Two weeks later, Devor walked beside Aoyun through the rocky, scorching expanse of a dormant volcano's crater. The path wound downward, leading them deeper into the desolate expanse of Beastbound Hollow.

  “You’ve got to trust me on this, Brother Junior Devor,” Aoyun said, thumping his chest like he was sealing a pact. “One Mid-Grade Spirit Stone per beast is a fair deal. Honest work, no hidden catches.”

  Devor shot him a wry smile, his eyes narrowing just a touch. “Fair?” he repeated, his tone dripping with skepticism.

  In the world of cultivation, Spirit Stones were crucial for training and trade, divided into four grades: Low-Grade, Mid-Grade, Advanced-Grade, and High-Grade. A hundred Low-Grade stones made up a single Mid-Grade, and so on.

  As an Outer Disciple, Devor's monthly allowance was 200 Low-Grade Spirit Stones, topped up by profits from his garden, bringing his total to around 600 Low-Grade Stones each month—which was about six Mid-Grade Stones. The idea of spending even one Mid-Grade Stone on a single Spiritual Beast for training felt like an absurd luxury.

  “Three beasts,” Devor insisted, his tone steady and firm. “All Qi Refining Realm. I’m not after their cores or meat, just sparring.”

  Aoyun’s brows shot up in disbelief. “Three? Impossible!” He threw his hands up, his voice rising. “Do you realize the risk I’m taking here? I’m breaching sect rules just to help you out—it’s—”

  Devor tuned Aoyun out, letting his over-the-top complaints wash over him. After months of dealing with him, Devor had learned that Aoyun had a knack for exaggerating the truth. Despite his dramatic protests, Aoyun was way too cautious to actually break the sect’s rules.

  Ten minutes later, they reached the lowest depths of Beastbound Hollow. The volcanic crater, far larger than Devor had expected, opened into a vast cavern. A few disciples were busy handling Spiritual Beasts, moving with practiced efficiency.

  The disciples paused as Aoyun passed, bowing in respect. Devor frowned, his curiosity sparked. "Who exactly is Aoyun?"

  Following his lead, Devor entered a quiet, secluded cavern. Inside, a Spiritual Beast waited—an imposing, wolf-like creature nearly two meters tall, its fur rippling with faint, flickering energy. The weight of its presence pressed down on Devor’s senses, making the air feel heavy.

  "Stage-8 Qi Refining?" Devor asked, his voice laced with disbelief. He turned to Aoyun, his brows furrowed. "I’m only at Stage-7. This feels like overkill."

  Aoyun casually leaned against the cavern wall, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "A one-stage difference isn't a huge deal," he said. "Spiritual Beasts have raw strength, but they don’t have brains. You’ve got strategy. Use it."

  Devor hesitated, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. He was reluctant, but he couldn’t argue with Aoyun’s logic.

  Aoyun stepped forward, placing a hand on the barrier that blocked the entrance. With a surge of spiritual energy, the barrier shimmered and parted, just wide enough for Devor to slip through.

  "I’ll watch from here," Aoyun said, his tone calm yet firm. "If things get too out of hand, I’ll step in. But don’t count on me."

  Devor nodded, swallowing the knot of anxiety in his throat, and stepped into the cavern. As the barrier sealed behind him, the heavy silence enveloped him, broken only by the occasional low growl of the Spiritual Beast lurking in the shadows.

  The wolf-like creature locked eyes with him, its gaze glowing with lethal intent. For a brief moment, time seemed to freeze.

  Then, with a fierce snarl, the beast lunged forward, a blur of shadow and muscle. Its claws slashed toward Devor’s throat with terrifying speed.

  Devor’s heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline surging through his body. He barely managed to raise his sword, calling upon the flickering flames of the Dancing Fire Sword Technique. The blade flared to life, glowing with fiery energy as it swung toward the beast.

  But the flames flickered weakly, the intensity far less than he’d hoped—a clear sign that his control over the technique was still lacking.

  The wolf-beast reacted with ease. With a swipe of its forepaw, it created an energy shield that collided with the sword, sending a shockwave through the cavern. The resulting impact rang out like a thunderclap, echoing in the still air.

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  Devor's arms trembled from the force of the impact, the vibration of the clash shooting up the blade, numbing his hands and wrists. His stance wavered, and he stumbled back, gritting his teeth to steady himself.

  "Focus, Devor," he muttered under his breath, taking a slow, steadying breath.

  The beast wasted no time, lunging again with its jaws wide open. This time, Devor sidestepped just in time, narrowly avoiding the deadly strike. He retaliated with a horizontal slash, the fiery blade aimed at the creature's side.

  The wolf-like beast twisted midair, dodging the attack with fluid, almost unnatural agility. It landed lightly, its growl deepening as it circled Devor, its movements calculating and predatory.

  "It's not just about strength-it's got strategy too!" Devor realized, sweat running down his face.

  He adjusted his grip on the sword, sinking into a lower stance. The fear that had gripped him earlier began to fade, replaced by a growing sense of resolve.

