The air was filled with roars. Fifty men, in tattered clothes, rushed towards the centre of their camp. Staffs, swords, and hooked blades arced towards a single warrior, Vera.
Standing at the source of this whirlpool, Vera unleashed his halberd. From a steer overhead guard, the blade's curled edge cleaved through its surroundings. Its reach, extending over 6 feet, met the opponent's skull before their blades could reach Vera's.
Streaks of blood and bone painted the air red. The young ran first, only to be killed by their seniors; the elders charged in, only to meet a futile death.
Sweat splattered into steam as his halberd hurtled through the air. Warm blood seeped down the shaft of his blade, weakening his grip.
Vera grit his teeth. Sparks bloomed through the pit of his palm, burning off the wetness over it. The acrid smell of exposed intestine clouded his mind. A scent that wouldn't pierce his senses if he just said, 'Incinerate.'
Ahh…! Why not kill the rest with fire?
The thought ceased as it began. The sparks over his palm dulled. A sharp breath broke through the chorus of guttural screams.
His grip over the blade tightened. The red glow over his palm was smothered into ash. His palm was scorched black.
His boot gouged into the wet soil. Debris coloured the air brown; with a single dash, he broke through the coalition's encirclement.
The odour of faeces and urine eased as he escaped the battle's core. A moment's calm, away from the pit of corpses.
Vera's gritted teeth loosened. Scenes of the competition plagued his mind still. Those fearful gazes were reflected in the eyes of the young beggars, running for their lives.
It would be over if I just burnt them all… But I'll lose the people I have.
A roar flooded the battlefield. Vera burst through the camp gate and took cover behind a carriage.
He gripped the hitch of a nearby wagon and swung it into the crowd of coalition members. The sheer force caused the nailed wooden planks to rip into myriad pieces.
The warriors on the coalition side lost Vera in the chaos. Their gazes fixed toward the pieces of wood hurtling at them.
A flurry of manifestations shot into the air, reducing the wagon to sawdust.
Sawdust that acted as a smokescreen.
Vera leapt into the screen; the spearhead of his halberd bit through the ground as he coiled for a lethal slash.
I must do it like this!
The wind winced at the movement's force, then followed the sound of death. Flesh, blood, and bones were blended into a thick paste.
The flat end of his halberd swatted through ten men, bludgeoning them into two mangled heaps of flesh.
The sound lingered in his ears. His stomach churned, begging for release. Nonetheless, he kept swinging without complaint.
I need to understand what I'm doing.
The question wasn't martial; it was moral.
The abyssal black of his halberd arced through the air, trails of red following it everywhere. One by one, the coalition members died out.
Red warmth splattered as Vera walked toward the last one standing.
One more head fell with a dull thud. It rolled to a pile of forty-nine other corpses. Vera stared at the pile with a solemn expression.
The difference was like heaven and hell. He never realised when he incinerated the camps without warning…
"This is what I've been doing."
The churning in his stomach climbed to his throat. He crumpled onto his knees; bile and spit formed thick strings that fell to the ground.
His strained breaths didn't allow for him to scream. He lay sprawled on the ground contemplating his actions.
His halberd had cut through many a demon in the continent. But the corpses of today weren't demons...
The sun that peered from the Mian range sank beneath the horizon.
Cold breeze after cold breeze, an hour passed. The butt of Vera's blade pressed into the ground; still dazed by the scene, he rose with a stumble.
The stained silk of his sleeve wiped the grime from his mouth. His eyes had a shallow gleam. Leaving the corpses to rot would only bring plagues upon the people.
"I shall let you be free of crime in death, at least."
His arm stretched out to the pile. A golden glow shimmered through his scorched skin. Having, selfishly, experienced what he needed to, this much was the least he could do.
"Incinerate."
…
An hour had passed since Vera had cleaned up the field. Having gathered all the evidence he needed, he walked to the nearest stream to wash up.
A sack of coalition bones clattered against the riverbed. Vera walked into the cold water, slowly washing the grime off his clothes and skin.
He looked to his right, where another man stood, washing himself. Vera, exhausted in mind and body, didn't read into it. He turned away from the man.
Must be a labourer.
Considering he was the only one who hunted camps on his own, it was unlikely that the man was a part of the expedition squads.
Vera looked at the contorting visage of the moon over the stream. Trails of diluted blood seeped out of his robes, coalescing with the stream.
Vera's gaze sharpened.
A layer of dull red came from behind.
"This isn't from me!"
He hurried over to grab his halberd and leapt toward the man who stood further up the stream.
The peaceful flow of the stream burst into a mist as he landed in front of the man; the tip of his halberd pointed at the man's neck.
"Who are you?" Vera shouted.
Just then he felt a tug at the tip of his halberd. The sound of a sword's edge wrestling against his blade.
But that wasn't what surprised him the most. The muscles over his arms trembled; each fibre rippled as it tried to hold the halberd in place.
It was futile.
Vera's sharpened gaze widened.
I'm being overpowered?
The cover of mist dissipated slowly. The man looked at Vera with a strained expression as he gripped his sword with one arm.
Features one could never forget. A single deep slash ran through the bridge of his nose.
