… win."

"...Thank you."

As the sun rose over the mountain ridge, the once-black sky turned to a cool indigo. The red hues of the morning light spread across the eastern horizon, signaling the start of another day in the Blooming Peak Pavilion.

The usual sounds of rustling clothes, footsteps along the corridors, and quiet conversations filled the air—but today, an unshakable tension hung over everything.

Crack.

Snap.

Crunch.

The sounds of bones breaking and twisting echoed through the room, so harrowing that the attendant waiting outside the door had to cover her mouth to keep from crying out.

Attaining the Harmony Realm was a natural progression for martial artists of a certain level, but here, it was being forced through external means.

The procedure, known as Bone-Cleansing Rituals, was one of the greatest blessings a young martial artist could receive. However, it came at the price of enduring pain equivalent to the breaking and rearranging of muscles and bones.

Jace's limbs twisted unnaturally, his muscles convulsing as spasms wracked his body.

Sitting cross-legged nearby, Aetheris observed the scene silently, his expression impassive. The one performing the procedure was none other than Magnus, the cherry Blossom Swordmaster, and the Mount Suncrest Sect's foremost disciple—a candidate for the sect's next leader.

His glowing hands emanated the aura of Sword Radiance, a phenomenon achieved only by those nearing the pinnacle of mastery. It was a testament to Magnus's skill that he could apply such precision through touch.

Yet Dylan, standing nearby, trembled uncontrollably.

Her lips were pale, her eyelids twitching as she stared at Jace, unable to cry out. What she witnessed was not just her senior's suffering but a glimpse of her own future.

In the suffocating silence, the procedure finally came to an end.

As Magnus withdrew his hands, Jace collapsed forward, his forehead hitting the ground. It was only then that the cries he had been suppressing burst forth.

"Argh… Aaagh! Hhhhk! Aaghhh!"

He had been a mischievous senior brother, one who always smiled and comforted others. But now, that image was nowhere to be seen.

Writhing on the floor, foaming at the mouth, his body convulsed until, at last, he went limp.

"Come forward," said Magnus calmly.

Today wasn't supposed to be the day for Bone-Cleansing Rituals. Once a month was deemed sufficient, but the Peak Assembly was a special occasion.

It had been Aetheris who bowed and pleaded with Magnus to perform it. The cherry Blossom Swordmaster had agreed, for Jace and Dylan were not just his students—they were the sect's future.

The goal was clear: they had to defeat all the other disciples and reign supreme in the gathering.

For the honor of the Mount Suncrest Sect. For the position once relinquished by Thorne, the former Sect Leader.

In the martial world, it was whispered, not without truth, that Gideon, the Sect Leader of the Mount Suncrest Sect, was a step below his predecessor, Thorne.

Even after mastering the secret Purple Mist Divine Art, a technique exclusive to Sect Leaders, the murmurs persisted.

He could endure that.

But when Aiden brought Ethan into the fold—a prodigy hailed as the "dragon of Mount Suncrest," the sect's brightest star—the whispers grew louder.

Rumors spread, mocking the Sect Leader and his disciples, claiming their judgment was inferior to that of Thorne and his followers.

That was when Gideon lost his composure. Together with his first disciple, Magnus, he issued a secret decree to every affiliated branch of the sect across the Central Plains: find the most gifted children, no matter the cost or method, and bring them to Mount Suncrest.

This was the shadow of the Mount Suncrest Sect, the dark secret that tainted its illustrious name.

"Did I not call for you to come forward?"

A thunderous voice echoed.

Dylan, trembling, staggered closer. A massive hand seized her wrist and twisted. What followed was pain—familiar yet no less unbearable.

Pain, and nothing else.

Scarlet Crown Chamber.

The sacred hall reserved for the Sect Leader of the Mount Suncrest Sect.

Inside, Gideon sat at a table carved from cherry wood, its surface adorned with intricate engravings of blossoming cherry trees.

Across from him lay a divine relic: the Heavenly Night Scorching Sword.

A blade said to burn the night sky itself.

The Sect Leader's exclusive art, the Purple Mist Divine Art, symbolized the twilight—a sun's final rays setting the heavens aflame. The sword was a relic designed to channel and amplify this fiery energy.

"...Why does it refuse me?"

Was it because he wasn't the inheritor of the Grand cherry Blossom Sword? No, that couldn't be it. That technique was so elusive that only one person in the sect's history—a master born three centuries ago, blessed with the Heavenly Martial Constitution—had ever fully understood it.

Yet every Sect Leader of Mount Suncrest had wielded the Heavenly Night Scorching Sword without exception.

All except Gideon.

"Wretched artifact," he muttered, waving his hand. The cabinet doors swung shut without a sound—a display of Object Manipulation.

Rising from his seat, he retrieved an imitation sword from a nearby rack. Nearly identical to the original, it was crafted with such precision that even the keenest eyes couldn't tell them apart.

A knock came at the door.

"Everyone has gathered, Sect Leader," a disciple reported.

Without responding, Gideon pushed open the doors of the Scarlet Crown Chamber.

The vast training grounds of the Red Night Pavilion were surrounded by tents, creating an imposing yet solemn atmosphere.

"Is everyone here?"

Though his voice was calm, it carried the weight of immense inner energy, reaching every corner of the arena.

The first-generation disciples bowed their heads respectfully, while the second and third generations prostrated themselves even before the doors had opened.

The atmosphere was reverent. No trumpets, no drums—just silence and his voice reigning over the space.

Only those seated in the outermost tents—the representatives of other sects and major trading guilds—did not bow.

"Honored guests of the martial world and esteemed members of the Central Plains' trading guilds, we humbly thank you for journeying to witness the talents of our humble disciples," Gideon said, his tone dripping with veiled arrogance.

His words carried a sense of disdain, as if the entire world was beneath him.

"The Peak Assembly has always been an event where the young talents of  Mount Suncrest are tested to identify the pillars of our future. To the most outstanding among them, we bestow this—"

Reaching into his robe, he retrieved a small purple box. When opened, it revealed an elixir resembling compressed cherry blossoms, radiating a fragrance so pure and enchanting that it momentarily captivated the entire audience.

"Ah, could it be…?"

"A treasure said to rival the Grand Elixir of the Iron Fist Sect!"

"The Jade Elixir…!"

The Mount Suncrest Sect, despite its wealth and grandeur, could only produce twelve such pills annually. A treasure among treasures, the Jade Elixir was a testament to the sect's unparalleled resources.

"Raise your heads," Gideon commanded.

At his words, everyone lifted their gaze, their eyes fixed on the pill—except for one.

Vera, with her dark, fathomless eyes, met the Sect Leader's gaze instead.

Interesting, a voice echoed in her mind. Are you pretending to lack greed, I wonder?

It was a secret technique known as Transmission of Sound, used only by masters who had reached the pinnacle of martial arts.

As expected, no response came from Vera, but her unflinching stare spoke volumes.

"This year's the Peak Assembly, as tradition dictates, will award the Jade Elixir to the victor. Third-generation disciples, display your skills without reservation and prove yourselves to be the pillars of Mount Suncrest's future. That is all."