Morning mist drifted over the eaves of the Shadow Assassins Pavilion, coating the blue tiles with a thin layer of frost.
Lin Chen pushed open the wooden door of his hut, his single arm hanging loosely at his side, his steps steady. The mist dampened his plain dark tunic; the blue‑black poison veins on his neck lay hidden deep beneath his collar, his aura calm and unfathomable.
All disciples along the way bowed their heads and stepped aside, not daring to meet his gaze, their footsteps light as feathers. The commotion in his hut the previous night had already spread, yet not a single person dared to speak of it. Only silent awe lingered, quietly permeating the mist.
The gray‑robed elder was already waiting beneath the corridor. When he saw Lin Chen approaching, his gaunt face remained expressionless. He merely nodded faintly. "The Pavilion Master requests your presence."
Lin Chen said nothing and followed the elder through winding corridors. The Shadow Assassins Pavilion was silent at dawn; only their footsteps echoed in the empty passageways, each step seeming to press against the hearts of those nearby.
The black‑iron secret chamber remained dim, the glow of the pale‑green lantern fixed and motionless. The Pavilion Master sat cross‑legged on a cushion, his black robes draping down, his face hidden in shadow. His fingers slowly polished a silver needle dagger an inch long. The faint sound of metal scraping cut sharply through the dead silence of the chamber.
Lin Chen stood with his head bowed, his lone arm hanging naturally, his aura restrained, uttering not a word.
Without lifting his eyes, the Pavilion Master kept his gaze on the needle dagger, his tone calm. "There was quite a disturbance in the Pavilion last night. Your place, however, remained quiet."
Lin Chen lifted his eyes, meeting the Pavilion Master's shadowed gaze with steady calm. "The wind was strong at night. It blew down a few dead leaves."
The Pavilion Master's polishing paused. His fingers tightened slightly, and the needle dagger flashed coldly. Silence fell over the chamber—brief, yet heavy enough to make the air congeal.
After a moment, the Pavilion Master sheathed the needle dagger and tapped the stone table lightly with his fingertips. "Beneath Blackwood Cliff grows a Shadow Vein Grass." He paused, his tone still calm but layered with hidden meaning. "The grass grows in dark crevices, and beside it lurk unsightly creatures that favor preying on one‑armed travelers."
Lin Chen lowered his gaze to his empty left sleeve, his voice unwavering. "Noisy creatures. Trample them."
The Pavilion Master finally lifted his eyes. His deep gaze pierced the shadow, settling on Lin Chen's face. There was no killing intent in that look—only the playful scrutiny of one examining a rare treasure.
"Bold words." The Pavilion Master spoke slowly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Retrieve the grass within three days. If the creatures devour you until not even bones remain…" He paused, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint, cold arc. "Then the Pavilion's soil will be spared the trouble of burying you."
Lin Chen bowed. Without promising anything, he turned and exited the chamber, leaving only a steady silhouette.
As he reached the corner of the corridor, two cold auras suddenly erupted from the shadows on either side!
One attacker lunged a short blade toward Lin Chen's waist, the wind of the blade sharp; the other threw a thunderous punch at his back, the move ruthless and unforgiving.
Lin Chen did not halt his steps. His body twisted abruptly, activating the Shadow Kill Steps. The brick beneath his foot cracked slightly. The short blade sliced past his robe, striking the pillar and sending wood chips flying.
He reached back with his single arm, fingers clamping the attacker's wrist, and twisted sharply.
Crack.
A crisp bone‑breaking sound. The man grunted in pain, his punch instantly losing power.
Seeing this, the knifeman pulled back his blade and stabbed again, aiming straight for Lin Chen's throat.
Lin Chen spun around using the momentum, driving his elbow into the man's ribs.
Thud.
The attacker doubled over, his blade slipping from his grasp. Lin Chen caught the falling blade mid‑air and flicked it backward. The blade sliced through the air and embedded itself in the distant stone wall, trembling violently.
The two attackers staggered back, their faces pale, terror filling their eyes. They dared not advance again.
Lin Chen did not even glance at them. He brushed the mist from his robe with a flick of his arm and continued forward with unchanging composure.
The two attackers stared at his retreating back, exchanged a glance filled with dread, and finally slipped silently back into the shadows, vanishing without a trace.
Returning to his hut, Lin Chen closed the door behind him and ran his single arm along the edge of the Shadow Dagger. The blade was icy cold, its killing intent concealed. He did not take out the Cleansing Pill to suppress the poison; instead, he let the cold venom lurk within his meridians—a shackle, yet also a hidden trump card.
Outside the window, the mist thickened. A dark shadow flashed between the trees, not daring to draw near.
Lin Chen closed his eyes and sat in meditation, propping himself up with one arm on the table, his aura sinking into stillness.
The trip to Blackwood Cliff was both a mission and a test. Danger lay ahead, and undercurrents surged within the Pavilion. All he could do was hide his edge and break through with killing force.
The morning mist had not yet lifted, but killing intent had already awakened.