Far from the inn, Cold Steel City lay beneath a veil of night.
Lanterns burned low. Doors were barred early. Even the wind seemed reluctant to stir through the narrow streets.
Across the rooftops, two figures moved without making a sound.
Death Sword traveled as though the world had already stepped aside to make way for him. His presence did not press outward; instead, it seemed to draw everything inward, pulling fear and silence into its wake.
Jagged followed.
Always behind.
His fingers twitched restlessly, and his breathing came a fraction too fast. Chaos itched beneath his skin, desperate to be unleashed.
Traveling with Death Sword was like walking beside an executioner's blade that never stopped moving. Every step reminded Jagged that the man before him could end his life without the slightest hesitation.
"Stay close," Death Sword said.
Jagged's jaw tightened.
"Yes."
They continued across the rooftops, passing beneath the shadows of towering buildings and leaping over narrow alleys. Below them, the city appeared peaceful, its inhabitants unaware of the danger moving silently above their heads.
Yet Death Sword's spiritual sense was already probing the darkness.
Then, a faint ripple brushed against his perception.
Light. Controlled. Trained.
Someone was watching them.
A second disturbance followed moments later.
Movement.
Withdrawal.
Death Sword slowed.
Somewhere ahead, the leader of Ghost Unit 1 had realized that their presence was no longer concealed.
"We've been noticed," one of the unit members whispered.
"Split. Now."
The unit scattered like smoke between stone and shadow, their formation dissolving before Death Sword could pinpoint their individual positions.
He stopped on the rooftop.
For a moment, the night seemed to hold its breath.
His spiritual perception swept across the surrounding buildings once more, searching for traces left behind by the fleeing observers.
Nothing.
A faint smile touched his lips.
They were fast.
But not fast enough to escape his notice.
Before he could pursue them, however, another presence crashed into his senses.
Crude. Loud. Reeking of arrogance and strong liquor.
Fifteen miles away.
"WHO DARES WATCH ME WITH MY FLOUZIE?!"
The shout tore through the distant district, saturated with killing intent and self-importance.
Beneath his mask, Jagged grinned. His tongue slid over his teeth as the familiar urge to kill stirred within him.
"Let me have him."
"No."
Death Sword turned his head slightly, though his attention remained fixed on the distant disturbance.
"Chase the rats. Bring me their leader's head."
Jagged's grin widened.
"Understood."
In the next instant, he vanished from the rooftop, leaving Death Sword alone beneath the night sky.
For a brief moment, the city seemed to exhale.
Then came a scream.
…
The Young Master of Iron Hollow stormed onto a nearby rooftop, his sword blazing with metallic golden light. His aura tore through the surrounding air, releasing an oppressive force that sent nearby cultivators scrambling out of his way.
His followers hurried after him, along with the woman at his side.
"I'm TIRED OF YOU FILTH TREATING ME LIKE SOME KIND OF SAMPLE TO—"
He never finished.
Death Sword stepped into his path.
"You are already dead."
He moved.
There was no draw.
No swing.
No sound.
Four lines appeared across the Young Master's body.
For the span of a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then his body slid apart, the cuts so clean and precise that the blood bloomed only after the damage was complete.
**[Six Paths of Death: Fourth Sword — Murder]**
The rooftop fell silent.
The Young Master's followers stared in disbelief, unable to comprehend how their master had died so swiftly at the hands of a stranger clad in a blood-red cloak.
The women who had accompanied him stood frozen.
Their master was dead.
And they were nothing more than mortals in a world ruled by cultivators.
Without his protection, they had no idea what fate awaited them. The threat of death, once distant and unimaginable, now seemed to lurk around every corner.
Only moments ago, the Young Master had been shouting with enough arrogance to shake the surrounding streets.
Now, he was nothing more than a dismembered corpse.
The sound of hurried footsteps soon broke the silence.
City guards arrived, weapons drawn and expressions stern, ready to deal with whatever disturbance had erupted in their jurisdiction.
Then they saw the body.
They saw Death Sword.
And they remembered why one should never judge a book by its cover.
Without a word, the guards stopped where they stood.
None dared approach.
Death Sword paid them no attention. His gaze shifted toward the surrounding rooftops, where the distant sounds of pursuit had begun to fade.
The remnants of Ghost Unit 1's presence were growing harder to track.
He would deal with them later.
For now, he had another matter to settle.
…
Moments later, Jagged returned, landing hard enough to scrape his boots against the stone.
His breathing was uneven, and frustration twisted his expression.
Death Sword turned toward him.
"Where is the head?"
Jagged hesitated, idly rubbing his fingers together.
"I lost them."
Death Sword's expression did not change.
"How many did you kill?"
"...None."
Death Sword struck.
Two fingers drove into Jagged's chest, piercing flesh and reaching directly into his meridians. Death qi flooded the wound like poison poured into a river, spreading rapidly through Jagged's cultivation pathways.
Jagged screamed.
His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the ground, coughing up blood darkened by the invading energy.
"How many?" Death Sword asked again, his voice unchanged.
