3. Reclaiming the Last Shreds of Honor

The masked man was being driven back. His blade, locked against that of his foe, had been forced to his throat. A thin red line blossomed where steel kissed flesh, and fresh blood traced a slow descent down his neck.

'I cannot hold on any longer,' he thought, breath ragged. His arms trembled, strength waning against the bald man’s merciless pressure.

At last, a guttural cry tore from his throat, followed by the grisly sound of flesh rending.

“Arghhh—!”

*A few moments earlier

The figure upon the rooftop had not fled. Instead, he had leapt down into the square, his footsteps deliberate as he approached the one who had called him an intruder. His eyes burned crimson, gleaming with fury sharpened to a lethal edge. The air around him seethed with killing intent, so thick it seemed to choke the night itself.

The bald man’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling around the hilt of his sheathed sword until his knuckles whitened. His voice bellowed like thunder, dripping with venom.

“Insolent cur!”

With a harsh rasp, his blade slid free—curved, one edge serrated with cruel teeth. He swung it with vicious speed, cutting arcs of moonlight through the air.

But the masked man moved with equal swiftness. His body flowed like water, weaving aside from the strikes as though the wind itself shielded him.

The sight ignited the rage of the burly man crouched beside his dying comrade. With a snarl, he ripped the dagger from the silver-haired corpse’s chest and hurled it with all his might.

His eyes widened in disbelief.

The masked man had caught the dagger between two fingers, his forefinger and middle, stopping the spinning blade as though it were nothing more than a falling leaf.

“Who… who is he?” the burly man thought, a tremor of dread tightening his chest.

Grinding his teeth, veins swelling with fury, he launched himself forward. In a blur of motion, he rushed to join the fray, sword raised to strike at the masked intruder now dueling with the bald warrior.

While both guards’ attention was consumed by the clash, a boy crept toward the table where Xiu Jian’s head still rested. Like the masked man, he was garbed entirely in black. His small hands seized a sack hidden beneath the table. With trembling haste, he lifted the severed head and tucked it inside, clutching the bundle to his chest before fleeing. He vanished into the embrace of the nearby thickets.

The pounding of his own heartbeat thundered in his ears. He crouched low among the shadows, wide eyes fixed upon the deadly struggle of three men.

Suddenly his breath caught. His eyes filled with tears.

For before him, fresh blood burst forth, streaming down the right arm of the masked man as the enemy’s blade tore across his flesh.

“Arghh!”

Another guttural cry burst from the masked man as the serrated blade tore across his left arm, ripping flesh so deep his sword slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground.

“Hah! Don’t think you’ll be taking it back!” the burly man jeered, stomping down on the intruder’s reaching hand. He sneered as the fallen sword came into his possession, holding it triumphantly.

Realizing the tide of battle had turned against him, the masked man leapt high into the air, twisting mid-flight. Both his heels crashed down in brutal succession upon the heads of his foes. Then, in a blur, he rolled forward and landed beside the corpse of the silver-haired warrior.

“Brilliant!” thought the boy in hiding, eyes glimmering with awe. A faint smile tugged at his lips beneath the black cloth covering his face.

“Insolent wretch!” the bald man cursed, fury igniting his veins as he saw his enemy seize the sheathed sword from the fallen silver-haired man’s side.

“You dare?!” roared the burly man, his voice breaking with rage, just as the masked figure swung the blade in a ruthless arc, severing the head of the already lifeless silver-haired corpse.

The two dark sect warriors lunged at once, blades flashing as they closed in. Steel clashed with a shriek that shattered the night’s silence, sparks scattering in every direction.

But instead of faltering, the masked man fought like a demon unchained. His wounded arms bled freely, yet each strike of his sword grew heavier, more ferocious, driven by sheer will and fury.

'I will not let Zhangjian endure this alone!'

For the truth was clear. The masked man was none other than Li Min. To reclaim the severed head of his master, to preserve even the last remnant of his sect’s shattered honor, he would carve a path through blood and steel.

Standing between two warriors of the dark path, Li Min’s gaze did not waver. He swung his blade at the burly man, even as his right leg lashed out, kicking the bald man backward.

“Arghhh!”

This time, the cry came from the burly warrior. His tunic split open where Li Min’s sword had torn across his chest. He clutched at the burning pain, crimson quickly soaking his palm.

Before he could even raise his blade again, a dagger buried itself deep into his heart. His eyes went wide, uncomprehending, as his knees buckled. A heartbeat later, his body pitched forward, collapsing face-first into the dirt.

The boy, Zhangjian, exhaled a long, trembling breath. Relief, which had abandoned him moments ago, now returned little by little. Though he had not joined the battle, his chest had heaved as though he too fought alongside Li Min, watching in horror as his protector was nearly cornered. Yet just as the weight in his chest began to ease, cold sweat suddenly broke across his brow.

Li Min staggered backward, a brutal kick slamming into his chest. The bald warrior pressed the advantage immediately, closing the distance without granting him even a heartbeat to rise.

Again and again, Li Min’s blade rose to parry the relentless strikes. Sparks leapt like fireflies in the night. At last, a narrow opening revealed itself, and with desperate speed, Li Min slashed low.

Steel bit into bone. His sword tore across the bald man’s left shin, leaving a deep gash.

The warrior grunted, his face contorting with pain as blood soaked his leg. Yet his fury only mounted. Limping but unyielding, he lunged forward once more, his voice a thunderclap of rage.

“You must die!”

Each swing of his serrated blade came faster, more savage, forcing Li Min step by step backward until his spine struck the cold, unyielding wall.

“Go to hell!” the bald man roared, raising his sword high overhead and bringing it down in a devastating arc, intent on cleaving Li Min in two.

Once more, Li Min’s blade rose in desperate defense. Steel met steel with a crash so loud it split the silence of the square. The two swords locked, forming a cross that trembled beneath the weight of murderous force.

The bald man clenched his teeth, every muscle straining as he poured his full strength into the downward push.

“Brother Li Min…” Zhangjian whispered in silence, his heart hammering. Terror widened his eyes as he saw Li Min’s sword forced ever closer, the edge pressing now only a finger’s breadth from his neck. His protector’s torn arms trembled violently, blood dripping with every strained movement.

The boy remembered, unbidden, the grim words Li Min had once given him: “If something ill should befall me, save yourself. Run! Run as far and as fast as you can.”

The masked man’s plight grew dire. His blade, crossed against his enemy’s, had been driven down to his throat. A thin red line blossomed where the steel scraped against skin, and fresh blood slid slowly down his neck.

'I can’t hold on…' His breath was ragged, his grip failing. His hands no longer possessed the strength to withstand the bald warrior’s merciless force.

At last, a tortured groan ripped from his throat, followed by the grisly sound of flesh tearing.

“Arghhhh!”