The sun beat down on the rocky outcrop, baking the very air until it shimmered. From their vantage point on the high hill, the four disciples looked down upon the bandits' final stronghold.

  The camp was a festering wound in the heart of the forest, a chaotic collection of crude tents and smoky fires, buzzing with the brutish energy of nearly thirty men.

  "The last known camp seems to be here,"

  Re Jui confirmed, his voice a low, steady murmur as he scanned the scene, his eyes missing no detail.

  "Good," Mi Shui spat, her knuckles white as she gripped the hilt of her shortsword.

  The mission had worn her patience to a threadbare whisper.

  "I can finally relax after this. That contribution point reward will set me up until I become an Inner Disciple!"

  A vein throbbed on her temple, her fiery temper barely contained.

  "I keep hearing what these perverted threats do to their captives. My fists are itching to cave in some skulls. My rage will die down once every last one of them is dead!"

  Ming Mei let out a soft sigh, the sound lost in the rustle of the wind.

  It was indeed the final camp. A wave of profound relief washed over her, but it was a weary, hollow feeling. It had been more than a month since she had set out, a month of sleeping on hard ground and waking to the cold reality of the hunt.

  Bi Kan, she thought, her gaze turning distant, I wonder if you're back in the sect as well… maybe you've become an Inner Disciple by now?

  Beside her, Ran Ji, a stocky youth whose patience had run out days ago, unsheathed his blade with a sharp rasp of steel.

  "Enough waiting," he grunted, taking a step towards the ledge.

  He was about to launch himself down into the camp, a one-man avalanche of frustration.

  A hand clamped down on his arm, stopping him cold.

  A few loose pebbles skittered from under his feet, tumbling down the hillside.

  "Ran Ji, not yet," Re Jui commanded, his voice sharp.

  "Are you an idiot? Be cautious. This is the biggest camp we've faced, and they are numerous. I count thirty of them. We are only four. That's more than a seven-to-one ratio."

  "Tsk! Are you too cowardly?!" Mi Shui rounded on Re Jui, her voice a shrill, angry shriek.

  "We can finally end this! Do you have any idea how much I just want to go home?!"

  "Oi, shut up, they'll hear us!" Ran Ji hissed, forgetting his own impulsiveness as he quickly clamped a hand over Mi Shui’s mouth.

  Despite the distance and his frantic effort, a faint, garbled sound drifted down to the camp below.

  "What was that? A goat yell?"

  one of the bandits asked, scratching his grimy beard.

  His companion smacked him on the back of the head.

  "Idiot. There's no goats this high up."

  On the hill, Re Jui ignored their bickering.

  He sat down, his gaze fixed on the bandits strolling around the camp, his mind a calm, calculating engine.

  He looked up at the bright sun, watching the clouds circle lazily above.

  "We attack at night," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

  "As we always have. We will be silent as the grave, and it will be quick. Trust me."

  He turned to look at Ming Mei, who was staring down at the camp, her expression unreadable.

  She hugged her arms to her chest, a shiver running through her that had nothing to do with the wind.

  The thought of more killing, even of men who deserved it, filled her with a profound, soul-deep weariness. i

  She was a prodigy, a Stage 8 expert, but the girl who used to sell rice with her father felt a million miles away.

  What would Bi Kan do? He had killed, yes, but with a chilling purpose, a cold pragmatism, not this hot, messy rage that fueled her comrades.

  She wasn't sure which was worse.

  As the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of blood orange, she felt a quiet, desperate wish that this long night would finally be her last

  The sun bled across the horizon, its dying light painting the bruised purple clouds in shades of crimson and gold.

  A cool wind swept up the hillside, rustling through the tall grasses and tugging at the robes of the four disciples who lay in wait. Re Jui, his silver-grey hair flowing freely in the breeze, rose from his crouched position and walked over to where Ming Mei stood, a solitary figure silhouetted against the fading sky.

  He had watched her for hours, seeing the subtle tremor in her hands, the distant, haunted look in her eyes.

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  "The cold getting to you, Sister Mei?" he asked, his voice a soft murmur that didn't carry down to the valley below.

  "Or is it something else?" He didn't need an answer.

  He already knew. He followed her gaze down to the bandit camp, now little more than a collection of dark shapes huddled around a single, defiant bonfire.

  "You still fear killing them, don't you?"

  The question hung in the air, sharp and unavoidable. Ming Mei’s lips trembled, and she hugged her arms tighter, as if trying to hold herself together.

  Her answer, when it came, was a fragile whisper, barely carried by the wind.

  "I… I don't want to take another's life." She looked down at her own hands, pale and slender in the twilight.

  They felt alien to her, vessels of a power she couldn't reconcile with her own heart.

  "My Qi… my power… it's meant to protect, isn't it? Not… not to erase. I'm not ready for that. I don't want to be."

  She didn't want to see the light leave another pair of eyes, didn't want her hands, which had once measured rice for her father, to be stained with the finality of death.

  Re Jui’s eyes narrowed, not in judgment, but in cold, pragmatic calculation. He stroked his chin, the strategist in him identifying the critical flaw in their plan.

  A hesitating spearhead was a liability that could get them all killed.

  "Now, that is quite the problem," he sighed, the sound one of weary understanding rather than frustration.

  "But your strength is our greatest advantage." He found a compromise, a path that utilized her power without shattering her spirit.

  "Can you knock them out, then? Your speed, your precision… you can disable them before they even know you're there. A clean strike to the back of the neck. No blood, no killing blow. Just… sleep. As long as they are unconscious, we'll do the rest."

  Ming Mei trembled at the thought.