"NINE!" Jagged choked out. "SIX CULTIVATORS! THREE CIVILIANS!"
The death qi twisted deeper.
Another scream ripped through the night.
"Lie to me again," Death Sword said, "and I will destroy one of your main meridians."
Jagged trembled, his teeth grinding together as fury and terror tangled within him.
"FINE! EIGHT CIVILIANS AND ONE CULTIVATOR!"
He dragged in a ragged breath before glaring up at Death Sword.
"WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!"
Death Sword looked down at him.
"Because someone must hold the leash."
He withdrew his fingers and turned away, leaving Jagged struggling to recover on the bloodstained rooftop.
The night swallowed their voices.
Far beyond Death Sword's immediate reach, Ghost Unit 1 watched from the shadows.
Their leader said nothing.
There was nothing to say.
They had witnessed the difference between a cultivator who killed and one who decided who was permitted to live.
Death Sword was not merely a hunter.
Not merely an executioner.
He was judgment given form, walking through the world and asking no questions.
Then, with a casual motion, Death Sword tossed a pouch onto the rooftop.
It struck the hard stone with a weighty thud, the sound echoing far louder than it should have in the middle of the night.
The drawstring loosened on impact.
Purple coins spilled across the rooftop, rolling over the stone like fragments of crushed amethyst.
Their faint glow reflected in the eyes of the city guards who had arrived too late and understood too quickly.
None dared move.
They were grateful they had neither interfered nor attempted to flee the scene. Either decision might have turned them into the next corpses lying beneath the night sky.
This was not a reward.
It was not goodwill.
It was a conclusion.
None of the guards asked why the Young Master of Iron Hollow lay dismembered nearby, his once-proud aura already fading into the night. None questioned how a man of his standing could die without trial, witness, or resistance.
They knew better.
One guard swallowed hard and bowed first—to Death Sword.
Another followed.
Then the rest.
They cast a single wary glance at Jagged, whose presence felt like a wound that refused to close, before lowering their heads and stepping back.
By dawn, they would submit a clean, carefully worded report to the city lord.
Everything that happened afterward would no longer concern them.
If the city lord wished to act on the incident, *he* would bear the consequences.
Death Sword watched the guards retreat into the darkness.
Only then did he turn toward Jagged.
"Listen very carefully, Jagged."
His voice was calm and measured, stripped of emotion. Each word landed with precision, as though he were carving them directly into flesh.
"This is not our first mission together. You understand my expectations. Continue testing my patience, and I will take your life. I will request that the Elder assign someone else from the other team, and this matter will end."
The atmosphere changed instantly.
The air around Death Sword thickened as his death-aligned energy spread outward, like winter descending all at once. The warmth drained from the rooftop. Frost crept across the stone beneath their feet.
Jagged's body reacted before his mind could.
His knees trembled.
His breath stuttered.
"Yes... Death Sword," he replied, forcing the words through clenched teeth.
Yet the resentment burning inside him refused to remain silent.
"But tell me—why am *I* bound by these restrictions while Purple Night moves freely?"
The moment her name left his mouth, agony exploded within him.
The residual death energy lodged in Jagged's meridians surged violently, flaring like black fire beneath his skin. It tore through his already damaged pathways, sending lances of pain through his entire body.
Jagged gasped, his question breaking apart into a hoarse scream.
"You may complain," Death Sword said, stepping closer, his gaze ice-cold, "but you are not entitled to defile her name."
He looked down at Jagged, disdain sharpening his features.
"Unlike you, Jagged—who crawled out of a lowly clan—she has value."
The contempt in his voice cut deeper than any blade.
Jagged collapsed onto the rooftop, shaking as the pain forced his body to curl inward.
For a moment, he was nothing more than a wounded animal.
Then he laughed.
The sound was raw, cracked, and dangerous.
"Vicious," Jagged growled, lifting his head just enough to meet Death Sword's gaze. "You're afraid. Afraid that one day I'll become stronger than you."
Death Sword didn't hesitate.
"You won't live long enough to see that day."
The death energy surged again.
Jagged screamed as his body convulsed, rolling across the stone rooftop while the power ravaged his meridians without mercy.
Every nerve burned.
Every breath felt like broken glass.
Then, just as suddenly, it stopped.
Death Sword stepped away and descended from the rooftop with effortless control. With a single thought, he withdrew the death element from Jagged's body, leaving only the lingering damage behind.
Jagged lay there, gasping, blood leaking from his chest, his vision swimming.
He understood now.
He had revealed too much.
Slowly, he pushed himself upright. His hands clenched, then loosened, then clenched again as he forced the tremor from his body.
Without speaking, he followed Death Sword down to the streets.
Neither man looked back.
Within moments, both vanished into the night.
…
Only a pair of watchful eyes remained fixed on the rooftop from afar.
The leader of Ghost Unit 1 slowly turned toward his subordinates.
"You need more training..."
His voice was quiet.
That made it worse.
Every member of the unit began to tremble uncontrollably.
They knew what those words meant.
Their training was about to become a nightmare.
For the first time that night, several of them found themselves wishing they had been the ones chased by Death Sword instead.