In the eastern outskirts of the sect, within a forest that once echoed with the melodic calls of winged beasts, a profound and unnatural silence had fallen.

  The air was thick with the coppery tang of old blood, a grim incense to the countless feathered carcasses that littered the forest floor.

  An Inner Disciple, his rugged features marked by a distinctive scar down his right cheek, moved through the carnage, his expression a mask of grim contemplation.

  Dong Kai, newly ascended to his rank, felt a knot of failure tighten in his gut.

  He was deep in thought, his mind piecing together the timeline of the slaughter, when a flicker of jade-green motion exploded from the undergrowth.

  A Jaded-Viper, moving with the speed and precision of a living arrow, lashed out, its fangs gaping as it aimed for the carotid artery in his long, exposed neck.

  Time seemed to slow. At the final possible second, just as the venom-tipped fangs were about to sink into his flesh, Dong Kai’s hand shot up from below with a speed that defied the eye. His fingers clamped around the serpent’s midsection, stopping it cold in mid-air.

  “Almost got me, little friend,” he chuckled, the sound a low rumble in the dead quiet of the forest.

  The viper thrashed violently in his grip, its powerful muscles coiling, but his hand was a vise of tempered steel.

  “But I’m afraid my neck isn’t ready for that kind of hickey just yet.”

  His lips curled upwards into a hearty smile as he swung the struggling creature high into the air. He planted a boot firmly on the grassy floor, the ground groaning and creating a small mound beneath the force.

  His arm leaned all the way back, a coiled spring of devastating power. As the viper arced back down, he met it with a forward pulse of his fist.

  The impact was a concussive blast, a beautiful and horrifying plume of red-velvet vapor that was once a living creature. The viper was simply gone, churned into mushed meat and mist.

  Dong Kai straightened his stance, his eyes roaming the vicinity, taking in the full, horrifying scope of the devastation.

  “Have I been too late?” he whispered, his earlier confidence evaporating, replaced by a surge of fear and guilt that formed a lump in his throat.

  “The Winged-Beasts of this forest… I have failed to save you.”

  Just as his despair began to settle, the bushes rummaged.

  A single, terrified sky-lark, one of its wings clipped, burst from the foliage, fleeing a horde of at least a dozen more Jaded-Vipers that slithered in hot pursuit.

  A fire of pure, righteous fury ignited in Dong Kai’s eyes. “I guess not!” he roared, his voice echoing through the silent, dying woods.

  “Do not worry, my little bird friends! I shall avenge your fallen brethren and liberate you from these vicious and venomous snakes!”

  Meanwhile, Dong Kai was not alone in his grim task. The rest of his five-man team was spread throughout the neighboring forests, a systematic purge of the slithering menace.

  One group found themselves near the rocky mountains, a rugged, unforgiving landscape that had, until recently, served as the primary territory for numerous bandit clans.

  They moved through a valley of scorched earth, the remnants of camps that had been burned to the ground a month ago, the air still holding the faint, ghostly stench of charred wood and old death, the unmistakable handiwork of Ming Mei and her comrades.

  But another, more recent, presence haunted these mountains.

  For over two months, a different Inner Disciple had been roaming this territory, a ghost who treated the remaining bandits not as a threat, but as training dummies.

  He was always a thorn in this side, it was rumored that he had been captured before, but he was still active, a lone leadership, a one-man insurgency leaving a trail of mayhem and terror, particularly in the lands nominally under Hao Yifeng’s control.

  Within the dark, smoky confines of the main bandit fortress, Hao Yifeng’s patience was wearing thin.

  He had recently sent a squad of his men into that very territory, tasking them with capturing any potential slaves they could find.

  “Young master, the lands near the western mountains… they are empty. A husk,” a bandit had advised him just a day before, his voice trembling but honest.

  “To send men there would be a waste of resources and lives.”

  Hao Yifeng had simply smiled, a cold, serene expression that did not reach his eyes.

  “Are you questioning my judgment?” he had asked, his voice a soft, silken whisper. Before the man could stammer out a reply, a dagger had appeared in Yifeng’s hand, and with a lazy, almost bored flick of his wrist, he had slit the man’s throat.

  “Let his corpse be the message,” he had commanded, turning to the rest of the terrified squad. "Go. And do not return empty-handed.

  The sun, a harsh and unforgiving eye in the pale sky, beat down upon the muddy, sprawling grounds of the bandit fortress.

  A high-pitched, metallic shriek echoed through the air as the heavy, Qi-suppressing chains on a young boy’s ankles dragged across the packed earth.

  Each step was a weak thud, a wet, squelching sound as his bare feet sank into the filth. His back was hunched, his head bowed low as he stared at his own wavering shadow, a fragile, broken thing on the sullied ground.

  Wei Zheng’s time of agony had come.

  A group of bandits stood impatiently near the central whipping post, their arms crossed, their gazes boring into the back of his head.

  They tapped their boots against the muddy ground in a rapid, irritated rhythm. A single thought, cold and sharp as a shard of ice, formed in Wei Zheng’s mind, a small, defiant shield against the coming storm.

