Reynard looked one last time at the man at his feet. The white mist billowed around him, in an enchanting, almost hypnotic dance. Reynard's breathing was rough, his dark-brown hair was in disarray and his clothes were a mess. Nevertheless, he had a satisfied smile on his face as he looked down.

The man's curved black sword was a few meters away, stuck on the ground. His black cloak was in tatters, full of holes and tears. A sword was firmly embedded in his chest, and blood slowly seeped from the wound, forming a scarlet pool beneath him.

The man's ravenous black eyes were already dim, and his black hair was sticky with his own blood. His face was as pale as candle wax, and his mouth was slightly opened as if he was about to say something. Words that he would never be able to utter, because the man was already dead. Reynard, however, did not take his eyes away from him for even a moment, as if trying to engrave on his mind the dying expression of his opponent. The man's corpse exploded into a red mist that Reynard promptly dispersed.

Yes, it had to be like this. It was the only result Reynard would accept. Every time he defeated the man, he would soon be reformed from the mist, even stronger. Reynard's pace climbing the mountain had slowly fallen, almost coming to a halt. He, however, was immensely satisfied.

He looked up, trying to peer through the never-ending mist that blocked his vision. It had already been some time since the ground under his feet had turned slanted. He could only move on patiently until he reached the end of the climb.

This was a challenge worth his time. His fights were turning more and more into a struggle, and more and more Reynard felt he turned stronger. What was the point of having an easy win over the other participants? This was what he lived for, this was why he cultivated. As long as there was a chance of growth, he would fight.

A climb like this was worthy of his efforts. Reaching the peak like this was worth his time.

He took firm steps ahead, crushing the gravel under his feet as he moved up, never stopping. After a moment, however, he stopped. The mist in front of him was restless, excited. A silhouette was forming again, but this one was different.

The figure formed was not as tall, his shoulders were not so broad, and his expression was not cold. His clothes were of a light green instead of dark, a color easy on the eyes, like grass under the morning light. He had his arms behind his back, and he was looking up.

It was a very soothing scene, a very peaceful scene. Even if what lied over Reynard and the man was nothing but a dense white mist, looking at the figure Reynard had the feeling his gaze could pierce the skies, as if he was gazing directly at the mysteries that lied beyond reach to all mortals.

The man's brown hair was cut short, and very neat. His sharp features were framing a very pale face that bore a calm expression. If one looked at him with a glance, he would seem like a scholar. His solemn demeanor and his serene aura might fool those that did not give him a second look.

Reynard, however, knew better. The man might have seemed composed and calm, but his bright brown eyes were anything but. If one managed to look at them for long enough, they would see a sight quite opposite to the man's first impression.

Seeing the man looking up like this made Reynard feel more threatened than pleased. This was the first person that had ever defeated him, the only one that truly deserved his respect. If the man he had been defeating so far was nothing but a stepping-stone in his view, the figure in front of him right now was the unsurmountable mountain Reynard wanted to climb.

A mountain he would inevitably have to climb if he wanted to reach the peak of the world.

Reynard took one careful step forward, and the man in front of him seemed to finally notice his presence. The man slowly lowered his head, turning his gaze to Reynard. It was a simple movement, a very natural movement. For Reynard, however, what lasted only a fraction of a second seemed to turn into ages.

He felt his hair standing on end, and all of his instincts screamed at him to run. He, however, was stuck in place, as if frozen in time. As the man slowly gazed at him, Reynard felt nothing but fright, as if a primordial beast was looking at him. It was a gaze that shook the very foundations of Reynard's being, a gaze that almost destroyed him.

The only man Reynard ever feared in his life looked at him in a deep, profound glance that shattered the peaceful aura he exuded at first. It was a scene Reynard had seen once before, a scene deeply engraved in his mind. At the time, he was still fully devoted to the Roaring Mountain Sect, trying to keep his ambitions at bay.

Those eyes, however, changed everything.

A savage fire burned in those eyes, a restless fire that made one feel threatened. A fire full of madness, full of resolve and full of hatred. A fire that blazed the hellish path that the man followed to the peak. A fire that would consume the world before being put out.

Behind that serene demeanor, behind that calm expression, behind those bright eyes… lied Hell.

"Oh?" The man looked at Reynard with a raised brow. The fire in his eyes seemed to burn even stronger as his interest in Reynard grew. It was a gaze that Reynard felt that could burn its way into his very soul.

"A very talented child. No wonder you turned into the inheriting disciple of the Roaring Mountain Sect." The man said in a calm voice. His tone seemed casual, but there was something in it, a certain charm, a hypnotic attraction that drew Reynard in.

Reynard was stuck in place, still frozen after that first glance the man gave him. His thoughts were a blank, his emotions a mess. The same as he had been more than seven years ago when they first met. When his life forever changed.

"What do you want for your life, child?" The man asked, putting a smile. A very amiable smile, complemented with a very magnetic voice.

