Chapter 2

The Northern Ridge

The northern ridge was bathed in pale moonlight. Beneath the canopy of ancient black pines, the air smelled of ozone, burnt fat, and wet decay.

Ming Xian moved like a ghost through the brush, his eyes trained on the ground. Beside him, Baihua drifted inches above the mud, her white sleeves completely untouched by the damp earth.

"Two hundred paces ahead," Baihua murmured, her voice carrying a dry, mocking edge. "Your sulfur-scented friend isn't even trying to hide his tracks."

"He doesn't think anyone is following him," Ming Xian replied, kneeling to touch a broken fern. The stem was charred at the edges—cinder-black from exposed furnace Qi. "The Enforcers wiped the village clean yesterday. They believe this sector is empty."

"Except for a disgraced swordsman and an angry tree spirit," Baihua noted smoothly. She glided past him, her green eyes fixed on the treeline ahead. "Tell me, human... if this killer is one of your former elders, how do you plan to take his heart with that pathetic piece of rusted iron?"

She pointed a pale, delicate finger at the notch-bladed hunting knife tucked into Ming Xian's belt.

Ming Xian didn't flinch. "A blade is just a tool. The throat is always soft."

Baihua let out a soft, melodious laugh that sounded like dry leaves rustling in the wind. "Cold. I like that. Most of your kind scream about 'justice' and 'righteousness' before they get their heads chopped off."

They reached the edge of a rocky ravine. Below, tucked into the mouth of a natural stone cave, a campfire flickered faintly against the granite walls.

A heavy iron cauldron sat over the flames, bubbling with a thick, crimson liquid. Standing beside the cauldron was a tall man clad in heavy leather armor under a dark crimson cloak. On his chest, partially covered by dirt and soot, was the golden crest of the Righteous Sword Sect—Deacon Rank.

Deacon Zhao.

Ming Xian's eyes narrowed. Deacon Zhao was one of the sect's chief instructors—the man responsible for training young recruits in martial discipline and moral purity.

Right now, the "pure" Deacon was holding a pair of long iron tongs, carefully lowering a fresh, human heart into the bubbling cauldron. Strange, glowing red talismans floated in the steam above the pot, absorbing the crimson vapor.

"Cultivating the Nine-Vessel Soul Extraction," Ming Xian whispered, his tone flat, calculated. "He's using fresh blood to bypass his bottleneck and force a breakthrough to the Golden Core Realm."

"And ruining my forest's Qi balance in the process," Baihua added, her temperature dropping instantly. The ambient frost on the surrounding leaves thickened, turning into thin needles of ice. "Shall I freeze his lungs solid, or would you like the honor of slitting his throat?"

"Neither," Ming Xian said, holding up a hand to stop her. "Look at his feet."

Baihua blinked, looking closer at the cave entrance.

Surrounding the campfire were four hidden wooden stakes driven deep into the dirt, connected by invisible threads of silver Qi. A lethal Tri-Harmonic Boundary. The moment anyone stepped into the clearing, the array would detonate, shredding everything within twenty paces into red meat.

"He set a trap," Baihua said, tilting her head. "Paranoid little worm."

"Not paranoid," Ming Xian corrected. "Methodical. He expects the elders to check on his progress eventually."

"So how do we clear it?"

"We don't," Ming Xian said, pulling three small, heavy river stones from his pouch. "We trigger it on his terms."

Before Baihua could ask, Ming Xian flicked his wrist.

TAP.

The first stone struck the cliff wall ten feet above Deacon Zhao's head, dislodging a small shower of pebbles.

Deacon Zhao spun around instantly, his hand flying to his sword hilt. "Who's there?!"

TAP. TAP.

Ming Xian threw the second and third stones in rapid succession—one hitting the far left bushes, the other striking the silver thread of the trap array directly in front of the cave entrance.

BOOM!

The hidden boundary array detonated instantly. A wave of concussive red Qi exploded across the clearing, shattering the cauldron and sending boiling crimson liquid and burning wood flying in all directions.

