Witnessing the way Jagged soared through the air, colliding with trees one after another, was something to behold.
Death Sword simply shook his head. Disappointment weighed heavier than concern. Jagged wasn't dying—far from it—but to see one of his men tossed like a leaf stung his pride.
Jagged rose, dust swirling around him. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, syncing his breath to the rhythm of the forest. The air grew sharp, restless.
"You're good," Jagged said finally, his voice cutting through the silence like a serrated blade. "Exceptional, for someone from a small clan. But you're still three minor realms below me. Your battle power's barely touching the initial stage of refinement—while I'm already close to stepping into the late stage of the Human Realm."
He jabbed a finger toward Fall Night, his tone dripping with cruel pride.
"Of the three of us, Death Sword's the strongest—cultivation and battle prowess both. Purple Night's second in cultivation. I'm second in battle. You? You're just playing soldier."
Fall Night said nothing. His stare was cold, steady, unflinching.
"You surprised me, though," Jagged continued, cracking his neck. "That attack of yours… interesting. You haven't mastered it yet, have you? What a shame. I wanted to test your mettle properly. Guess I'll have to settle for killing you slowly."
The grin behind Jagged's mask was venomous. His aura shifted—heavy and unstable. He began walking toward Fall Night, each step melting into shadow and flickering back into light. His movement was unpredictable, a blur of motion and absence.
[Nimble] — the footwork of an assassin, not a brute.
Purple Night frowned. "Something's off about Fall Night's movement."
"It's not off," Death Sword replied, his tone low, analytical. "He's redirecting—sight and timing. It's sleight of hand, but on the body."
"Is it really that simple?"
"No," Death Sword said. "The stress on the joints alone could cripple a lesser cultivator. That's why he rarely uses it. Overuse would destroy his rhythm—and his body."
Purple Night's eyes narrowed. "So that's why his timing feels lethal. He's fought a lot. He's learning to predict us."
"Exactly. But don't overestimate him," Death Sword said. "He's still too green to catch all three of us off guard with just palm strikes."
Purple Night stayed silent for a moment, watching Fall Night's calm stance as Jagged closed in.
"So far, we've seen three palm strikes and one movement art. He hasn't shown his full hand. We should stop this before it costs us the mission."
Death Sword's eyes stayed on Fall Night, cold and unreadable. He didn't like the suggestion—but she was right. The mission came first.
"Jagged, stop."
Death Sword's voice rolled like thunder. His hands formed quick seals, and the second sword on his back began to tremble—an eerie metallic hum that filled the clearing. Jagged froze mid-step, teeth grinding behind the mask.
"Damn it, Death Sword," he hissed. "Why that one? Why Life Taker? Why not Noble Death? I hate your methods."
Fall Night's eyes flicked to the shaking blade. The sound alone told him enough—whatever that sword did, it wasn't something he wanted to experience. He eased back, retreating from Jagged's range.
Purple Night's gaze followed his movements, her mind sharp as a blade.
'His instincts are keen—too keen for someone in the early refinement stage. But he's still not fighting with real intent. He's testing… experimenting.'
Death Sword's brow furrowed as he noticed the retreat.
"If you're both done playing," he said, voice cold as steel, "we're moving out. Seven Elements Peak won't wait."
Fall Night stopped, shifting toward Purple Night's side. Beneath her mask, she smiled faintly, almost approvingly. Jagged sulked behind Death Sword, glaring daggers at Fall Night.
'At least he's not dumb enough to stand near Death Sword,' Purple Night thought.
Then—without warning—Death Sword moved.
His hand sliced through the air like a blade. The strike was silent, too fast for breath or thought. It cut through the space between them—clean, decisive.
Blood sprayed.
Fall Night staggered back, clutching his chest as his wound reopened, fresh crimson gushing between his fingers. The world tilted. His gaze locked on Death Sword, eyes burning with quiet fury.
Jagged gasped, dropping to one knee, clutching his chest. His meridians screamed, ruptured by the same invisible force.
Death Sword stood still, his hand still extended—no remorse, no expression.
Only the wind moved.
"That was a warning. Don't make me repeat myself. The mission comes first."
Death Sword's voice was ice. He looked down at Fall Night, blood still leaking from the reopened wound.
"I left something extra for you, Fall Night—for breaking that container. You should recover in two months... maybe."
He turned away, unfolding the map and pointing to their location. The air around him grew colder, his tone serious.
"We have three months to reach Black Port. I don't care if we move in pairs or as a full unit. What matters is efficiency—our time and our movement."
