The barrier cracked—
first a thin line of gold, then a dozen, then a hundred.
Each one flared like lightning, then shattered.
The sound wasn't a crash but a scream of light—glass breaking across the night sky.
Shards of spiritual energy scattered in all directions, falling like dying fireflies.
And the spear didn't pause.
It tore straight through the collapsing remnants, a streak of black lightning cutting for Qianlong's head.
Qianlong moved.
His sword came up just in time—steel met spirit with a sound like thunder.
CLANG!
Sparks exploded around them, showering the courtyard in gold and blue. The impact drove Qianlong back, boots grinding against stone, robes whipping in the wind. His arms shook from the force, every tendon burning as he shoved the spear aside and leapt backward, air bursting beneath his feet as he propelled himself clear.
The fox didn't pursue.
It simply turned its head, turquoise eyes following him—curious, measuring.
Qianlong exhaled once, forcing his breath steady.
Too fast. Too strong. But not invincible.
Qi surged along his blade, crawling up the metal like liquid fire. Symbols shimmered across his sword, marks awakening on its surface.
"Enough," he hissed.
He thrust his sword skyward.
The air trembled.
Wind and light folded inward, drawn toward the blade until the courtyard dimmed, colors leached away by the gathering force. The tiles cracked beneath him, the sheer density of his qi carving lines into the stone.
"Heaven-Binding Sword Art!"
The sky responded. A column of blue descended, burning through the mist as it coalesced into a radiant arc. Every breath in the air seemed to still; even the fox's eyes flickered with a brief glint of interest.
Qianlong brought the sword down.
A beam of searing blue cleaved through the air, crashing toward the fox like a falling sun. The shockwave split the courtyard, stone buckling outward from the force.
The fox raised its paw.
The spear blurred—one heartbeat, two—and gold met black.
BOOM.
The world went white.
Light and shadow collided, swirling into a storm of energy that devoured everything in reach. Roof tiles disintegrated. Pillars snapped. A wave of dust and qi ripped through the estate, scattering debris like leaves in a gale.
For a moment, there was only roaring wind and blinding radiance.
Then—silence.
Dust fell in slow, shimmering spirals.
At the center of the ruined courtyard, Qianlong knelt, blade buried in the stone. Steam rose from his shoulders, his chest heaving. His golden aura flickered, dimming but still alive.
Across from him, the fox stood unharmed—its fur ruffled, eyes half-lidded, the spear hovering at its side.
It tilted its head.
"Impressive," it said softly. "But compared to the other one from the Shen clan, you're less impressive. Is the Binding Art the only technique your cultivation clans practice, or is that just coincidence?"
Qianlong straightened. The Shen clan? he thought. What's it talking about? No. I can't get caught up in its words—that's what happened before, and both Meirong and Zhen got killed. I won't fall for it.
His sword trembled in his grasp. "You'll understand soon enough," he growled. "I'm not done."
The fox smiled—slow, faint, inevitable.
"Good," it murmured. "Neither am I."
It stepped forward, spear humming, the ground rippling with each stride.
It flicked its claw.
The spear moved—no flash, no warning, just motion so clean it seemed to erase the space it crossed.
Qianlong met it head-on. Steel rang, sparks flared; the shockwave drove cracks through the courtyard floor. His arms held steady as he deflected the strike—but the spear didn't stop. It flew forward again.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The spear struck relentlessly. Sparks flew as each strike was blocked and deflected.
The fox stared, turquoise eyes glimmering as it watched Qianlong fight off its assault, deflecting each strike. Every movement, every shift of qi fed into its calculation.
—Killing this one won't be easy, it thought, tail flicking lazily. Lucky I killed those two; otherwise I'd be in a tough spot right now, fighting three fourth-layer cultivators. But… that was my fortune. Yes. Pure chance—or maybe just careful timing.
It remembered the precise moment, frozen yet fluid in memory—the instant their gazes met its own. That fleeting heartbeat, when they believed themselves in control, was when it struck.
The illusion had been woven subtly, threads of perception curling around their senses. Inside it, they were aware, but only in half-measures; their bodies were trapped. The fox had intended to use that opening to pierce one of them cleanly, to end a life before the others stirred.
