Purple Night and Fall Night continued deeper into the Misty Rain Forest, their boots sinking slightly into the damp ground. The pale fog hung low, rolling around their legs like smoke from a dying fire. The silence between them stretched long — heavy, but not uncomfortable.
Purple Night broke it first.
Her voice was calm, smooth, yet edged with curiosity.
"Do you know the ranking of monsters?"
Fall Night didn't look at her. His tone was even, clipped.
"I know a little bit."
Purple Night glanced at him from behind her mask, her violet eyes faintly glowing.
"Before I continue, I want to know how much you truly know about monsters and beasts — not just names, Fall Night. Details."
He nodded once, his gaze scanning the fog.
"Given my limited understanding of monsters, we categorize them according to human cultivation levels. Monsters begin at the Awakening Plane, which we designate as Tier 1. Progressing to the Human Realm, they evolve — their bodies and minds change. We also see differences in their type and nature."
Purple Night's lips curved slightly behind her mask.
"Quite impressive, Fall Night. As you're aware, the Awakening Plane consists of four stages — initial, middle, late, and peak. Within the Human Realm, though…" she paused, her tone lowering, "…that's when they begin to awaken their ancestral powers. The real threat begins there."
Fall Night gave a small nod as they moved through the mist, the dim forest light tracing their path. The air grew colder, thicker. Their breathing became visible in the chill.
"We classify monsters further," Purple Night continued, her voice like the slow edge of a blade. "Beast, ferocious beast, magical beast, spirit beast, legendary beast… and at the very top, the mythical beast. Each has strengths — and weaknesses — that depend on bloodline and instinct."
Fall Night's voice was low. "Purple Night, what's the strongest monster you've faced?"
She thought for a moment, eyes glinting faintly.
"Tier 2, middle stage. A Mature Golden Bear, somewhere in the backcountry. Its roar alone cracked boulders."
Fall Night gave a soft grunt of approval. Nothing more.
Their conversation faded into silence again. They walked on, deeper into the forest where the mist grew darker, heavier. The deeper they went, the more the air itself seemed alive — humming faintly, whispering.
Soon, monsters appeared.
They fought through two Golden Bear cubs, an Emerald King Snake, and a pair of Silver Wing Griffins. Each battle was harder than the last — fast, sharp bursts of violence in the fog.
The Emerald King Snake was the worst of them. Its scales shone like green steel, and its movements were unpredictable — its body twisting like a ribbon of living metal. It struck with frightening speed, forcing even Fall Night to move with precision.
When it finally fell, its blood hissed as it hit the ground, burning small holes into the soil.
After that, both of them were worn down — bruised, bloodied, and running low on energy. Even for cultivators, the constant tension of this forest was exhausting.
They kept moving until a faint shimmer ahead caught their eyes — a small pond, clear and still amidst the mist.
"Over there," Fall Night said quietly.
They approached. The surface of the water reflected the pale light of the sun struggling through the fog. It was one of the few calm things they'd seen in days.
Fall Night struck out a palm and broke several nearby trees. He gathered the branches, then pulled the preserved meat from his dimensional pouch — the Golden Bear cub he'd killed earlier.
As he worked, the crackle of wood and the smell of smoke filled the clearing. For the first time in days, it almost felt… normal.
He looked up once at the sky, the mist swirling faintly above, then went back to slicing and cleaning the meat. His movements were practiced — silent, efficient.
Purple Night watched him from across the pond, her mask reflecting the faint firelight. She didn't say anything — just studied the way he worked. The silence between them was thick, but not hostile. It was the quiet of two killers conserving their words.
Several days had passed since their last real conversation — since the talk about monster tiers. Neither seemed in a rush to fill the silence again.
After a while, Purple Night tapped her small pouch. Two talismans appeared between her fingers. She waved them in the air — their faint light spread outward, creating a sound barrier that shimmered like heat in the mist.
Fall Night glanced over, his expression hidden but unmistakably aware. Without a word, he rose and stepped a few paces away, giving her space.
The fire crackled softly between them.
