Chapter 4: City of Blades
The road stretched ahead like a scar across the land, pale under the moonlight. The assassin walked without haste, but every step was measured, every breath controlled. The border forest lay behind him now, its shadows clinging to his back like reluctant ghosts.
The qi within him moved in slow, uneven cycles. Weak, unstable, but undeniably real.
Each circulation reminded him of the wolf's death, of the way power had flowed from blood and bone into his own body. Cultivation was not enlightenment. It was theft, struggle, and survival.
Lights appeared in the distance.
A city.
Low walls rose from the darkness, torches burning along the gates. Guards stood watch, silhouettes outlined in firelight, spears resting casually against their shoulders. Voices drifted through the night—laughter, argument, the noise of life continuing without him.
He slowed, crouching behind a cluster of rocks.
Cities were dangerous.
Too many eyes. Too many hidden blades. Too many unknown rules.
The organization had networks everywhere. Safe houses. Informants. Hunters who specialized in tracking deserters. If his death had not been confirmed, they would be searching nearby settlements first.
He touched the token hidden beneath his clothes, feeling its sharp edges. Proof of betrayal. Proof of value.
But also proof of his identity.
He could not use it. Not yet.
A group approached the gate from the road ahead—travelers, judging by their worn packs and relaxed posture. Merchants, perhaps. Or wandering cultivators too weak to draw attention.
He merged into their shadows, adjusting his pace to match theirs, head lowered, presence muted. Years of training allowed him to disappear even among crowds.
The guards barely glanced at him as they passed through.
Inside, the city unfolded in layers of stone and sound. Narrow streets twisted between tightly packed buildings. Lanterns hung from wooden beams, casting warm light onto uneven ground. The smell of cooked meat, sweat, and smoke filled the air.
Life thrived here.
He had almost forgotten what that felt like.
People moved past him without a second glance. Vendors shouted prices. Children ran laughing between stalls. A drunk man sang badly near a wine shop, drawing jeers and thrown pebbles.
None of them knew how close death walked among them.
The assassin kept moving, eyes sharp, mind cataloging everything. Guard patrol routes. Alleyways. Rooftop access. Escape paths.
Habit.
He stopped near a public notice board, its surface cluttered with parchment. Bounties. Requests. Notices from sects and mercenary groups.
Work.
His gaze narrowed as he scanned the listings.
Low-level monster hunts. Escort missions. Herb gathering in nearby hills. Bounties on bandits and rogue cultivators.
Payment was poor, but any coin was better than none.
One notice caught his attention.
Wanted: Shadowfang Wolf Fang.
Reward: Five low-grade spirit stones.
His fingers twitched.
So the beast he had killed was not ordinary. That explained its strength—and the qi it carried.
Five spirit stones could keep him alive for weeks. Perhaps longer, if he was careful.
But selling meant exposure.
He memorized the location listed at the bottom of the notice and moved on.
He found an inn near the city's edge, small and poorly maintained. The sign creaked in the wind, its paint faded. Exactly the kind of place powerful cultivators avoided.
He stepped inside.
The common room was dim, lit by a few oil lamps. Several patrons sat scattered around rough wooden tables. A pair of mercenaries played dice. A hunched old man drank alone in the corner. No one looked dangerous.
Which meant nothing.
The innkeeper glanced up. "Room or drink?"
"Room," the assassin said, voice low.
The man eyed him briefly, then nodded. "Two copper a night. No trouble."
He placed the coins on the counter without comment.
The room was small. Bare walls. A narrow bed. A single shuttered window. It was enough.
He locked the door and sat on the edge of the bed, finally allowing himself to breathe fully.
[Beginner Task: Leave the border forest alive.]
[Status: Complete.]
The blue symbols flared into existence.
[Reward: Basic Assassin Footwork acquired.]
Knowledge flooded his mind.
Steps. Weight distribution. Micro-adjustments of balance and momentum. Techniques refined for silence and speed, far beyond what he had learned before.
His body reacted instinctively, muscles twitching as they absorbed the information. Pain flared briefly, then subsided.
He stood, testing the movements.
The room seemed to shrink as he moved, his steps lighter, quieter. Even injured, his control had improved noticeably.
"So this is a reward," he murmured.
[System confirmation: Correct.]
He sat again, focusing inward.
The qi responded more readily now, flowing smoother through his channels. Still weak. Still fragile. But it no longer felt like it would collapse at the slightest strain.
Progress.
His thoughts drifted, unwanted.
Faces from the organization surfaced in his mind. Instructors. Seniors. Fellow trainees. Some had been cruel. Others indifferent. A few had been… kind.
None of that mattered anymore.
Trust was dead.
A knock sounded at the door.
His body tensed instantly, qi flaring instinctively.
Another knock followed, softer this time.
"Inn service," a voice called.
He moved silently, pressing himself beside the door, ear against the wood. Breathing. Heartbeats.
Only one person.
He opened the door a crack.
A young woman stood outside, holding a tray with a bowl of stew and a cup of water. She looked startled when she saw his face, then quickly masked it.
"You didn't order food," she said, hesitant. "But you looked like you needed it."
He studied her carefully. No cultivation aura. No hidden weapons. Just tired eyes and worn clothes.
A servant.
Or bait.
"How much?" he asked.
She shook her head. "It's… leftover. It'll be thrown away otherwise."
He hesitated, then took the tray.
"Thank you," he said.
She nodded quickly and retreated down the hall.
He closed the door and stared at the food.
Warm. Simple. Real.
He ate slowly, savoring each bite despite himself. Strength seeped back into his limbs, slight but welcome.
When he finished, he sat in silence, listening to the city breathe beyond the walls.
This place was not safe.
But it was opportunity.
[New mission available.]
His eyes narrowed.
"Show me."
[Mission: Establish foothold in the city.]
[Objective: Acquire resources without revealing identity.]
[Reward: Cultivation guidance fragment.]
[Failure consequence: Host stagnation.]
Stagnation meant death.
He lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, he would sell the wolf fang. Carefully. Quietly.
Tomorrow, he would begin building something of his own.
Not an organization.
A legend.
Outside, the city's lanterns burned steadily, unaware that within its walls walked a man who should have been dead, whose shadow would one day stain its streets with blood and myth alike.