The first strike had gone through almost too easily. Only the faint shimmer of protective qi had met it—a weak barrier against centuries of honed precision. The blade of the spear passed through the elder's chest as if he were nothing more than a shadow.
Huh. That was… unexpected.
It had anticipated some resistance, some measure of technique or defense—but none had come. The elder's body collapsed before the illusion even registered the blow.
The fox didn't pause. There was still another in the illusion—still a chance to strike, even if it couldn't finish the job. It was calculated to wound, to weaken—enough to tip the scale.
And yet, the second strike mirrored the first. The same result. Protective qi, and nothing else. Another life extinguished in a single, clean motion, collapsing alongside the illusion that had held them.
Both… gone? That should not have been so easy.
It lingered on that thought for barely a heartbeat, analyzing the variables: timing, position, the frailty of defenses. Luck had favored the fox in a rare, sharp alignment—but it couldn't rely on that luck again.
The third—the last one. That one was different. He was wearing a defensive talisman, and he was awake from the illusion—aware. So I wasn't able to kill him as easily. I have to rely on skill alone, not chance, not illusion.
CLANG!
His sword caught it—barely.
Sparks sprayed across the courtyard, scorching the tiles, and the backlash slammed through his arms.
He twisted, forced the weapon aside, and vaulted backward, landing in a crouch among the debris.
Breath came ragged. His blade trembled. But his eyes sharpened.
"Sky-Piercing Arc!"
He drove his sword down and drew it up in one sweeping motion.
A crescent of qi ripped free, shrieking across the courtyard.
The strike carved through air and smoke, a raw manifestation of fury and control honed over decades.
The fox didn't dodge.
It lifted its spear and turned the motion—so small it was almost delicate.
The crescent split around it, tearing into the ground on either side. The shockwave howled past, dragging dust and shattered stone into the sky.
When the dust cleared, the fox stood unscathed, protected by a barrier, one paw resting lightly against the spear's haft. Its fur caught the moonlight; its expression didn't change.
"Your reaction is within acceptable range," it murmured.
Qianlong's jaw clenched. "You mock me?"
The fox's tail moved once, slow as breath.
"I measure you."
So I won't waste any more of my treasure, it thought.
It stepped forward. The ground cracked beneath each pace—not from weight, but from precision—the perfect control of a killing rhythm.
Qianlong braced, qi surging through his veins, the mark of his cultivation burning bright. He inhaled, centering the last of his power, and pressed his palm against the flat of his sword.
I only get one more opening.
The blade flared, runes igniting across the metal. Light rippled outward like rings in water.
The fox stopped.
Its head tilted—not in mockery, but in consideration. Its eyes narrowed a fraction.
"So that's your answer."
"Spirit Descent!" Qianlong roared.
He vanished in a burst of light, reappearing above the fox.
His sword came down, trailing a blinding arc—divine light screaming through the night.
The fox's eyes lifted—calm, unblinking. Its spear moved in a simple thrust, cutting through the center of the descending strike.
Light met shadow.
The courtyard convulsed. Wind exploded outward in concentric rings.
For an instant, both figures stood locked—Qianlong's blade pressing down, the fox's spear driving up.
Cracks spidered through the flagstones beneath them.
Then—
a sound like thunder being pulled apart.
The explosion sent both backward—Qianlong skidding across broken tile, the fox sliding, claws dug into the ground for stability. Smoke rose in columns; cracks appeared across its barrier, spreading in an instant before shattering into pieces. Light fractured the darkness.
Qianlong's robes were scorched, the front torn open. He staggered, still holding his sword, chest heaving.
Across from him, the fox lowered its weapon. Its fur was ruffled, a faint line scorched across its shoulder—blackened but shallow. It looked down at the mark for a heartbeat.
Then those turquoise eyes lifted again—cold, assessing.
"Acceptable trade," it said quietly. "You struck true. Once."
Qianlong raised his sword again, trembling but defiant.
"You'll bleed more before this ends."
The fox tilted its head.
"Perhaps. But you might die before that happens."
It vanished—simply gone from sight.
A whisper of air brushed Qianlong's ear a half-second later. His instincts screamed—he turned, sword rising to meet the next impossible strike.