  At least they do not know of the untimely death of that disgusting pig, he mused, a flicker of contempt in his gaze. They didn't notice the foul odor within the cellar, They must frequently bathe in their own shit, unable to tell the difference.

  A small, almost imperceptible grin touched his lips, but the fleeting moment of triumph was shattered by the sharp, explosive crack of a whip. It landed just beside his planted feet, sending a spray of mud spattering against his legs.

  He grit his teeth, his heart rate spiking as he braced himself for the inevitable world of pain.

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  The lash flew out again, this time finding its mark.

  The crisp sound of leather snapping against flesh was followed by a searing, white-hot line of fire that imprinted itself across his naked back.

  Tears welled in his eyes, hot and immediate, as his knees crumpled beneath him, the pain far too unbearable to stand against.

  “Ack! Stop! It hurts!” he cried out, the words ripped from his throat in a raw, desperate plea.

  The bandits’ smiles reached their eyes. His cries of agony were a sweet melody to their ears, the perfect accompaniment to the rhythmic crack of the whip.

  With each fresh strike, new red streaks were painted across his pale skin, a brutal and beautiful tapestry of suffering.

  The sharp pain… it's unbearable! Wei Zheng’s mind screamed, his will straining against the tide of agony. I can barely hold on!

  In the background, a crowd had formed. The other slaves, their clothes tattered, their bodies caked in a mixture of dirt and mud, watched in a shared, silent horror.

  Each time the whip made contact, they winced in unison, their own bodies flinching as if they could feel the phantom sting of the lash.

  “This is far too cruel…”

  “Inhumane… he’s just a young boy…”

  The thoughts were a silent, desperate chorus, a shared prayer that no one dared to voice.

  They knew the price of compassion in this place. To speak out would be to invite the same brutal ordeal, to have their own flesh flayed for the crime of feeling pity for another.

  And so they watched, their hearts breaking, as the boy’s cries slowly began to weaken, swallowed by the vast, indifferent cruelty of the bandit fortress.

  “Hah… Hah…”

  Wei Zheng’s small body felt as if it were weighed down by a hundred tons, the heavy, Qi-suppressing shackles a physical manifestation of his despair.

  His knees were magnetically stuck to the muddy floor, his will to stand flayed away with every fresh strike.

  But despite the all-consuming agony, something within him refused to break.

  His head snapped up. His eyes, no longer those of a weeping boy, were a terrifying glint of gold morphed with velvet red.

  He ground his teeth, staring ferociously at the bandit who held the whip.

  The man took an involuntary step back, a flicker of genuine shock on his brutish face.

  “Y-You!” he stammered, his surprise quickly curdling back into rage. “It’s a miracle you can still make such a face! Are you meaning to say that I'm too soft on you?!”

  He roared, bringing the whip down with all his might. The leather cracked, not just streaking the skin but tearing it, ripping a small flap of flesh from the boy’s back.

  Wei Zheng screamed, a raw, animal sound of pure torment, as fresh tears flowed from his eyes.

  “What is that commotion?”

  Hao Yifeng tapped his foot impatiently against the floor of his tent, his gaze fixed on the bodyguard standing stiffly by the entrance.

  “I heard that they’re punishing a slave, Young Master,” the bodyguard replied, his tone carefully neutral. “For trying to kill one of our men.”

  Hao Yifeng’s smile was a slow, dawning thing. “Oh? Someone’s actually brave enough to be so hostile against us? Despite being restrained so heavily…”

  The bodyguard, sensing a chance to ingratiate himself, let out a hearty laugh. “Ahem, stupid enough, more like! There’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity, Young Master!”

  His laughter was cut off by a single, sharp smack to his neck. He choked, a strangled gurgle escaping his lips as he dropped to his knees, his hands scrambling uselessly at his throat.

  “A sorry sight to see.” Hao Yifeng’s gaze was as cold and empty as a winter sky.

  “W-Wh—” A crimson streak swam through the bodyguard’s neck, the glint of steel vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. Blood gushed from the wound, and he fell forward, his life pooling on the dirty floor.

  “I am not in the mood for jokes, you know?” Hao Yifeng took a delicate step, making sure not to taint his fine boots with the dead man’s blood.

  He flipped the tent flap open, his eyes immediately drawn to the sight of the boy being tested, being broken, and most importantly, his eyes were on the boy’s utmost agony.

  “WHIP!”

  Hao Yifeng’s gaze focused. Despite the pain, the boy’s eyes still held that glint. That rage. That contempt.

  “What are you doing?” he whispered.

  The word, though barely spoken, carried a weight that was absolute.

  Every single bandit in the vicinity heard him, a special type of fear, different from the respect they held for his father, ingested deep within their souls. The rhythmic crack of the whip stopped.

  Wei Zheng turned, his glare intensifying as it landed on the newcomer. “W-Who are you…”

  Yifeng grinned, a wide, manic expression as he wondered what new emotion would erupt from the boy once he revealed his role.

