Deep within the Shadow Assassins Pavilion lay a windowless black‑iron chamber. A dim green lantern hung from the beam, its light heavy and still.
The Pavilion Master sat cross‑legged on a cushion, his black robes pooling around him, his face hidden in shadow. Only his fingers moved lightly, weaving true essence into tiny specks of light that drifted through the air, slowly forming the outline of the western hut.
"One‑armed, poisoned, True Martial realm…"
The Pavilion Master's voice was low and emotionless. "To slay a Spiritual Sea bandit chief… this is not luck."
His fingers paused, and the lights trembled. "A blade of the Shadow Assassins must be tempered. If it bends, keep it. If it breaks, discard it."
The lights scattered. The chamber fell silent once more, save for the faint crackle of the lantern's flame.
In the western hut, the wooden window stood half‑open. Night wind slipped through, stirring the flame of the oil lamp on the table.
Lin Chen propped himself up with one arm, eyes closed in meditation. The medicinal power of the Cleansing Pill flowed gently through his meridians, calming the turmoil in his chest. The dark blue veins on his neck hid beneath his collar, faint and indistinct. Within his dantian, the Shadow Dagger hovered silently. The patterns of the Shadow Kill Steps turned quietly in his consciousness, his true essence condensed and concealed.
Suddenly, the lamp flame shrank sharply.
Three auras closed in simultaneously—from the door, the window, and the rear of the hut—silent, yet brimming with undisguised malice.
The door creaked open soundlessly, and a figure slid in close to the ground. The window paper was pricked by a fingertip, two cold glints piercing through the gap. A faint scraping sound came from the earthen wall at the back.
No shouts, no taunts—only pure killing moves, aimed straight for vital points.
Lin Chen's eyes remained shut, but his body had already shifted sideways.
He activated the Shadow Kill Steps. The brick beneath his foot cracked slightly. His figure slipped like a shadow past the stabbing blades, his elbow slamming into the ribs of the attacker beside him.
A muffled groan.
The attacker stumbled in pain, his blade slipping from his grasp.
Without turning, Lin Chen reached back with his single arm, fingers clamping the wrist of the second blade‑wielding attacker, twisting slightly.
A soft sound of dislocated joints drowned in the night wind.
The third attacker broke through the rear wall, a short dagger stabbing straight for Lin Chen's back.
Lin Chen stepped forward, evading the blade. He flicked his wrist backward, and the Shadow Dagger slid into his palm, its tip grazing the attacker's throat.
A drop of blood fell, soundless onto the brick floor.
In an instant, all three figures collapsed, motionless.
Inside the hut, the oil lamp still flickered. Its light painted Lin Chen's profile, calm and unreadable. He looked down at the three bodies on the ground, flicked his finger, and wiped the blood from the dagger's edge.
In the black‑iron chamber, the Pavilion Master's fingers moved again, a faint glint in his eyes.
"He knows how to hide his edge… how to endure…"
"This blade… is more interesting than I thought."
Outside the hut, several auras crept closer, only to recede abruptly the moment they neared the threshold, melting into the night without a trace.
Lin Chen lifted his gaze to the heavy darkness outside the window. He slowly drew his single arm back and rested it on the table once more.
The poison lingered. The killing intent had not faded.
The wind of the Shadow Assassins Pavilion was colder than he had imagined.
He closed his eyes and resumed his meditation, his aura sinking back into stillness—as if the brief life‑and‑death struggle had never happened.
Only the un‑dried blood on the floor bore witness to what had just transpired.