The sunset over the Scarlet Cloud Sect was a bruised purple, the fading light bleeding into the horizons like an open wound. Hua Sui descended the jagged mountain paths leading away from the Burial Sword Valley, his movements rhythmic and heavy. His black-trimmed inner sect robes were shredded into rags, encrusted with the dried, iron-rich mud of the tomb and the dark, oxidized blood of his pursuers. On his back, he carried a heavy hemp sack that radiated a sharp, metallic hum—a sound that made the birds in the surrounding trees fly away in terror.

  As he crossed the threshold of the Mission Hall, the ambient noise of the bustling chamber died a sudden, jagged death. Disciples who were arguing over reward points or boasting of their minor exploits froze mid-sentence. They stared at the figure approaching the central counter—a boy who looked less like a cultivator and more like a ghost that had clawed its way out of a mass grave.

  "Is that... Han Ming?" a disciple whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and morbid curiosity.

  "Look at his aura," another sneered, though he backed away as Hua Sui passed. "It's even more turbulent than before. He looks like a shattered porcelain vase held together by spit. How did a cripple like that survive the Geng-Gold storms?"

  Hua Sui ignored them. His gaze was fixed on the head Deacon at the registry counter. Every step he took felt like a hammer blow against the floor, a physical manifestation of the Sword-Seed fused to his spine. He reached the counter and, without a word, swung the heavy sack off his shoulders.

  THUD.

  The sound of thirty slabs of Sunken Iron Essence hitting the stone was like a thunderclap. The weight was so immense that the wooden counter groaned, a hairline crack spider-webbing across its surface.

  "I am here to finalize the Burial Valley mandate," Hua Sui said, his voice sounding like two stones grinding together.

  The Deacon, a middle-aged man with a face like crumpled parchment, opened the bag. His eyes widened until the whites showed all around. "Thirty slabs? The mandate only required ten. And these... these are Grade-A essences. They carry a trace of ancient sword-intent."

  "I found a rich vein," Hua Sui replied simply, coughing into his sleeve to hide the flicker of violet light in his eyes. He deliberately allowed a thread of unstable, 'shattered' Qi to leak from his meridians, making him look as if he were on the verge of a total collapse.

  "Thirty slabs... that's three thousand contribution points," the Deacon stammered, his hands shaking as he reached for the registry scroll. "Han Ming, this is unprecedented for a newcomer—"

  "A pity that wealth cannot buy back a discarded life."

  The voice was cold, sharp, and carried the weight of a mountain. The temperature in the hall plummeted as Lu Chen stepped through the main entrance, his white-and-gold robes pristine, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword that radiated a blinding, righteous light. Behind him followed several elite disciples, their expressions filled with a calculated malice.

  Lu Chen walked toward the counter, the crowd parting like the sea before a storm. He stopped three paces from Hua Sui, his spiritual sense erupting in a violent wave of pressure. He was a Rank 3 Foundation expert, and he didn't bother to hide his intent. He was looking for the scent of his missing enforcers.

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  "Han Ming," Lu Chen said, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "I sent three of my junior brothers to the valley to assist in 'overseeing' the security of the area. They have not returned. You, however, return with ten times the expected yield. Tell me... where are Lin Mo and the others?"

  The hall fell into a deathly silence. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.

  Hua Sui turned slowly, his face a mask of exhausted, pathetic grief. He let his knees buckle slightly, leaning against the counter for support. He looked up at Lu Chen with eyes that were watery and filled with a feigned terror.

  "The Adder... and the others?" Hua Sui whispered, his voice cracking. He reached into his robe and pulled out three shattered identity jade-slips—the only things he hadn't destroyed. "It was... it was a nightmare, Senior Brother Lu. We found a hidden vein of iron, but it was guarded by a Sword-Wraith of the fifth rank. Lin Mo... he was so brave. He told me to run while they held the monster back. I heard their screams for an hour while I hid in a crevice."

  He coughed again, this time spitting a spray of blood onto the floor near Lu Chen's boots. "They died for the sect. They died so I could bring this iron back. Their sacrifice... I will never forget it."

  The lie was so blatant, so absurdly humble, that for a moment, Lu Chen was speechless. He knew Hua Sui was mocking him. He knew his men were dead by this boy's hand, but to admit that three Rank 2 experts were killed by a Rank 1 'cripple' would be a humiliation he couldn't endure. More importantly, he had no proof.

  "You lie," Lu Chen hissed, his hand tightening on his sword hilt. The air around him began to crackle with golden sparks. "No Sword-Wraith could kill Lin Mo and leave a piece of trash like you alive. You will come with me to the Hall of Justice. Now."

  "Is that so, Lu Chen?"

  A new voice, dry and rasping like dead leaves blowing across a grave, drifted down from the balcony of the second floor. A hunched figure stood in the shadows, draped in robes so dark they seemed to absorb the light. It was Elder Ku Mu—the "Withered Wood"—the head of the sect's internal discipline, a man who was feared more than the Sect Leader himself for his absolute, borderline-insane adherence to the literal word of the law.

  "The boy has delivered thirty slabs of iron. He has produced the shattered jades of his fallen brothers," Ku Mu said, his gaze fixed on Lu Chen. "The rules of the Crimson Peak are clear. Unless you have a witness or a recorded vision-stone of his crime, you cannot touch a disciple who has just completed a Great Merit mission. Are you suggesting your own authority is higher than the Sect Law?"

  Lu Chen's face turned a violent shade of red. He looked at Hua Sui, who was still trembling and 'bleeding' on the floor, and then up at the Elder. To strike now would be a direct challenge to Ku Mu.

  "No, Elder," Lu Chen squeezed out through gritted teeth.

  "Good. Han Ming, take your points and go to the 'Silent Peak' for your recovery," Ku Mu ordered. "The sect does not waste resources on those who die in the hall of their own achievements."

  Hua Sui bowed deeply, his forehead nearly touching the stone. "Thank you, Elder. Thank you, Senior Brother Lu... for your concern."

  As Hua Sui walked past Lu Chen, their shoulders brushed for a fraction of a second. In that heartbeat, the Sword-Seed in Hua Sui's spine pulsed. He didn't attack, but he allowed a microscopic trace of the ancient, jagged sword-intent from the tomb to leak into Lu Chen's spiritual field.

  It was a silent declaration of war.

  I am the one you should have killed in the cradle, the intent whispered. Now, I am the cold steel that will find your heart.

  Lu Chen stiffened, a cold shiver running down his spine that he couldn't explain. By the time he turned around, Hua Sui was already gone, disappearing into the evening mist.

  Hua Sui walked toward the Silent Peak—the most desolate and barren mountain in the sect, reserved for 'broken' disciples. It was exactly what he wanted. He had the points, he had the sword-seed, and now, he had the perfect cover to begin the next stage of his evolution.

  The hunt was no longer about survival. It was about cleaning the house. And the Crimson Peak was long overdue for a purge.

  @velvet_reader for the incredible support in the comments! Having a professional artist resonate with the visual world-building of the 'Grey Seed' and 'Inverse Path' is a massive boost to my motivation.

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