Ishin sprinted through the woods—Rhee and Long ahead of him, the rest trailing behind. Part of him wondered how the battle in the crater was unfolding, but he forced the thought away. Focus now; vengeance later.

  Rhee ran at an impressive pace, clearly cycling qi to her legs. She was so fast that Ishin worried he wouldn’t keep up. She had more qi than any of them; even if she was in no danger of exhausting herself, Ishin had only just reached the sixth layer of the Initial Realm.

  “Rhee, you need to slow down,” Ishin called. Even Long, who had started alongside her, had fallen back a few paces.

  “We can’t slow down,” she shot back. “We can’t let him get away!”

  “You’re too fast. The rest of us won’t be able to keep up—or we’ll exhaust our qi.”

  Rhee glanced over her shoulder, took in the distance between them, and reluctantly reduced her speed. When Ishin and Long caught up, he offered, “Thanks.”

  “Let’s just hurry.”

  Even at the steadier pace, they covered the four hundred yards in barely thirty seconds. When they reached the spot where Ishin swore the vine had originated, it was empty—only trampled leaf litter and the damp, earthy scent of crushed ferns.

  “Where are they?” Rhee asked between breaths. “This is the place, right?”

  “It should be,” Ishin affirmed. Chen and Mei arrived a heartbeat later, winded but ready.

  “Third eye,” Long ordered.

  Ishin opened his third eye and swept the area. Nothing—until Mei pointed sharply upward. “There!”

  High in the canopy lounged Isho Nel’s wood cultivator, her striking face tilted in faint amusement. She reclined along a thick branch, staff balanced against an extended leg.

  “My, you came fast,” she purred. “We thought someone might come, but not you—all of you. How fortunate.”

  Ishin didn’t like the confidence in her tone. Worse, her aura told him she was at the seventh layer of the Initial Realm.

  They got stronger too. If she’s here, where are the others?

  As if in answer, a haunting melody unfurled through the trees. Ishin’s focus frayed; his eyelids grew heavy, thoughts drifting toward sleep.

  “Cycle qi!” Mei snapped. “Quickly!”

  Ishin obeyed, flooding his channels without shaping a technique—just stoking every limb, every tendon. The fog receded, but not completely; the song still clawed at his consciousness, lulling, insistent. Worse, sustaining the circulation drained his chakra. He scanned with his third eye again but couldn’t locate the musician.

  Long drew, loosed. The arrow threaded through the trunks to their left and erupted into a torrent of flames. The melody cut off mid-phrase, and clarity returned to Ishin’s mind like cold water.

  “Sharp eyes,” the wood cultivator complained, her mouth curling.

  Long’s only reply was another arrow. The woman batted it aside with her staff; this one did not explode. She sat upright, composure unbroken. “Rude.”

  “Where’s Isho Nel?” Rhee demanded.

  “Oh? Are you trying to die?” the wood cultivator lilted. “You got lucky last time. I’m stunned you’d risk another engagement.”

  Mei slashed her hand across the ground. A razor-thin sheet of ice tore forward, neatly slicing a cluster of emergent green vines Ishin hadn’t seen.

  “I’ll say this—you’re more observant than last time,” the woman said, dropping from the branch with a feline grace.

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  She’s distracting us. Where is he—

  A blur burst from the trees, driving straight at Rhee. Isho Nel—blade lunging for her chest, qi flaring. Rhee snapped up both arms and conjured twin shields of darkness. Steel met shadow with a ringing crack, deflected at the last instant.

  His second sword scythed toward her flank, curving around the shields. Ishin intercepted with his spear, shoving the cut wide. Instead of pressing, Isho Nel sprang back. Long’s next arrow chased him—this one blooming into flame mid-flight. Isho pivoted, the shaft tearing past to punch into a trunk, leaving a smoking, blackened wound in the bark.

  “Ishin and I will handle him!” Rhee shouted. “You all take the other two!”

  “Fine,” Long said, already nocking again.

  “Be safe,” Mei called.

  Chen said nothing. She launched herself at the wood cultivator, wind roaring around her. A cyclone spiraled along her fist. Three thick, verdant vines whipped from the earth to lash her. Chen shattered one with a punch, but the other two slammed into her mid-charge, swatting her from her path and sending her skidding through leaf mold.