Purple Night nodded. "I'll take Fall Night with me."
"Fine," Death Sword said curtly.
"Once we leave the Misty Rain Forest, we'll stop at Cold Steel City to restock and trade materials."
"Sounds good, Purple Night. Jagged and I will head there as well. We may arrive a few minutes before or after you. But the deadline stands—three months to Black Port. Understood?"
His eyes locked on Fall Night and Jagged. Both men were simmering—Jagged with bruised pride, Fall Night with silent fury.
Fall Night gave a stiff nod, still clutching his bleeding chest. Jagged followed, nodding reluctantly, a cruel grin twitching behind his mask.
"Good. Let's move out."
Death Sword gathered his gear, turned, and began walking deeper into the forest. Jagged sighed, collecting his belongings before following behind.
Purple Night glanced at Fall Night, who was still standing where Death Sword's attack had left him, blood dripping down his arm.
"You're lucky, Fall Night," she said softly. "That you only got that much."
Fall Night let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, right. I bet you enjoyed every second of it."
Purple Night didn't answer. Truthfully, she might have felt the same in his place.
"Let's move. You'll have plenty of time to recover on the road."
Fall Night said nothing. He uncorked a small flask—the snake-blood soup he'd brewed earlier—and took a slow sip. The warmth dulled the pain just enough for him to breathe again.
Purple Night watched, shaking her head, then turned and continued walking. Within moments, both figures melted into the mist, their silhouettes fading into the gray-green haze of the forest.
Meanwhile, deeper in the woods, Death Sword and Jagged moved in silence.
After several miles, Death Sword suddenly stopped. Jagged froze too, unease prickling at his neck. For a brief second, he thought Death Sword was finally going to deal with him.
But then Death Sword spoke, calm and cold:
"Do you know I slashed you with my hand, not either of my swords, Jagged?"
Jagged blinked. "I'm not that clever, Death Sword."
"The first mistake," Death Sword said slowly, "was thinking you could command someone in front of me. The second was your greed. The third—and most fatal—you talk too damn much."
Jagged tilted his head. "I get the first and last, but the second?"
Death Sword's eyes glinted. "We all can't cook. Fall Night's not great, but he's the best among us. I'm tired of eating burnt food."
Jagged barked a short laugh. "Oh. Guess I'm the real idiot here. But why slash him?"
"Because," Death Sword sneered, "he pissed me off for not handing over that container."
Jagged grinned wickedly. "Then let's go back and finish him off!"
Before he could blink, a blade was at his throat.
Noble Death gleamed against Jagged's skin, cold and merciless. Jagged froze—if it had been Life Taker, he'd already be writhing in agony.
"There you go again," Death Sword whispered. "Talking nonsense. Don't trifle with him. I don't know what rank he holds in the Midnight Clan, but he's not simple. He's got layers—tricks, methods, patience. You keep playing around, and one day it won't be me who ends you. It'll be him."
Jagged's jaw clenched. "How do you know? You've never seen him fight before that little tussle. That brat would've been dead if I got serious. Only you and Purple Night can actually hurt me. My methods are cruel, my power absolute. He'll need a thousand years before he can kill me."
Death Sword didn't even look at him. "You really are stupid," he muttered.
"I don't know what price you'd pay to kill Fall Night—but it'd be too steep. And it's not one I'm willing to pay. Not for him, and not for this mission."
He turned his gaze on Jagged, voice like frost.
"This is your final warning: the mission comes first. Personal gains come second. Now move."
He sheathed Noble Death and strode off, his pace doubling. Jagged stood there for a moment, muttering curses under his breath before following.
Both pairs made incredible time through the Misty Rain Forest, avoiding unnecessary battles and ignoring treasures that would have delayed them. After two full weeks—and the five days spent before—they finally emerged from the choking mist.
Ahead lay a straight, narrow path leading to Cold Steel City, shimmering faintly beneath a steel-gray sky.
Purple Night glanced at Fall Night, who still carried himself stiffly, though the wound on his chest had begun to close.
"Get everything you need here," she said. "Potions, materials, skill manuals, whatever. Our stay will be brief. I don't need to repeat what Death Sword said—just remember it."
"Of course," Fall Night replied evenly. "Less than forty-eight hours?"
"Seventy-two," she corrected.
"Plenty of time to restock and trade out the materials," he said, already scanning the city walls in the distance.
Purple Night's voice softened slightly. "And get new recipes and spices while you're at it. Your cooking isn't great, but it's better than the other two."
Fall Night sighed, shaking his head as the faintest hint of a smirk touched his lips.
"Noted."