It was a very strange question to ask an eleven-year-old child. Even stranger, however, was that Reynard somehow felt he could speak what truly lied in his heart. Something was telling him that there was no need to lie, that he should be himself.

"Everything." Reynard said without hesitation. He had talent, and he was taught from a young age that the world was at his reach. Why not take it, then?

It was a very simple, very vague answer. An answer that would usually be dismissed as a childish way of thinking. It, however, would turn into a very frightful answer if it were to be taken seriously if someone made that mindset grow.

The man's smile grew even wider, and his expression turned even gentler. His satisfaction at the answer was clear. Hell turned even brighter, its flames even fiercer as the man's gaze turned sharper.

"How do you intend to acquire everything?" The man cocked his head slightly, never blinking as he looked at Reynard.

"By becoming strong. By standing at the peak of this world." Reynard answered immediately, not hesitating in telling his true feelings again. This world was ruled by the strong. It was a fact that even the thirteen-year-old Reynard knew. If he wanted everything, naturally he would have to be stronger than all that would fight with him for it.

"Just that?" The man's brows furrowed a bit as he looked at Reynard. His smile narrowed a bit as if the answer was not to his liking.

Reynard stood in silence as he looked at the man, not knowing what to say. How had his answer not been satisfactory?

"Your vision is too narrow. Why stop at the peak?" The man said, looking up again. As soon as Hell stopped staring at Reynard, the man's aura seemed to turn serene again. He did not look at Reynard again as he spoke. "Do you know what comes after the climb?"

Reynard shook his head. He did not voice his answer, but the man somehow knew, as if he had seen it.

"What comes after the climb… is a leap." The man answered simply. He was still gazing at the sky, as if the stars of that night were still shining brightly beyond the mist that surrounded them.

Reynard did not speak, as he did not understand. He had a confused look on his face, and his brows were furrowed deeply. This was both true for the Reynard of five years ago, and the Reynard of the present.

After all those years, he still did not understand.

What he did understand, however, was what the man's words implied. A truth he somehow had forgotten. A truth he now remembered.

"Do you want me to teach you?" The man asked in a mild voice, its charm somehow even stronger. Hell descended upon Reynard again. This time, however, those flames seemed very inviting, very attractive. He wanted the knowledge that lied within them. He wanted the strength they hid.

"Please." Reynard spoke respectfully, kneeling on the floor and bowing deeply. He did not hesitate to do so. No matter the consequences, he felt it was worth it. Deep down, he knew that this man held true strength. Something he wanted to pursue at all costs.

"Let's start from the beginning, then." The man said, taking a step closer to the bowing Reynard. Reynard couldn't help but be consumed by the flames of his eyes, as he looked at the man in a daze.

"Do you know anything about swords?" With a smile, the man asked him the first question as his master.

---

Reynard took a step forward, breaking away from the mist. His gaze was even sharper, his steps even firmer as he stepped in the leveled ground. Somehow, he felt that he was even stronger.

He gazed ahead, not showing a hint of surprise in his eyes at the scene that presented itself to him. A narrow space covered in gravel and sharp rocks. A narrow space surrounded by a wall of clouds, that blocked the view of everything around him.

A narrow space with only a white throne in it.

Reynard looked at the throne with interest, not hesitating to walk to it. His dark eyes glinted with a strange light as he had his eyes fixed in it as if savoring the view.

He approached it, and closed his eyes as he extended his hands to it. He felt the crisp texture of the wood with his fingers, as well as a faint warmth. It was a strangely satisfying feeling.

Without hesitation, he slowly sat on it, enjoying the light breeze blowing on his hair. Even if the throne was made of nothing but wood, it was very comfortable. Reynard felt he would never get tired of sitting on it. He deserved it, after all.

He had been the first to get there, and the only one to stay there.

He was alone at the peak, above everyone else. The whole world was at his feet.

With his eyes still closed, he lightly supported his head on the tall backrest of the throne, getting even more comfortable. Then, he finally opened his eyes, and he saw it. He saw the only thing there was to see at the peak.

The endless expanse of azure above him, the unending sky that oversaw their world.

The unreachable heavens that lied above everyone, even above the peak.

"What comes after the climb... is a leap" The words of his master echoed in his ears.

Then, Reynard finally understood. His climb might end at some point, but he would still have something to strive for. He would still be able to pursue strength; he would still be able to move on.

On his face, a smile slowly showed itself. A very satisfied smile. A very savage smile.

On his eyes, a fire started burning, even fiercer than before.

He would take the leap. Certainly not now. More than likely not in a few decades, or even centuries.

One day, however, he would certainly take it.

Still smiling, Reynard looked down. He was not sure why he did so, but he did it anyway. His smile faded.

Not far from the throne, the gravel had been subtly moved and the rocks had been lightly kicked away, forming faint forms. The forms of feet.

On the peak, there were footprints that were not his.