No shadow, no patience—only perfect, merciless delivery.
A black streak arced from the eaves and cut the night so fast the elders' senses whiplashed.
Elder Yingshi's reprimand froze in his throat. The spear detonated through the air, a single, horrifying line of intent—piercing straight through his chest. Blood blossomed bright and immediate beneath the moon, and Yingshi sagged, a puppet with its strings severed. He crumpled without a sound beyond the tearing of fabric and a last, shocked breath.
Silence exploded. Qianlong's hand slammed for his sword; Meirong reeled, wide-eyed. The fourth elder spun, eyes glowing with summoned qi. They all searched the shadows—only to find the fox already there, composed, the spear hovering obediently by its side, turquoise eyes cold and curious.
It stepped forward as if arriving late to a conversation. No triumph crossed its muzzle—only calculation.
"Was that my doing?" it said softly. The spear hummed.
Qianlong roared, grief and fury braided together. "Who are you? Show yourself!" he demanded, thrusting his sword into the air to spread his detection.
The fox bowed its head marginally in a gesture that was almost polite.
"I am shown," it murmured.
The air thickened. Meirong's qi flared to life, her sleeves whipping in the wind as petals of condensed spiritual light circled her form. "Demon!" she spat. "You dare slaughter—"
The fox lifted a single clawed finger. Meirong's words cut off as the spear tore through the air, piercing straight for her. Her eyes widened as the blade of the spear appeared right in front of her face.
"I don't dare," the fox said, gaze sliding past her to Qianlong. "I simply do."
Qianlong's jaw tightened. His sword's glow rose, gold burning through the night. "You've taken one elder already," he said through clenched teeth. "You will not take another."
CLANG!
The spear struck but was blocked by Qianlong's blade. He held back the blow as sparks flew. Meirong staggered, breath catching. Qianlong pushed, and the spear flew back toward the fox, circling around it once before hovering again beside it.
The fox's expression didn't change. Its tail flicked once—an idle movement, yet the air shivered with the promise of another strike.
"I've taken nothing," it said. "What you call life is merely… occupancy. I'm here to reclaim what you borrowed."
The fox stepped back a pace, tail flicking lazily, eyes calm as moonlight caught the turquoise sheen of its fur. Its posture was serene, almost indifferent, but its mind churned with calculation.
> The formation… broken before I struck.
It had seen the barrier fracture in the moment between breaths, its runes unraveling like silk cut by invisible claws. The timing had been perfect—too perfect. It hadn't planned that, hadn't even felt the surge that should have come before such a collapse.
For an instant, it had hesitated. The elders' shock mirrored its own. But instinct, honed through centuries of careful hunts, had whispered: Strike now.
And so it did.
Yingshi's blood still steamed on the tiles. The dark spear, humming with spiritual energy, curled its resonance against the fox's ears like a heartbeat.
> That formation shouldn't have gone down so easily,
the fox thought, watching the three elders steady themselves, their qi flaring.
A double-layer barrier, low-grade or not, does not unmake itself in a single heartbeat. To rend both layers at once, you'd need either an explosive attack—
Its tail flicked once, slow and deliberate.
> Or you'd need a cultivator of at least mid-stage…
A flicker of unease stirred behind its steady gaze.
> But I didn't feel anyone. Not before, not after.
Which means… it's someone beyond my sense, or cloaked so tightly I couldn't sense them even if they stood beside me, don't tell me it was it that did that.
> No,
The fox thought, the corners of its mouth tightening faintly.
Don't think it would do something like this, Since it has already killed the cultivator and I can still sense it's presence — After the cultivator presence disappear it hasn't make any move yet.
The spear turned slightly, sensing its master's agitation. The fox steadied it with a touch of will, forcing its qi back into smooth control. The elders were still recovering, their fear turning to rage—and the fox could not afford distraction now.
>"But then whoever it is doesn't matter. Not Yet. Have to focus on what's in front of me, And use it to my advantage.
It stepped over Yingshi's body and spoke, voice low, almost conversational:
"Your defenses fell faster than I expected. I wonder—was that poor craftsmanship, or someone inside your ranks lending me a hand?"
Meirong's eyes flared with fury, qi erupting like a torch. Qianlong's sword came up again, golden light threading through the air.
But the fox barely watched them. Behind its calm mask, it replayed the moment the barrier fell — the way the energy folded inward rather than exploded outward. The difference between something broken and something unraveled.