Chapter 10: Sect Shadow
The mountain path ended abruptly.
Stone gave way to carved steps, wide and worn smooth by generations of feet. Pillars rose on either side, etched with faded runes that pulsed faintly as qi drifted through the air like mist. The assassin stopped at the edge of the steps and studied the place in silence.
A sect gate.
Not grand, not famous, but established. Defensive formations lay hidden beneath the stone, subtle and layered. Anyone charging in blindly would die before reaching the first courtyard.
He adjusted the cloth binding his shoulder.
Pain throbbed steadily, deep and dull.
Good.
It kept him awake.
Voices echoed from above. Disciples moved up and down the steps, robes fluttering, swords sheathed at their sides. Their qi was disciplined, cleaner than the independent cultivators he had killed, but not overwhelming.
This was not a top-tier sect.
That made it dangerous.
Smaller sects survived by vigilance and cruelty.
He stepped forward.
The moment his foot touched the first step, pressure settled around him. Not forceful. Testing. His qi responded instinctively, circulating along the reinforced channels he had stabilized the night before.
The pressure eased.
He continued upward.
Halfway to the gate, two figures blocked his path. Both were young men, faces sharp with arrogance born from safety behind walls.
"Halt," one said. "State your business."
The assassin raised his head slowly.
"I seek entry."
The second disciple laughed. "And what do you offer?"
The assassin opened his palm.
Spirit stones glinted dully in the morning light.
The first disciple's eyes flickered. "Background?"
"No sect."
"Cultivation level?"
"Low."
The second disciple sneered. "Honest, at least."
They exchanged a glance. The first nodded once. "Outer courtyard. Three days trial. Cause trouble and you're expelled."
The assassin inclined his head.
They stepped aside.
The gate opened with a low rumble, formations parting just enough to allow him through before sealing again behind him. The sound echoed like a final judgment.
Inside, the sect revealed itself.
Courtyards layered upward along the mountainside, connected by bridges and stairs. Training grounds rang with shouts and clashing steel. Disciples practiced forms, sweat-soaked and focused. Elders watched from shaded platforms, expressions unreadable.
Qi flowed everywhere.
He walked among them unnoticed.
Outer disciples wore simple robes, colors faded. Their movements were stiff, their techniques rigid. Inner disciples passed by occasionally, their presence heavier, eyes sharp, ignoring everyone else.
He was assigned a small stone room at the edge of the outer quarters.
Bare.
Cold.
Perfect.
He closed the door and sat immediately, drawing out the jade slip he had taken earlier. He spread it before him and began circulating qi, testing how it behaved within the sect's environment.
Resistance.
The ambient qi here was filtered, guided by formations toward the inner grounds. What remained for outer disciples was thinner, slower.
Controlled scarcity.
He adapted.
He slowed his breathing, pulling qi not from the air but from the ground beneath him, letting it seep upward through stone and bone alike. It was impure, heavier, but abundant.
Pain flared again.
His shoulder bled through the cloth.
He ignored it.
Hours passed.
A bell rang.
He rose and followed the sound to the outer training ground. Dozens of disciples gathered, forming loose lines. An elder stepped forward, beard long, eyes sharp as knives.
"Outer disciples exist to be tested," the elder said. "Those who pass become useful. Those who fail become examples."
The assassin listened.
Pairs were formed.
Sparring began.
Wooden weapons cracked together. Shouts of frustration and triumph filled the air. Some fought with skill, others with desperation.
His turn came.
He faced a broad-shouldered youth with confident eyes and an eager grin. Qi wrapped faintly around the boy's staff.
"Don't take it personally," the youth said. "I need merit points."
The assassin said nothing.
The signal was given.
The staff came down hard.
He stepped inside the strike, ignoring the flare of pain in his shoulder, and slammed his elbow into the boy's chest. The impact drove air from his lungs. Before he could recover, the assassin swept his legs.
The boy hit the ground hard.
Silence rippled outward.
The assassin placed his wooden blade at the boy's throat.
The elder's eyes narrowed.
"Winner," the elder said slowly.
Murmurs spread.
The assassin stepped back and returned the weapon without expression. He felt eyes on him now. Calculating. Curious.
Predatory.
That night, as he lay on the hard stone floor of his room, he sensed movement outside.
Quiet.
Careful.
Someone testing a door.
He rolled silently to his feet and drew his blade just as the door creaked open.
A shadow slipped inside.
Steel flashed.
He parried by instinct, sparks flying in the dark. The attacker retreated, mask glinting faintly in moonlight.
Assassin Sect.
The shadow vanished through the window, disappearing into the night.
The assassin stood alone in the darkness, blood dripping slowly from his reopened wound.
So they had followed him here.
Into a sect.
He smiled faintly.
"This will be interesting."
[Environment update: Sect territory.]
[Threat level: Escalating.]
[Survival condition: Continuous combat.]
Outside, the sect bells rang softly in the night wind, unaware that an old shadow had crossed their threshold.
And that it would not leave quietly.