Deacon Zhao threw his arms up, his protective Qi barrier flaring to deflect the blast, but the sudden explosion blinded him for two crucial seconds.

In those two seconds, Ming Xian launched himself off the cliff ledge.

He descended silently, dropping through the smoke like a falling stone. He didn't scream a battle cry. He didn't channel flashy light energy.

He landed directly behind Deacon Zhao, his stolen hunting knife driving downward toward the seam between the Deacon's collarbone and leather armor.

CLANG!

At the last millisecond, Zhao's instinct saved him. He twisted his body, catching Ming Xian's knife on the heavy steel guard of his broadsword.

"Ming Xian?!" Zhao roared, his eyes wide with recognition and fury as he recognized the runaway disciple. "You dare ambush an elder of the sect?!"

"You're not an elder, Zhao," Ming Xian said coldly, pressing his weight down against the broadsword. "You're a butcher in a clean robe."

Zhao sneered, his body surging with heavy, brute Qi strength. "A core-less renegade thinks he can speak to me about butcheries?! Die!"

Zhao slammed his shoulder into Ming Xian's chest, sending the younger man skidding back across the mud. Zhao immediately drew his massive broadsword, its steel burning with bright, golden flames of Sect Qi.

"I'll take your heart next to replenish the cauldron!" Zhao shouted, lunging forward with a devastating overhead cleave that split the air with a loud roar.

Ming Xian didn't try to block a heavy broadsword with a knife. He rolled to the left, feeling the heat of the golden flames singe his hair as the sword smashed into the granite earth, cracking the stone.

Before Zhao could pull his heavy sword out of the cracked rock, a sudden, piercing cold swept through the cave.

CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!

Pale white pine roots burst through the solid stone floor beneath Zhao's boots, wrapping tightly around his ankles like iron chains. Frost instantly crept up his legs, freezing his leather boots solid.

"What?!" Zhao gasped, trying to channel his fire Qi to melt the ice.

"Your fire is noisy, human," Baihua's voice echoed from the shadows above.

She hovered in the air right above the cave, her white robes fluttering without wind. Her green eyes glowed with terrifying, ancient power. She flicked her finger downward.

The frozen pine roots constricted violently.

CRACK.

Zhao shrieked in agony as both of his ankles snapped like dry twigs under the crushing pressure. His golden flames flickered and died out.

He dropped to his knees in the mud, gasping for air, his broadsword slipping from his trembling fingers.

Ming Xian walked up to him, his notch-bladed knife held steadily at his side.

"Wait... Ming Xian... wait!" Zhao stammered, coughing up blood as he looked up at the cold-eyed young man and the floating spirit above. "The Sect Leader... he ordered this! It wasn't just me! The entire council is harvesting hearts for the Great Ritual! If you kill me, they will hunt you to the ends of the earth!"

Ming Xian stopped in front of him. He looked down at his former instructor, his expression unreadable.

"They are already hunting me," Ming Xian said softly.

He stepped forward and drove his knife cleanly through Deacon Zhao's throat.

The body went limp, falling forward into the mud.

Silence returned to the ravine, broken only by the crackle of the dying campfire and the soft hum of the wind through the pines.

Baihua floated down, landing gracefully beside the corpse. She looked at Ming Xian, who was calmly wiping the blood off his knife onto Zhao's cloak.

"He mentioned a 'Great Ritual'," Baihua said, her green eyes narrowing slightly. "Which means there are more of them."

"A dozen more deacons," Ming Xian said, sheathing his knife. "And three Grand Elders."

Baihua looked at him, a dark, amused smile touching her lips. "And what does the disgraced renegade plan to do now?"

Ming Xian picked up Deacon Zhao's heavy leather pouch from the dirt, checking its contents—maps, jade tokens, and a list of names written in fresh ink.

He looked up at the moonlight filtering through the pine needles.

"Now," Ming Xian said, his voice cold and steady, "we stop running... and start hunting."