  “I am Hao Yifeng,” he declared, raising his hands as if presenting himself to an adoring crowd, his eyes sparking with an excited yellow tint that shone in the sun. “The current chief in this whole fortress!”

  Wei Zheng’s mouth opened, and a torrent of pure, unadulterated hatred, born from the deepest roots of his heart, came roaring out.

  "YOU FUCKING BASTARD! YOU'RE THE ONE IN CHARGE?! I'll MAIM YOU! TEAR YOU LIMB FROM LIMB!"

  He forced himself to his feet, his small frame trembling with a power that had nothing to do with Qi. “I won’t let you get an easy death! I will cripple your cultivation…”

  Yifeng’s eyebrow raised, his smile widening once again. “Oh?!”

  Wei Zheng jabbed a trembling finger at him, his chin held high.

  "And then I'll send you to be assaulted by the wolves! Tearing your body! And as you're on the verge of death, I will heal you back to life! And then send you right back into hell!"

  A bandit, his face pale with terror, had enough. To let this brat anger Yifeng further would mean the end for them all.

  “Shut your trap, brat!” he roared, swinging his dagger in a wide arc, aiming to guillotine Wei Zheng’s head.

  Is this how I die…?!

  A powerful streak of Qi propelled forward, forming a gaping hole through the bandit's chest.

  Standing in front of Wei Zheng, a shield he had neither asked for nor wanted, was the maniacal face of Hao Yifeng.

  “Hey,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “I was having fun. Don’t fucking ruin it.”

  The other bandits instinctively raised their weapons, their fear a palpable thing.

  Yifeng was out of control again. His eyes, however, reached for Zheng’s. “You,” he said, a note of genuine discovery in his voice. “I can tell you can sense Qi.”

  Zheng’s eyes widened. Before he could speak, Yifeng’s hand shot out, grabbing him by the throat.

  “I want you in my tent tomorrow,” he declared, his voice a silken threat. “Or else I will kill every single one of the slaves within our walls. Their lives are in your hands.”

  With a flash of steel so fast it was invisible, he cut the shackles from Wei Zheng’s legs and wrists. “W-what! How?!”

  He was then thrown, landing in a heap in a pile of mud and hay.

  “Don’t be late,” Yifeng called out. He turned his cold gaze on the other bandits.

  “And if any single one of you little shits dare touch him, you’ll be raped by the pigs. I wholeheartedly will keep my word on that.”

  With a final, chilling smile, Yifeng disappeared back into his tent.

  His steps plastered against the slimy, wet ground, each one a wet, squelching sound that echoed in the oppressive quiet of the swampy forest.

  Bugs, unseen but ever-present, crawled over his exposed skin, their tiny legs a constant, maddening tickle.

  Frogs croaked from the murky water, their calls sounding eerily distant, as if they were mocking him from another world.

  The bushes bristled with every gust of wind, the rustling leaves a constant whisper that fed his paranoia to its extremities.

  He was slowly, surely, going insane.

  A Jaded-Viper, its scales the color of moss and malice, slithered across his path. His eyes widened, a fresh jolt of terror lancing through him.

  “What the hell is it doing this far out?!” he gasped, scrambling backwards and breaking into a frantic run. He fled deeper into the swamp, away from a threat that was already long gone, his heart hammering against his ribs.

  He felt another brush in the wind, a cold caress against the back of his neck.

  “W-Who’s there?!” he shrieked, spinning around, his dagger held in a trembling hand. The clearing was empty.

  The Outer Disciple who had abandoned his comrades was now adrift in a world of his own fear, a cocktail of delirium and a sharp, self-serving regret.

  “I… I’m lost…” The words were a choked, broken whisper.

  Damn it! Where should I go?! I don’t know where the hell I’m going!

  His head grew dizzier with each passing second, his vision blurring at the edges.

  “Hah… hah… Calm down, calm down…” He forced himself to take deep, shuddering breaths, inhaling the foul, stagnant air and exhaling his panic.

  He trudged slowly towards a massive, gnarled tree, its thick canopy offering a small pocket of shade, a fragile illusion of safety.

  He sat down, leaning his back against the rough bark, and began to cultivate, a desperate attempt to gather his scattered Qi and relax his frayed nerves.

  This time, there was noise. Footsteps, heavy and deliberate, were coming near him. It wasn’t a hallucination made by his mind. It was real.

  His eyes snapped open. He saw a gray cloak blowing in the wind, a figure materializing from the shadows. “W-Who are—”

  A cold object pressed against his neck. A sharp, searing pain shot through him as the edge bit into his flesh, and a warm streak of red began to trickle down his skin.

  “You are coming with us.”

  Hao Yu’s voice echoed in his head, a calm, final judgment. The disciple’s eyes went wide, fear and shock a tidal wave that finally overwhelmed his fractured mind. His head lolled back, and he passed out.

  “Damn it, he fell asleep!” one of the bandits grumbled, stepping out from behind a tree.

  “Shh.”

  Hao Yu’s command was a low, urgent hiss. He didn’t look at his men. His head snapped up, his gaze piercing the deep woods, his body coiled and tense.

  “Someone’s close… Real close…”