In that strange quiet — half peace, half tension — both warriors finally rested, their minds still alert even in calm.
In the Misty Rain Forest, peace was just the silence before something else stirred.
When the sound barrier shimmered and faded, Purple Night called out to Fall Night.
Even if they didn't see eye to eye, they were part of the same unit — Quiet Storm — and survival demanded cooperation, not friendship.
"Death Sword and Jagged are coming," Purple Night said, her tone as flat as the mist around them. "When they arrive, we'll go over the map and plan our next move."
Fall Night didn't respond. He just gave a short nod — acknowledgment without submission — and went back to the fire. The smell of roasting meat mingled with the faint, wet scent of moss and fog. He stirred a pot beside him, the simmering soup faintly reflecting his sharp eyes.
His cooking wasn't anything to boast about — but it was edible, and that was enough.
When he'd eaten his fill, he left a portion aside for the rest of the unit. Rising quietly, Fall Night turned toward the pond.
Purple Night looked up from where she sat.
"What are you doing?" she asked, a hint of irritation in her voice.
He didn't answer — only looked at her briefly over his shoulder before walking to the edge of the pond. Twenty feet out, he stopped and stripped off his cloak, then his shirt and undershirt, tossing them carelessly onto the grass.
Purple Night's gaze lingered on him — not out of curiosity, but calculation. The wound she'd left on him days earlier was still visible, faintly pulsing under the moonlight.
Fall Night stared down at it, his eyes darkening.
I need more power, he thought, the words silent but sharp in his mind.
He slid into a fighting stance. His right palm extended — slow, deliberate — then retracted. His left hand followed.
The rhythm built.
One strike, then another, faster each time.
The air began to ripple. A faint bubble of energy formed around him, almost invisible at first. As his movements accelerated, the bubble solidified — like a dome woven from sheer will and spirit.
Each palm strike struck with growing force. The sound of the impact echoed through the forest — muffled but deep, like thunder rolling far away.
The aura around him darkened, tinged with a red-black glow that pulsed like a heartbeat. It was cold, suffocating, alive.
Then he twisted his body into a horse stance, pivoted, and unleashed a final palm strike — angled upward at forty-five degrees.
The bubble shattered violently, collapsing into a rain of light and dust that scattered like ashes in the wind.
Purple Night's eyes narrowed.
It wasn't unusual for Fall Night to train after a battle — he always did, pushing himself beyond exhaustion. But tonight… something was different. The air around him was heavier, darker.
Then she saw it.
A seal — faint and pulsing — on his back.
It moved.
'What… is that?' she whispered under her breath, her usual composure slipping.
The seal crawled slowly across his skin, like ink alive beneath flesh. It spread across a third of his back, then half — and for a moment, it looked ready to consume him entirely. The energy coming off him surged wildly, unstable, forcing Fall Night to reach into his pouch.
He pulled out a strange rock, rough and dull gray at first glance, but as soon as he set it down, it began to glow faintly — absorbing the overflowing power pouring off him.
Purple Night leaned slightly forward, trying to see. The angle was poor, the mist obscuring her view, but she could feel it — whatever that stone was, it wasn't ordinary.
Then she looked back at him — and froze.
The seal was retreating.
Rapidly.
It slid back across his skin, shrinking, fading, until it disappeared entirely — like it had never existed. The forest fell silent again. Only the sound of soft breathing and the faint hiss of the pond remained.
Purple Night stayed motionless, her mind running wild.
If she told Death Sword and Jagged what she'd seen, they'd never believe her. Her words carried weight in battle, but trust? That was something she didn't have, even among her own.
Two hours passed. The moon had climbed high above the mist when Death Sword and Jagged finally arrived.
They froze at the sight before them — Fall Night, shirtless, faint scars gleaming under moonlight. Instinctively, they exchanged glances.
"Did they fight again?" Jagged muttered under his breath, a trace of excitement in his tone.
"Looks like it," Death Sword replied, disappointment flickering in his eyes. "Damn it. We missed it."
But as they approached Purple Night, their confusion deepened. She was calm, uninjured — not even a tear in her robe. The ground showed no signs of struggle, no scorch marks, no blood.
