The War Goddess’s question hung in the air, cold as the steel of her divine sword. “My Lord, shall I execute the trash at your feet?”
Ye Yao trembled, her face pressed to the cold stone floor. A moment ago, she was the proud heiress of the Ye family, destined to marry into the Hua Shan Sect. Now, she was nothing. Less than nothing. Trash. A word she had spat at Lu Feng a thousand times.
Lu Feng did not even grant her a glance. His gaze was distant, as if looking through the walls of the great hall, past the mountains, to a memory only he could see. He had spent three years here, a silent shadow, repaying a debt of life. The debt was now paid in full. These people were insects beneath his notice.
He spoke, his voice calm, yet each word was a hammer blow to Ye Yao’s soul. “Killing her would stain my subordinate’s blade.”
The War Goddess understood. She bowed her head slightly. “As you command, my Lord.”
Lu Feng turned, his simple cloth servant’s robes billowing as if they were imperial silks. “Let her live in the gutter she has created. It is a fate far worse than death.”
He walked away. The War Goddess followed, a silver phantom of lethal grace. They disappeared from the hall, leaving behind a crowd frozen in terror and a woman broken on the floor.
Laughter began to bubble up. First a chuckle, then a roar. The guests, who had fawned over Ye Yao moments before, now pointed and jeered. “The gutter! Hah! She thought she was a phoenix, but she’s just a plucked chicken!”
“Serves her right for scorning the Dragon Lord!”
“Look at her! Begging like a dog!”
Each word was a knife in Ye Yao’s heart. She scrambled to her feet, her silk dress torn and dirtied. Her eyes, once filled with arrogance, now burned with a venomous, all-consuming hatred. It wasn't regret she felt. It was pure, unadulterated rage. He had taken everything. Her status, her wealth, her future. He had humiliated her in front of the entire world.
She fled the hall, the laughter chasing her through the streets. The Ye family estate was already being seized. Men in the livery of the Dragon God Hall were changing the locks, their faces impassive. Her family’s assets, their businesses, their connections—all vanished as if they were illusions built on sand. Because they were. They were all gifts from the man she had despised.
“Lu Feng!” she shrieked into the empty night, her voice raw. “You think you have won? You think you can discard me like garbage? I will see you dead! I swear it, I will see you dead!”
Her mind raced, consumed by madness. There was one last option. One final, desperate gambit. She tore a jade pendant from her neck, a family heirloom passed down for generations, glowing with faint spiritual energy. It was the last thing of value she owned.
It would be enough.
An hour later, in the filthiest, darkest alley of the city, Ye Yao stood before a nondescript wooden door. Three knocks. A pause. Two more. It was the signal.
A slot slid open at eye level, revealing a pair of cold, dead eyes. “State your business.”
“I have a contract,” Ye Yao said, her voice trembling but resolute. “A life to be taken.”
“The Blood Shadow Tower does not come cheap.”
Ye Yao shoved the glowing jade pendant through the slot. “This is a Grade-Three Spiritual Jade. It is worth more than enough. I want one man dead before sunrise.”
The eyes in the darkness examined the jade. A low hiss of approval. “The target?”
“His name is Lu Feng,” she spat, the name like poison on her tongue. “He was once a servant of the Ye family.”
A low chuckle came from behind the door. “A servant? An easy task.”
“Don’t underestimate him!” Ye Yao insisted desperately. “He has… powerful friends. But he himself is weak! His meridians are crippled! He has no Inner Qi! A single, well-placed blade is all it will take. Strike him when he is alone tonight!”
“Your information is noted. The contract is accepted. By dawn, the name Lu Feng will be erased from this world.”
The slot slammed shut. Ye Yao stumbled back, a twisted, triumphant smile spreading across her face. The Blood Shadow Tower was the most feared assassin organization in the kingdom. Their Grandmaster-level killers had never failed. Not once.
Tonight, Lu Feng would die.
Meanwhile, in the most opulent courtyard residence in the city—one that had belonged to the Ye family that morning—Lu Feng sat beside a stone table. The moon was high and bright. The War Goddess, whose name was Lin Zhelan, stood silently a few paces behind him, a statue of silver armor and unwavering loyalty.
“My Lord,” she reported softly, “all former assets of the Ye family have been reclaimed by the Dragon God Hall. Their network has collapsed. They are now penniless.”
Lu Feng merely nodded, his eyes closed as he lifted a cup of fragrant tea to his lips. He took a slow, deliberate sip. The petty affairs of the Ye family were already a distant memory. For three years, he had sealed his power, sealed his very identity, to experience the world of mortals and repay his debt. That chapter was now closed.
“Has there been any news of the other half of the Celestial Jade?” he asked, his voice a low murmur.
“Our agents are searching, my Lord. The Medical Saintess of the fallen Moon Dew Sect was said to carry it. We are tracking whispers of a blind swordswoman who survived the sect’s destruction. If she lives, we will find her.”
Lu Feng fell silent. The jade seal on his neck pulsed with a faint warmth. It not only sealed his limitless Sword God power, but it also held the key to his past, a past intertwined with this blind swordswoman and the uncle who had betrayed his father.
The air grew still. The chirping of crickets ceased. A profound, unnatural silence descended upon the courtyard. Lin Zhelan’s hand instantly went to the hilt of her sword, her senses screaming danger.
A flicker of movement in the shadows. Then another. Three figures, clad in black, melted out of the darkness. They moved without a sound, their killing intent perfectly concealed. These were no ordinary killers; they were Grandmasters of stealth and assassination.
Lin Zhelan prepared to move, to unleash a storm of sword-qi that would annihilate the intruders.
“Stand down,” Lu Feng commanded without opening his eyes. His voice was utterly calm.
She froze, her loyalty absolute. But her heart pounded. The assassins were moving, flanking him, their blades already drawn. The metal was a dull, sickly green, coated in a neurotoxin that could paralyze a Grandmaster’s meridians in a single heartbeat.
They struck as one. Three blades from three directions, aimed at his heart, his spine, and his throat. It was a perfect, inescapable kill formation.
The lead assassin, the most skilled of the three, thrust his dagger forward with blinding speed. The world seemed to slow. He could see the pale skin of the target’s neck, the calm, almost lazy posture. An easy kill. A fool who sat sipping tea while death approached.
A wild, poison-soaked blade stabbed straight at Lu Feng's throat as he sat sipping tea with his eyes closed. But the instant the tip touched his skin, it shattered into a hundred pieces. Lu Feng opens his eyes, blazing red with killing intent: ‘The Blood Shadow Tower? Time to erase your name.’