  "If I can't handle this, how am I supposed to face whatever's waiting for me beyond Beastbound Hollow?" he muttered, determination creeping into his voice.

  The wolf-beast lunged once more, but this time, Devor was ready. He anticipated the attack, sidestepping with a smooth pivot on his heel, and brought his sword down in a swift arc. The flames around the blade flared brighter, matching the resolve in Devor's strike.

  The blade scraped across the beast's flank, leaving a shallow but painful wound. It howled in fury, staggering for a moment before regaining its balance.

  Devor pressed on without hesitation. His movements became sharper, more fluid, each strike pushing the beast back, forcing it to stay on the defensive.

  For the first time, Devor felt a flicker of confidence. This wasn't just training-it was survival. And for the first time, he was starting to grasp the true meaning of combat.

  The wolf didn't give him a moment's respite. Its claws slashed out with brutal precision, forcing Devor to retreat and block with his sword. Each clash jolted up his arms, the beast's raw power far beyond what he'd expected. One swipe came dangerously close, leaving a deep gash across his left arm.

  Pain flared from the wound, but the wolf didn't let up. Its movements were quick and unrelenting. Devor tried to retaliate with the Dancing Fire Sword Technique, but his strikes were rushed, clumsy. The flames flickered weakly, a clear sign of his lack of control. The wolf easily dodged or deflected his attacks, the gap in their skill painfully obvious.

  Fatigue began to settle in. His breaths came in ragged gasps, and each movement felt slower than the last. Panic crept in as his weaknesses became glaringly obvious-he'd focused so much on perfecting flashy techniques, but he'd neglected the fundamentals of combat: timing, distance, adaptability.

  The wolf, sensing its advantage, kept him on the defensive. Another swipe caught him on the side, leaving a shallow but stinging cut. Devor stumbled, the rough cavern floor scraping his palms and knees. His trembling sword lifted instinctively as the wolf lunged again.

  In that moment, something clicked. Survival instincts took over. Devor rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the strike. Adrenaline surged through him as he realized-this wasn't about who had the flashiest moves. It was about endurance, patience, and capitalizing on the enemy's mistakes.

  Devor shifted his strategy. He stopped wasting energy on flashy techniques and focused on the basics. No more unnecessary flourishes-just clean, deliberate movements. Instead of trying to block every strike, he relied on his agility to dodge, saving his strength for counterattacks.

  The change in his approach started to pay off. The wolf's relentless attacks, once overwhelming, became more predictable. Devor's focus sharpened as he analyzed the creature's patterns, looking for weaknesses.

  When the wolf's right claw slashed downward, Devor sidestepped with precision, the motion smooth and controlled. He countered with a quick thrust of his blade, the qi-infused tip grazing the wolf's belly. Though the wound was shallow, it forced the beast to retreat a few paces.

  Devor was finding his rhythm. His movements flowed seamlessly, each strike simple but exact. The wolf, once a blur of aggression, began to slow. Its breathing grew heavier, its steps more labored.

  "There it is," Devor thought, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a gap in the wolf's defense: its exposed neck.

  Summoning every last bit of spiritual energy, Devor activated his sword technique: Burning Blade. Flames roared to life, enveloping his blade in a fiery glow that lit up the cavern. The heat was intense, sharper than anything he had managed before.

  With a roar of his own, Devor lunged. His blade cut through the wolf's final defense, slicing deep into its neck. The beast let out a final, guttural growl before collapsing, lifeless, to the ground.

  Devor stood over the fallen beast, panting heavily. His sword shook in his grip, the flames fading as his spiritual energy ran dry.

  [Spiritual Energy: 124/1013]

  His reserves were almost gone. Every muscle in his body ached, and the wounds on his arms burned with pain. But despite the exhaustion, a faint smile tugged at his lips. He had done it—his first real fight, and he’d come out on top.

  From the sidelines, Aoyun watched, his face unreadable. The soft glow of the barrier behind him cast shadows across his features. "That kid… he adapts fast," he muttered under his breath, almost to himself.

  Aoyun had seen Devor’s progress during the battle. At first, he’d been all over the place—his moves sloppy, his strikes off-mark. But as the fight went on, Devor had started to adjust. He’d begun reading the wolf’s movements and sharpening his own. For someone so inexperienced, his ability to adapt under pressure was impressive.

  Still, Aoyun’s gaze sharpened. He’s come a long way, but he’s still not ready. Potential was one thing, but in the brutal world of cultivation, it wouldn’t be enough.

  Devor wiped the sweat from his brow, unaware of Aoyun’s thoughts. His sword hung loosely at his side as he turned to face him. "What’s next?" His voice was steady, despite his exhaustion.

  Aoyun smirked, folding his arms. "Next? You heal up, then you fight again. That was just the warm-up."

  Devor’s eyes widened slightly, a mix of disbelief and determination flickering across his face. He’d survived one battle, but it was clear now—this was just the beginning.