Only the faint scent of smoke, the dying fire, and Fall Night — now meditating quietly by the pond — broke the silence.
And for a reason none of them could name, neither Death Sword nor Jagged dared to ask what had really happened.
"What happened here? Something feels off with the surrounding elemental essence," Death Sword muttered, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of Noble Death.
"Fall Night just finished his meditation," Purple Night replied, her tone as cool as the pond mist. "He'll be awake soon."
She pointed toward the figure sitting cross-legged twenty feet from the water's edge, still and silent like a statue.
Death Sword's eyes narrowed.
Oh? Why train that far from camp, Fall Night?
"We had a… misunderstanding about the rules in our unit," Purple Night said before he could ask. "He understands them now." Her voice carried a chill that made Jagged fidget, but Death Sword only nodded. As long as discipline was maintained, he didn't care how she handled it.
He glanced at the firepit. "Who cooked the food?"
"Fall Night," Purple Night said, smiling faintly. "You should try it first, Jagged — see if he's trying to poison us."
Jagged laughed loudly. "As you know, with my cultivation method, eating is a way of life. I've been trying to eat you for ages, Purple Night. But Death Sword keeps stopping me. Pity, really."
Purple Night's eyes glittered with amusement. "Hahaha… if poor little raggedy Jagged wants a taste of this juicy little baddie—" she leaned closer, voice dripping with mock sweetness, "—all he had to do was ask. I'd let him feast himself to death."
Jagged froze.
The laughter died in his throat.
He could already feel Death Sword's gaze on him — the kind of look that promised pain later.
But before Purple Night could act, every head turned toward Fall Night.
The air around him shivered.
Multiple elemental essences — earth, wind, fire, and even traces of lightning — spiraled toward him, drawn like moths to a flame. Then, just before they touched his body, he pulled out a small container and sealed them inside.
"What the—?" Jagged muttered.
Even Death Sword and Purple Night were stunned. Why would he store pure essence instead of refining it to grow stronger? It made no sense… until Death Sword thought deeper.
He doesn't trust us. He won't risk a breakthrough with three blades at his back.
He wasn't wrong.
Fall Night couldn't absorb the essences — not safely, not now. His power was volatile, crawling just beneath the surface. Letting them see that would be a mistake.
After filling the medium-sized container, Fall Night tucked it into his dimensional bag and rose to his feet. The faint gleam of sweat on his bare shoulders caught the firelight as he put his shirt and cloak back on.
Every pair of eyes followed him — like predators scenting gold.
Death Sword stepped forward, extending his hand. "Give me the container, Fall Night."
Fall Night's expression didn't change. "You want the container or the essence?"
"I want the container full of essence. Stop playing dumb."
"Oh, this container?" Fall Night said, drawing it out casually.
Death Sword could feel it from several paces away — the concentrated sword intent swirling inside was so dense it almost hummed.
"Good," he said. "At least you know your place. There'll be other chances if you prove yourself strong enough."
Fall Night's eyes glinted behind the black mask.
"Right, Death Sword."
Then—
Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
BOOM!
The container burst into shards of light.
"What have you done, Fall Night?!" Death Sword roared, fury crackling in his aura.
Fall Night stared back coldly. "You told me to give it to you. You didn't say in what condition."
For a heartbeat, the camp went deathly still. Then Death Sword's hand went for his second blade — but before he could unsheathe it, Fall Night's palm flashed forward.
The Heaven Cleaver strike hit the air between them. Space twisted violently, energy rippling like heat haze before shattering outward. Death Sword barely managed to step back, his instincts screaming that something was wrong.
When the distortion faded, Death Sword lowered his blade and nodded once, slowly. The message was clear: Next time, this ends differently.
Behind them, Jagged tore into the roasted Golden Bear leg, grease dripping from his chin. Purple Night ladled out soup, pretending not to notice.
Even if she didn't like Fall Night, she couldn't deny — his cooking was better than either of theirs.
