For a heartbeat, the camp went deathly still. Both Purple Night and Jagged were surprised by Fall Night's actions.
Then Death Sword's hand went for his second blade—but before he could unsheathe it, Fall Night's palm flashed forward.
In the cultivation world, there was a saying: He who strikes first wins; he who hesitates loses. This was one of the ethos most cultivators lived by. Why ask questions when your fist could beat your opponent into submission and still get you the information you needed?
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.
While all the action was happening, Jagged strolled straight toward the food.
Seeing that nothing was truly going to happen, Purple Night also stepped over in a dark purple flash to where the food was.
Jagged tore into the roasted Golden Bear leg, grease dripping from his orange mask. Purple Night ladled out soup, pretending not to notice the mess Jagged was making.
Even if she didn't like Fall Night, she couldn't deny it—his cooking was better than either of theirs.
In a single crimson 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 while occupied with Fall Night, Death Sword's spiritual senses missed nothing—and he wasn't about to let the others eat without him. As the leader of this unit, he demanded the lion's share of the food.
Fall Night watched the three of them quietly. Beneath his mask, his expression was unreadable.
He knew his black mask was something he had 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 was why he had cooked the food—to see how they would eat through their masks.
He wanted to see how they ate—and what that might reveal about them.
Death Sword met his gaze. 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 through the quiet clearing.
Fall Night's eyes narrowed slightly.
Even their masks aren't what they seem.
"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. We all know the Elder is…petty."
He went back to eating, never taking his eyes off Fall Night. The air between them hummed with unspoken violence.
Fall Night was about to take off his self-made mask when his real black mask pulsed with refusal, denying him the ability to lift it from his face.
At the same time, his mask transformed.
Instead of being one solid mask, he could now remove the bottom part of it. A small click came from the mask, and the lower portion released.
"Oh?" Jagged looked at Fall Night.
"His mask is like yours, Purple Night—well, to a certain degree, anyway," Jagged said mockingly.
Jagged's words fell on deaf ears as Purple Night continued to eat without saying a word.
Death Sword was still 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.
"Fall Night, where did you get that essence container?"
"Why?" Fall Night's gaze met Purple Night's.
"Aren't we short with our answers tonight? Did you know how precious those essence containers are?"
"No, I don't."
"Ohhh…look who's being snippy tonight. Fall Night, please continue," Jagged chuckled.
"Jagged, I see what you're doing, and I applaud you. But keep on talking nonsense, and I will…tell Death Sword what happened to his favorite treat."
"How ruthless!"
"Anyways, I am only going to say this once, Fall Night. Essence containers are something that all cultivators are looking for but can't have in large quantities."
"And…"
"And if you can trade them for something of value that you need, you can make a profit." Purple Night looked at Death Sword.
"Remember, strength is needed but knowing where to use it and how to gain an advantage is also important. Hahaha…"
Purple Night laughed as she walked away from the dying campfire.
Everyone settled into their own space, carving out little corners of uneasy peace.
Fall Night climbed into a tree close to 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 was begging to be understood. He marked it in his memory. He'd come back one day, when he had the time to explore these mysteries.
But for now, two killing intents locked onto him—cold and heavy.
Death Sword's was like a blade pressed against his neck.
Jagged's was like a rabid animal gnawing at the edges of his aura.
Purple Night, of course, didn't bother. She knew she'd be with Fall Night for a long time. She had plenty of time to probe his bottom line.
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."