Dark lord of Duo Qi continent

The sun peeked through the dense canopy of trees as Yan Feng emerged from the forest, his steps slow and deliberate. He had been walking for hours, guided only by the faint remnants of Zhu Yan's advice and his own instincts. His body ached, and the taste of ash from the battle lingered in his mouth. He needed answers—and, more importantly, direction.

Ahead of him, a dirt path stretched into the distance, leading to what appeared to be a small town nestled at the edge of the forest. The sight of smoke curling from chimneys and the faint murmur of human activity brought a strange comfort. Civilization. A momentary reprieve from the chaos that had become his life.

"A town…" Zhu Yan's faint voice stirred in Yan Feng's mind. "Good. You'll need supplies, information, and perhaps even allies. But tread carefully. You're no longer unknown, boy. Your name will spread, and not all ears will be friendly."

Yan Feng nodded silently. Though Zhu Yan's presence was weakened, his words still carried the weight of wisdom. He pulled his tattered cloak tighter around him, hiding his face as best he could. The flickering power of the flame within him was too faint to be detected by ordinary cultivators, but it was better to err on the side of caution.

As he approached the town, the chatter of its inhabitants grew louder. The gate was simple—two wooden posts with a rope strung across—but it was guarded by two men. They weren't cultivators, just common sentries with spears and weary faces. They barely glanced at him as he passed, their eyes more focused on the horizon than on the travelers entering the town.

The town was small, no more than a collection of a few dozen buildings clustered around a central square. Market stalls lined the streets, their vendors shouting over one another to advertise their wares. The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat, fresh bread, and the acrid tang of alchemical concoctions.

Yan Feng moved through the crowd, his eyes scanning his surroundings. The people here were ordinary—farmers, merchants, blacksmiths. Cultivators were rare in places like this, and those who did pass through were often travelers or mercenaries looking for work.

"This is the outer region of the Duo Qi Continent," Zhu Yan's voice came, filling the gaps in Yan Feng's knowledge. "A place where the weak gather to scrape by. You won't find any great sects or powerful clans here, but news travels fast even in backwater towns like this. Listen carefully, boy. The whispers of the common folk can be as valuable as the decrees of emperors."

Yan Feng ducked into a quieter corner of the market, leaning against a wooden post as he watched and listened. Conversations drifted past him, fragments of gossip and mundane chatter.

"Did you hear? The Crimson Nether Sect has been quiet for weeks now. Something's brewing up there, mark my words…"

"…another caravan ambushed on the northern roads. Bandits, they say, but I heard it was rogue cultivators…"

"…they say the Misty Cloud Sect has started moving their disciples south. Something about a missing artifact…"

Yan Feng's ears perked up at the mention of the Misty Cloud Sect. A flash of memory surged through him—Nalan Yanran, her cold arrogance, her ties to that sect. His jaw tightened. He still owed her for her betrayal, but now was not the time.

As he sifted through the voices, one conversation caught his attention.

"…a tournament in Bluewood City. They say anyone can participate, even outsiders. The prize is a Spirit Flame Scroll, one that records techniques for refining flames…"

Yan Feng's breath hitched. A Spirit Flame Scroll. Such a prize could be invaluable, especially now that Zhu Yan's guidance was weakened. If he could get his hands on it, it might give him the edge he desperately needed.

"Bluewood City," Yan Feng muttered under his breath. It wasn't a name he recognized, but it sounded important enough to warrant investigation.

He moved toward one of the market stalls, where an elderly vendor was arranging jars of herbs. "Excuse me," Yan Feng said, his voice low. "How far is Bluewood City from here?"

The vendor looked up, squinting at him. "Bluewood City? That's a fair distance from here, stranger. You'll need to head south along the main road, then cut through the Blackwood Forest. Dangerous place, that is. Full of beasts and worse. Why'd you want to go there, anyway?"

"Just passing through," Yan Feng replied curtly. He dropped a few coins onto the table, more than enough for the information. The vendor's eyes gleamed as he scooped them up.

"Good luck, then," the man said. "You'll need it."

As Yan Feng turned to leave, a voice called out behind him.

"Heading to Bluewood, are you?"

He turned to see a burly man in leather armor, a sword strapped to his back. The man's smile was friendly, but his eyes were sharp, assessing.

"What's it to you?" Yan Feng asked, his tone guarded.

"Just curious," the man said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Bluewood's a dangerous place these days. Bandits, beasts, rogue cultivators… You look like you could use some protection."

"I can handle myself," Yan Feng said flatly.

The man chuckled. "Suit yourself. But if you change your mind, I'll be around." He tipped his hat and disappeared into the crowd.

"Careful with men like him," Zhu Yan's voice warned. "Mercenaries are as loyal as their next payday. Trust no one, boy. Not here, not anywhere."

Yan Feng nodded silently. He had no intention of trusting anyone.

As the sun began to set, Yan Feng found himself at the edge of town, staring down the road that led south. His body still ached, and his strength was far from its peak, but his resolve was unshaken.

"Zhu Yan," he said quietly. "Do you think the Spirit Flame Scroll could help us?"

"Perhaps," Zhu Yan replied. "But it won't be easy to obtain. Competitions like these are magnets for the strong and ambitious. If you're not careful, you could draw the wrong kind of attention."

Yan Feng smirked, a glint of determination in his eyes. "Let them come. I'll take what's mine, no matter who stands in my way."

"Spoken like a true vessel of the flame," Zhu Yan said, though there was a hint of caution in his voice. "But remember, boy: power without control is nothing but destruction. If you're not careful, you'll burn yourself long before you burn your enemies."

Yan Feng said nothing, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear—he would not stop until he had the strength to crush anyone who dared to stand in his way.

With a final glance at the town behind him, Yan Feng stepped onto the road and began his journey south, the flickering flame within him a reminder of the battles tet to come.