Chains bit into his flesh, but nothing hurt like the cold in his chest. Dragged to Repentance Cliff, he saw enforcers hauling two bodies—white cloth slipping, revealing a familiar blue slant-collar shirt. It seared his heart like a red-hot brand.
"Those are…" His voice shattered.
Wang stepped close, whispering: "Your parents were fools. Defended a thief—'he's good, wouldn't steal.' Hmph. When kindness is spurned, force works. They wanted to shield you? Let them join you."
"What?!" Alan's head snapped up, eyes bloodshot, rage throbbing like a second heartbeat. "What did you do?!"
Wang chuckled, disdain dripping: "Silenced them. Quick, painless. Don't thank me."
"I'll kill you!" Alan roared. Qi erupted, snapping the chains like twigs. He lunged, a lion gone feral.
Wang staggered back, chest bruising from Alan's fist—shocked. "Fool!" He steadied, eyes hardening. "Begging for death? I'll oblige!"
He wove seals, chanting. Air thickened, a crushing weight slamming Alan's chest, making breathing a battle. But all he felt was hatred—parents' deaths a poisoned thorn, tearing him apart. He funneled all qi into his fists; it swirled, glowing white, illuminating his face contorted with fury.
"Die!" He charged, speed blurring, wind scattering gravel. Wang met him, palm outstretched—slow, gentle.
For a dazed moment, that palm wind felt like mother's hand brushing his cheek, soft enough to make him drop his guard. Then: killing intent coiled out, venomous, striking for his heart. Merciful Death Palm—Clear Void's secret art: kindness as a mask, caress as a curse.
Alan reeled back, but the wind grazed his shoulder, leaving a bone-deep gash. It tingled, then burned, as if maggots gnawed his bone.
"Scared?" Wang's smile was false, eyes frosty. "Your shoddy technique buys you time, but you'll die here. The manual's mine."
He unleashed the palm again—shadows of tenderness, each deadlier than the last. Alan dodged, wounds blooming, strength draining. He knew: this "merciful" art would bleed him dry.
He had to strike back. A resolute glint flashed. He remembered The Remaining Sun Manual's secret: using essence and blood to detonate power, though it would ruin him. He didn't care.
Alan bit his tongue, spitting blood onto his fists, chanting the incantation. His aura skyrocketed; the white light blazed, turning him into a fireball.
"A secret art?" Wang's surprise melted into greed. "Power like this, paired with the manual—perfection. Shame you'll never use it."