The courtyard continued to smell of burning flesh. Moonlight flowed across the stone floor, glinting on the blood-stained sword at Li Xian's feet. The body of the assassin convulsed once, then collapsed, his chest shattered by the force of the final blow.
But it was the runes that unsettled him more than the killing itself. Red script had blazed to life upon the courtyard during the battle, scorching themselves into the air like hot brands. They blazed once, twice, and then dissolved, carrying with them something much more than beyond the Azure Blossom Sect walls.
Li Xian puffed sharply out, sensing what had happened. They have seen me.
Along the walls of the room, elders arrived in rapid groups, robes flowing, faces pallid. Some stared at the corpse, whispering of the uncooked ferocity of Li Xian's strike. Others looked at the fading light of the runes and muttered anxiously.
"This was no ordinary assassin," one elder cursed. "This was bait. The Blood Saber Sect knows now of his strength.".
"They would have learned anyway," another retorted. "Fare better that they behold the extent of his power and be afraid."
Li Xian stood in silence. His knuckles clenched tight on his sword hilt until veins bulged on the back of his hand. He could still feel the hot breath of the assassin's death, the crunch of bone breaking beneath his strike, but there was no satisfaction in it.
A soft grasp closed around his wrist. Su Yao stood beside him, her hair disheveled from their earlier binding, her skin still radiating the gentle light of their shared cultivation. Her eyes were intense, unblinking, though he sensed the storm beneath her calm.
"Let them see," she whispered in his ear. "Let them know you are not bound."
That night, once the courtyard was cleansed and body discarded, the sect's council convened. Voices rose and fell in tempestuous discussion. Some insisted on fortification. Others, more cautious, voiced that Li Xian's promotion would jeopardize their fragile understanding with other opposing sects. Li Xian, for the first time, felt the shift—the mistrust, even among the sect he'd bled to protect.
Su Yao never let him out of her sight. She stood there silently, a promise unspoken in words: whatever route he walked, she would trail after him, whatever scandals followed after him.
The next morning brought new chaos. A wounded disciple limped into the gates of the sect, half-dead and clinging to life by sheer determination. His words put the elders into hysterics.
The Crimson Thorn Sect, a trusted friend, had been slaughtered at one of its peripheral stations. Dozens of disciples murdered. The killers had left blood-stained banners, penned with a single name.
Li Xian.
The chamber burst. Accusations, fear, suspicion—all swirled as a second storm. Li Xian remained steady, his expression fixed, his jaw clenched. Su Yao rested her hand on his shoulder, grounding him as the sect's faith began to break.
The war had begun. And it would not wait for him to make a decision.