In a single blur of motion, Death Sword sliced through the half-eaten carcass, severing a chunk of the Golden Bear's torso. Then, without a word, he carved off the head and took the meat for himself. Even when occupied, Death Sword missed nothing — and he wasn't about to let the others eat without him.
Fall Night watched the three of them quietly. Beneath his mask, his expression was unreadable.
He'd condensed that mask from his own essence; he could remove it anytime. But this meal wasn't about food. It was about observation.
He wanted to see how they ate — and what that might reveal about them.
Death Sword's grin widened behind his shifting mask. The carved steel plates seem
ed to move, forming jagged teeth that bit cleanly into the Golden Bear meat.
Fall Night's eyes narrowed slightly.
So… even their masks aren't what they seem.
Fall Night looked at the three of them. He knew his black mask was something he created—an extension of his energy, a manifestation of his will. He could remove it at any time. But the others? Their masks weren't the same. They were alive, ancient things bound by unknown rules. That's why he cooked the food—to see how they would eat through their masks.
Death Sword met his gaze with that same knowing smile. Then, to Fall Night's surprise, Death Sword's mask seemed to move. The jagged metal and bone shifted, forming a mouth that opened and bit into the roasted Golden Bear meat. Flesh tore cleanly. The sound echoed in the quiet clearing.
"You should know," Death Sword said between bites, his voice carrying a dark amusement, "each of our masks has its own restrictions… and its own abilities. We don't know yours yet—but in the grand scheme of things, it won't matter."
He went back to eating, never taking his eyes off Fall Night. The air between them hummed with unspoken violence.
Death Sword was furious about the essence container, but Fall Night could see he was holding it in—for now. Power ruled their unit. And tonight, Fall Night had shown that his fists could speak louder than Death Sword's rank.
Everyone settled into their own space, carving out little corners of uneasy peace. Fall Night climbed into a tree above the pond. From up there, he could feel it—a strange pulse, a whisper from the Misty Rain Forest itself. Some kind of law or secret begging to be understood. He marked it in his memory. He'd come back one day.
But for now, two killing intents locked on him—cold and heavy. Death Sword's was like a blade pressed against his neck; Jagged's was a rabid animal gnawing at the edges of his aura. Purple Night, of course, didn't bother. She knew she'd be with him the longest.
Eventually, Fall Night drifted into sleep beneath their shared tension. No one attacked. But no one truly rested either.
By dawn, Fall Night was gone.
"Hmm…" Purple Night stretched lazily, eyes scanning the camp. "I wonder if he went hunting again."
"What?" Death Sword barked. "Speak up, Purple Night."
"I said," she replied smoothly, "I've seen him do this before. Nothing new."
Death Sword grunted. Jagged just scowled, not hiding his jealousy that Fall Night could come and go as he pleased while he was stuck under Death Sword's watch.
Then—
Rustle. Rustle. Rustle.
Fall Night emerged from the underbrush, dragging two baby Emerald King Snakes. Without a word, he began skinning them, his movements precise, efficient. In less than an hour, both were cleaned and prepped. He started to grill the meat, simmering the blood essence into a thick, dark soup.
Jagged sauntered over, that arrogant grin twitching under his mask.
"When you're done cooking," he said, voice low and mocking, "hand it over. You can make more for yourself in the next city, little nighty-night."
Fall Night said nothing. The smell of cooking meat filled the clearing.
An hour later, just as the food was ready, a machete flashed through the air—aimed not at the meat, but at Fall Night himself.
Fall Night reacted instantly, snatching the pot of soup and twisting aside. The blade split the dirt where he'd been standing. Jagged snatched the cooked meat and laughed—right before a sudden gust of killing intent slammed into him.
A palm strike—familiar, yet sharper than before—exploded from Fall Night's hand. The energy howled like a hurricane.
"Move, you idiot!" Death Sword shouted, but it was already too late.
Jagged was caught in the strike, his body lifted and flung like a leaf in a storm. Space itself groaned, distorting under the pressure.
Fall Night's stance didn't waver. This was his first time unleashing [Heaven Cleaver] with full intent.
The forest trembled. The air cracked.
And Death Sword's expression turned grim.