  It was a half-measure, a way to keep her hands clean while still being an accomplice to the slaughter.

  But what other choice did she have? It had been a month, and she had felt utterly useless, her immense power shackled by her own conscience.

  This was, at least, a way to contribute, to stop being a burden.

  "O-Okay," she whispered, her voice thick with a resignation that felt like defeat.

  "That's the least… I can do."

  Re Jui offered a small, reassuring smile and gently patted her shoulder.

  "You're the furthest thing from useless, Mei," he said, the use of her familiar name a small comfort.

  "You're our sharpest blade. You get us through the door. Ran Ji and Shui… we're the hammers that clean up afterwards. We all have our part to play."

  She gave a weak, grateful nod. She was glad she was with them. Any other group might have abandoned her, or worse, forced her hand long ago.

  The last sliver of the sun vanished, plunging the world into the deep indigo of night.

  Below, the bandits gathered around the roaring campfire, their boisterous laughter and crude boasts echoing up the hillside, tales of pillaged villages and violated women that hardened the hearts of the listening disciples.

  A few of the men stumbled away towards their tents, while the others passed around wineskins, their guards completely down.

  The four disciples became four shadows, melting into the darkness.

  Their moment had come. Silently, they began their descent, predators moving towards the firelight, ready to finish their mission once and for al

  The night was a shroud of black velvet, so dark the line between the trees and the sky had blurred into a single, deep shadow.

  In the bandit camp, the bonfire crackled, its flames a lone beacon of warmth and life in the oppressive stillness.

  A drunken bandit, his head lolling against his chest, suddenly lifted his gaze.

  His bleary eyes swept over the silent, unmoving forest. The crickets… they were quiet. A profound, unnatural silence had fallen, the kind that precedes the pounce of a predator.

  "Wha…tt, i's… going on…"

  he slurred, the words thick and clumsy on his tongue.

  The ale had dulled his senses, but a primal instinct, cold and sharp, was trying to cut through the alcoholic haze.

  His companions, slumped around the fire, let out a series of wet, wheezing laughs.

  "H-haha, don't… don't… tell me, you're afraid… of the dark!" one of them hiccupped, his breath a foul wave of cheap wine.

  "The perfect situation, don't you think?" a voice whispered from the darkness.

  Before the first bandit could process the words, a shadow detached itself from the deeper gloom behind him.

  A hand clamped over his mouth, stifling his surprised grunt, and pulled him back into the tall grass. A single, wet tearing sound, and it was over.

  "G-guhk…"

  The rustle of the grass was the only sound that broke the silence.

  The remaining bandits by the fire blinked, their drunken minds struggling to catch up.

  "O-Oi, where did… that… bastard goo…?" one of them mumbled, trying to stand. He swayed, his legs tangling beneath him, and he tripped, landing in the dirt with a pained groan. "Ng-gh… stop hiding… in the damned… grass…"

  His words were answered not by his friend, but by two ghostly figures materializing from the shadows.

  Re Jui and Mi Shui moved as one, their blades twin flashes of moonlight that drew clean, dark lines across the throats of the two seated bandits.

  "Khkl!" The sound was a choked, final gurgle as they slumped forward, their lifeblood staining the earth around the fire.

  The last bandit on the ground, the sudden violence a brutal shock of sobriety, scrambled to his feet.

  His mouth opened, a scream forming in his throat to alert the camp. It never came out. A sharp, precise impact to the back of his neck sent a jolt of paralyzing energy through him.

  His vision blurred, his legs gave way, and he crumpled to his knees, dazed and helpless. As he fell, he saw the face of the girl who had struck him—Ming Mei, her expression a mask of pained resolve.

  Mi Shui didn't hesitate.

  She darted forward, her dagger striking the kneeling bandit in the neck, ending him before he could recover.

  Re Jui let out a soft breath, a small, approving smile on his face. At least she had contributed this time.

  "Okay," he whispered, his voice a low command in the sudden silence.

  "Get to their tents and kill them. Ming Mei, keep an eye out for any awake bandits."

  The cleanup began.

  Creeping through the tents, Ran Ji was a brutal specter. He slit each sleeping bandit's throat, his face grim as he watched them gurgle and drown in their own blood.

  "You deserve this," he muttered, his rage a cold, satisfying fire as he slipped their pouches of spirit stones and materials into his own pockets.

  Mi Shui was a blur of efficiency, a quick slash all it took, her footsteps silent and swift. She wasted no time, every dead bandit was one step closer to home.

  Re Jui was methodical, driving his longsword through the heart of each man before moving silently to the next tent. One by one, the camp's inhabitants were extinguished.

  Ming Mei picked off one of the bandits daggers off the floor,

  she sighs, even though she knows deep down that these bandits have took the lives of several innocent people using this very blade, she couldn't bring herself to end their life for their sins, she did not have the guts to become an executioner

  As she rose up, there was something that caught her eye, in the midst of the small tents.

  There was one tent, larger and set slightly apart from the others.

  A flicker of unease, a sense of something… more, drew Ming Mei towards it. She parted the heavy leather flap and peered inside.

  The breath caught in her throat. Her senses, honed to a razor's edge, were screaming.

  A bandit, large and powerfully built, lay sleeping on a pile of furs. But the aura radiating from him was a dense, physical pressure, a power that dwarfed her own.

  A Body Tempering Realm expert, Stage 2.

  Her heart hammered against her ribs.

  She took a staggered step back, her control shattering for a single, fatal moment. A soft, involuntary gasp escaped her lips.

  In a nearby tent, a bandit, sleeping with the light, twitchy rest of a paranoid man, slowly opened his eyes.