Bloodshot eyes.
And a robe that hung loosely over his vacant arm.
The man stared at Vera with gritted teeth. Veins bulged through his temple as he barely controlled himself.
His tone ran hoarse. Closer to a bark than a voice.
"Why the fuck would I tell you?"
***
Well into midnight, two men bickered at the city gates.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, pushing each other off the footpath. The one-armed man, Zhuge Jin, dashed forward as Vera tried nudging him away.
He laughed as Vera stumbled off, almost falling to the ground.
"They just let anyone into the Blade Master sect nowadays. Overpowered by a one-armed man, you should train your legs, brat."
Vera quickly regained his balance and looked to the city gates.
"Old men nowadays, always bickering. I wonder whose blood you were washing off?"
At Vera's words, Zhuge Jin's grip slipped down to his sword. Consequently, Vera reached into the pouch Ezra gave him and held onto his halberd.
Just as the two were about to clash again, a voice sounded from the city gates. An old guard, with white hair, leant out of his signpost. Veins bulged through his neck, and spit splattered out of his mouth as he shouted at Vera and Zhuge Jin.
"Shut up and get inside already! You're waking everyone up! You young martial artists don't have any respect for the elderly!"
The two looked back at the guard from the gate. Neither had skin thick enough to quibble over this matter.
At the same time, both thought to themselves.
Aren't you the one waking everybody up?
Silenced by the city guard, they walked through the city streets without uttering another word.
Led by the emptiness in his stomach, Vera walked over to the dining hall at the Second Home inn.
One of the waiters, who was a part of the family, ran the kitchen at night. He would take care of Vera's meals whenever he came home late.
Usually, it was just the two of them. However, tonight…
Vera looked toward Zhuge Jin, who stood right beside him.
"Old man, I should let you know I don't like men."
Zhuge Jin turned to face Vera; he glared at him with gritted teeth.
"I should be the one saying that, brat. You're the one who followed me all the way over to my inn."
Vera pushed past Zhuge Jin and walked over to the waiter. He bowed his head slightly.
"Thanks for keeping a meal ready for me, as always."
The young waiter returned Vera's bow and pulled a cloth from a tray that he'd set earlier in the night.
"Don't worry about it. You do enough for us by handling those coalition camps."
Despite the Blade Master sect's involvement with the slave trade in the city, most didn't hold it against them.
Vera figured it had to do with how the sect master handled the situation. He recalled what Aspartese reported when they returned to the sixth branch.
To this day he felt chills at the thought of it.
Who would've thought he'd behead everyone in the third faction and hang their heads at the sect gates, even his disciples.
Zhuge Jin sat silently, unbothered by Vera ignoring him. Nonetheless, his leg jittered for another reason. He observed Vera silently from his seat.
On the other hand, Vera's utensils tapped against his plate. He kept shooting glances at Jin.
The more he thought about it, the more he realised.
If we hadn't stopped there, I would've lost.
Though shameful, it was the truth. Qi left aside, this was the first time Vera had been overpowered physically.
Even Longwang, a dragon descendant, couldn't outdo me in raw strength.
Due to Aspartese's warning to Jin, a few days prior, he left the matter alone. Of course Vera wasn't privy to this matter.
The young attendant shivered at the corner of the dining hall; the pressure of two martial artists, bathed in blood, drained the strength in his legs.
Both Vera and Jin noticed the fear in the attendant. Having, also, grown tired of tension between them, they hurriedly finished up their meals. After feasting for another half hour, their meals ended without any event.
Vera licked his plate clean, thanked the young attendant, and shot one last glare at Jin before he headed up to his flat.
Jin watched Vera's retreating figure with a conflicted expression.
He doesn't seem like a bad person…
A sharp crack sounded as the utensil in his hand snapped into two. He set down the utensil and took a deep breath.
The day of his clan's reckoning came to mind. His head turned skyward; the bright lamplight mimicked the roaring flames of that day.
The cherished talent of his people crumpled onto his knees, his bloodied fists slamming into the ground.
Jin's eyes turned a deep shade of red.
"If only I had been stronger—isn't that what you said, Ying Xiong?"
He left a stack of copper coins on his table and cleared out the remnants of his plate. After apologising to the waiter for the utensils, he walked back to his room. Just as his door was about to shut, he looked towards Vera's room.
He could be a good father. But once the child's blood is revealed, you won't be enough.
By no means was it a coincidence that Zhuge Jin just happened to land up at the same inn and finish hunting camps at the same time as Vera.
Having tortured his way through most camps in the vicinity, he already knew where the child of Zhuge was.
By his usual logic, he would have already separated the two and returned with the boy. If he chose to do so, he could accomplish it before Vera even noticed.
Sword Dog wouldn't be able to slow down a Second Synergy master, let alone hold them back.
But he didn't take Chun away. Having taken some time to observe the four of them, he was hesitant.
His expression grew solemn as he shut his door.
If it is fated, the boy won't awaken the bloodline.
In the years that had passed since the attack on Jin's clan, new generations were birthed. The scattered remnants couldn't have all fathered pure-blooded children. However, if the Immortal's will persisted…
Then I can only hope the boy will forgive me.