  Ishin had no time to watch. He surged forward with Rhee toward Isho Nel. Rhee conjured six fists of darkness that rocketed ahead, hammering at their foe. Isho was fast—he cleaved two apart, slipped a third, rolled past a fourth. The last two clipped his right shoulder and stomach, staggering him—but he recovered before Ishin could close, slicing the shadow from his abdomen with a neat riposte.

  When Ishin’s spear finally reached the poison swordsman, twin blades crossed to catch the thrust. Isho Nel shoved the shaft aside, reversed his grips, and slashed. Ishin felt the yank at his collar—Rhee’s conjured hand of shadow dragging him back just before the steel could bite.

  “He’s too skilled with those blades,” she said, eyes narrowed.

  Before them, Isho twirled his swords in lazy, taunting arcs—casual mastery.

  “Think you can trap him?” Ishin murmured. “If so, I’ll hit from range.”

  “If you distract him.”

  Ishin nodded and pressed in again, shifting his intent—less to strike true than to smother openings and deny counters. Even so, Isho’s twin blades carved opposite lines, forcing Ishin to parry one while exposing his other flank. Despite the spear’s reach, it wasn’t enough to answer both masterful cuts at once; Ishin had to twist, slip, and bend away, the edges whispering past his ribs.

  Worth it. Tendrils rose from Isho Nel’s shadow, snaking up his legs. Ishin stabbed for the man’s chest to occupy him. Isho beat the spear aside with one blade and hacked the shadows with the other before they could fully bind him.

  This bastard is too skilled.

  But the tendrils weren’t the whole plan. A fist of darkness the size of Isho Nel’s head smashed into his face the moment the bonds split. He tumbled across the forest floor, dirt spraying—yet somehow kept hold of both swords. In a single, fluid motion, he stabbed both blades into the soil and levered himself upright.

  “Nel!” his female ally cried.

  They turned to see the wood cultivator on one knee, three jagged ice shards protruding from her left arm. Blood trickled down to her palm. Nearby, four vines coiled tight around Mei, pinning her limbs.

  To their flank, Chen was hounding the flute cultivator, wind at her heels. She closed the distance with her movement art while Long’s steady arrow-fire harried their foe. Between the pressure and the volleys, the flutist couldn’t get a melody off.

  “Useless,” Isho Nel muttered, rolling his shoulders loose. “We’ll have to make this quick.”

  Ishin scowled. “Bold words from the man losing.” He raised two fingers; indigo lightning gathered with a hiss.

  “Lightning qi. How quaint.”

  “Keep your arrogance to yourself!” Ishin roared. His inner beast answered, and he loosed the Indigo Sky Bolt.

  Isho slipped aside; the bolt bored a smoking hole through the trunk behind him. He exploded forward with greater speed, blades a flashing cross. Ishin met him, shaft ringing with each impact. Cut after cut, parry after parry—Isho didn’t relent.

  A downward chop came for Ishin’s skull. He caught it on the ashwood shaft; the pressure drove his guard toward his brow. The second sword fell like a cleaver on the same point—splitting the spear in two with a brutal crack.

  Ishin staggered back, one half of the broken weapon in each hand. Isho’s boot slammed into his chest, blasting the wind from him and hurling him onto his back.

  Dazed, Ishin blinked at the ruined halves of his spear. Before Isho could finish him, Rhee’s Twisting Shadow Snare writhed up. He sliced the tendrils apart as if they were smoke, so Rhee answered with eight hammering fists of darkness. Isho whirled his blades into a storm—steel wind shredding shadow, strike after strike—until the last fist blew apart and he lowered his guard, unharmed.

  A sharp cry cut across the clearing. Ishin glanced over—Mei had broken the vines and driven a sword-length shard of ice through the wood cultivator’s heart. Blood streaked Mei’s face from a cut at her brow; her breath came ragged and hard.

  Isho Nel’s hands tightened on his hilts. He lunged straight for Mei.

  “Mei, watch out!” Rhee shouted, sprinting after him—but Isho was faster.

  Exhausted, the white-haired woman turned just as he closed. She fired a volley of ice shards; he slipped through them, deflecting what he couldn’t dodge. Then he was on her—two quick slashes, precise and cruel. Mei gasped and toppled backward, crumpling into the leaves.

  “No—Mei!” Ishin cried.