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Location: Huanshui Hall · Subdivision · Outskirts of Dongshan Market
Target: Late Qi Condensation Stage · Core Disciple [Yao Zhen]
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A rainy night.
At the edge of Dongshan Town, an abandoned general store stood in silence. The lamplight nearby was dim; the streets, desolate.
Shen crouched within the broken tiles atop the roof, eyes fixed on the tavern at the street corner below.
"Yao Zhen" would come tonight—he had investigated for three days.
The man was an external disciple of Huanshui Hall, known for his cruelty and love of killing. Every month, he came here to "purchase" fresh ingredients for poison refinement—including, at times… live specimens.
Last time, two children never returned.
Shen hadn't tried to save them. He knew he wasn't ready.
But this time—he was.
—
He regulated his breathing and slowly drew a slender bone needle from his sleeve. A reddish-brown powder coated its surface—it was a modified version of Blood Serpent Powder, refined by Shen himself. Carefully measured, precisely lethal.
In his other hand, a freshly brewed "Stench Erosion Bomb"—a thin-shelled device filled with putrid liquid capable of destroying both olfactory sense and spiritual perception in an instant.
As for himself, Shen had just swallowed a dose of "Sense Severing Elixir," a concoction that dulled smell and pain for a brief period. The trade-off? Dizziness and heavy breathing.
But that was fine.
He wasn't here to survive.
He was here to kill.
—
Clip-clop, clip-clop.
Hoofbeats approached.
Yao Zhen rode in on a spirit horse, strutting arrogantly, dressed in a cyan outer robe with a spirit sword hanging from his waist. With the air of a tyrant, he dismounted and strode toward the shop.
Suddenly—
Bang!
A spiritual array beneath his feet erupted in smoke!
"Who—?!"
Just as he reached for his sword, the entire alley turned chaotic—
Boom!
The Stench Erosion Bomb detonated! The air turned foul and suffocating!
Yao Zhen's face contorted. His spiritual sense became unstable, his sword energy flared wildly!
He roared in rage, "You dare?!"
But in the next moment—
Pfft.
A poisoned needle pierced his neck.
The motion was barely perceptible—but faster than the wind.
"You…"
Yao Zhen staggered back, his face turning pale in an instant. Spiritual energy surged chaotically but failed to focus. As he prepared to scream—
A figure emerged from the shadows like a phantom—
Shen.
A dagger in his left hand, his right flung out a thin steel wire—whip—binding Yao's wrist. In the same breath, Shen slashed.
"AHHH—!!"
Yao Zhen howled in agony, half his wrist tendon severed.
He tried to activate a talisman, but Shen had already tossed a cloud of metallic dust—Formation Disruption Powder, specially crafted to neutralize spiritual triggers.
"Who are you… You're from… Huanshui Hall—?"
Shen said nothing.
He merely leaned in and whispered near his ear:
> "Killing isn't about luck. It's about patience, planning… and striking once, without fail."
Shlick—
Cold light flashed. The short blade drove into Yao Zhen's throat. Blood burst forth.
Eyes wide, Yao Zhen collapsed—never having completed a single spell.
—
Shen collapsed onto his knees, gasping.
He had been grazed by some backlash toxin, injured by the blast shockwave, and nearly drained of strength. His blood pressure was dangerously low.
But he had succeeded.
His first kill of a cultivator—accomplished with:
Poison, fog, talismans, traps, psychology, experience, and ruthlessness.
Not cultivation.
—
Dawn.
Back in the ruined temple, he slipped off Yao Zhen's spirit ring and quietly wiped his blade clean.
His fingers still trembled.
But the corners of his mouth… lifted into a smile.
> "Cultivators… aren't gods."
> "They're just not used to death coming from the shadows."