Han Li stood beneath the old bell tower, its rusted chains swaying in the wind. His broom glided across mossy tiles, gathering more silence than dust.
From the shadows, a figure emerged—cloaked in gray, face hidden behind a porcelain mask.
"They call you janitor," the figure said. "But I remember another name. Demonbane."
Han Li didn't pause. "Names are like dust. You sweep them away eventually."
The masked one chuckled. "You wiped out my entire sect in one night."
Han Li raised an eyebrow. "I cleaned it."
With a flash, a black dagger shot forward. Han Li moved just enough.
CLINK. The dagger shattered mid-air.
The assassin trembled. "That wasn't even—"
The broom tapped the ground.
A pulse of energy spread outward.
Cracks splintered through walls. The masked assassin collapsed, coughing blood.
Han Li approached. "You dropped something."
He picked up the shattered porcelain mask and gently placed it beside the attacker.
"Next time," Han Li said, "come with cleaner intentions."