Madam Qu finally reached the mother chamber, her steps echoing in the now silent cave. Her eyes scanned every inch of the stone walls, flicking from crack to crack, from floor to ceiling. She knew it had to be here—the entrance to the inheritance. She didn't know where, but instinct told her this was the place.
She searched for anything unusual: hollow echoes, uneven stones, false floors. And then—a hollow sound.
She tapped the edge of the chamber wall again. Hollow, definitely. A cover-up. With a sharp, deliberate strike, she smashed the wall. Dust exploded outward, revealing a dark, narrow path winding deeper into the cave.
Without hesitation, she stepped inside, her footsteps slow and deliberate, wary of hidden traps. She walked with her fingers ready on the hilt of her blade, her senses alert. At the end of the passage, she stepped into a small room—simple, almost untouched by time.
There was only one thing.
A wooden table, and upon it, a single storage ring… and a leather-bound diary.
Her eyes gleamed.
She picked up the ring and immediately infused her Qi to sense its contents. Her breath hitched.
"Finally… FINALLY!" she burst out, eyes wide with elation.
Inside were manuscripts, gold, pills—resources and knowledge carefully preserved. She slid the ring onto her finger, almost trembling. Then she grabbed the diary.
"I'll read this later," she muttered to herself, already dreaming of what she could become. She had made her decision: she would abandon the Zhaorath Empire and vanish. With what she found today, she no longer needed them.
But the moment she returned to the mother chamber… a chill shot down her spine.
Too late.
A figure attacked—silent, ruthless. A blade coated in red flames sliced toward her. The man stepped into the light, wearing a black mask. The sword in his hand pulsed with violent heat.
"Remember me, worm?" he said, voice low and venomous.
Madam Qu stared at him, unshaken on the outside. But deep inside, her gut twisted. Something was wrong. She knew that voice.
"I'll give you a hint," he said, tilting his head. "Chi Clan."
Her eyes widened.
Before she could react, a blur rushed in from the side. A second attacker—a boy, white mask, hood drawn over his hair, cold blue eyes gleaming behind his mask.
"Solar Fang Rampart."
His arms glowed with blinding light, condensed and burning. He slammed his fists into Madam Qu's sword, and then—boom.
The light exploded in a wave of force. Madam Qu was sent hurtling across the chamber, smashing into the cave wall with a loud crack. Her bones rang from the impact. She hadn't expected such power—it wasn't just a defensive skill, it was a trap in disguise.
Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to her feet. But before she could even focus, another blow landed.
Wham!
She was hurled again, crushed against the rock. It was too fast. She couldn't even see them properly. This wasn't a fight—it was an ambush.
But the third time, she was ready.
Another flash. Another strike.
But this time, her eyes were locked in. Her sword rose in time, deflecting the next blow from the white-masked youth. Sparks flew as blade met fist.
And in that instant, she realized—this wasn't just about the inheritance.
It was revenge.
"Did you think you could just take what's ours and run away, maggot?" snarled the man with the black mask, his voice soaked in hate. His sword burned hotter, red flames licking its edge. "We lost a lot because of you Empire bastards. It was between us and the Chi Clan—but no, you worms always have to shove yourselves into other people's business. Damned parasites."
Madam Qu didn't waste her breath with a reply. Her eyes were locked in, her mind racing. She lunged forward, her blade flashing in a smooth arc aimed straight at the man's ribs. He parried it with a vicious sweep of his flaming sword, sparks exploding as metal clashed. The force of his counter made her shoulder shudder from the impact.
But she didn't have the luxury to slow down. From her right, the girl in the dark robe lashed out with a curved dagger, aiming for Madam Qu's side. Qu twisted her torso, letting the blade scrape past her armor, barely avoiding a deeper cut. She responded with a quick backhand slash, forcing the girl to retreat with a silent glide.
And then—again.
From behind, the white-masked youth lunged forward, silent as death. His fist shot out like a spear toward her spine, but she twisted at the last second, raising her blade to intercept. The fist met steel, light flaring once again on his arms, the shockwave jarring her elbow and nearly knocking her off balance.
They were coordinated. Too coordinated.
Each time she struck one, the other two moved to flank her. The black-masked man held her attention with his aggressive strikes—wild, hot, furious—while the girl darted around the edges like a viper, striking when least expected. And the boy… he moved like a ghost, vanishing into the shadows of the chamber and reappearing only when her focus wavered.
Madam Qu's sword danced in the chaos, her movements efficient, honed by years of combat. She slashed, parried, stepped back, then advanced again—her blade always moving, her feet adjusting. She ducked under a flaming horizontal slash, countered with a rising cut that grazed the man's chest, then spun around to block a dagger aimed for her throat.
But she was slowing.
Her breathing grew heavier, her swings less crisp. Every parried blow sent aching reverberations through her arms. And her left thigh had been grazed earlier—it now burned with each movement.
She cursed under her breath.
They weren't rookies. Their footwork, their timing—it was clear. These three had experience. They fought like those who had seen real battlefields, not just mere duels. More than that, their synergy was perfect. The girl's silent attacks, the boy's ambushes, the man's raw ferocity—it was a storm that didn't let up.
She tried to break the rhythm. A feint slash low, a step inward—and she threw a brutal elbow into the white-masked boy's chin. It connected, staggering him back. She followed up with a slash toward the girl, who barely dodged it with a lean to the side. The black-masked man rushed her immediately, sword burning brighter.
She raised her blade just in time, the clash nearly numbing her hand. Her body ached, her Qi was thinning, and worst of all—her best techniques weren't enough.
"I don't have a single high-tier skill, she thought bitterly, dodging yet another strike. Damn the empire. They never gave me anything because I never kissed enough boots.".
Her sword lashed out in a desperate, sweeping arc, forcing all three back momentarily. She took a step back, breath ragged, eyes sharp.
The black-masked man stepped forward, unbothered. His sword pointed down, flames dripping off its edge like blood.
"I truly love tormenting you Zhao slaves—I really do," the man said, his voice tinged with twisted delight. "So when I got this mission, I Couldn't be happier. I saw it as a paid vacation."
Madam Qu's breathing was labored. Blood trickled from the cut on her arm, her stance still steady despite the pain. She tried to buy herself a moment, her voice low and cautious. "W-Wait. We can make a deal. How about this—you take the inheritance, and you claim I received reinforcements from the Empire. Say you were forced to flee. A believable excuse. It's a win for you, isn't it?"
The black-masked man paused. Then, with a slow chuckle, he replied, "Actually, that doesn't sound too bad. My love for money is definitely higher than my hate for you. Alright then—"
"You idiot," the girl beside him snapped, voice sharp and cold. "What the hell do you think you're doing?! My father—the leader—won't approve of this. You're playing with the organization's wealth, not your own! We're supposed to kill her and eliminate all witnesses. Don't you remember what the message said?"
Her words echoed in his mind, and for a second, his grin faded. He remembered.
That day in the forest, while watching Madam Qu from the shadows, a hawk had descended with a message tied to its leg. The note had been brief but heavy with implication: After the Chi Clan raid, the organization was compromised. The leader is joining a demonic sect as an external elder. All members are to return immediately.
But the girl didn't know that. Because he'd changed the message.
He wasn't stupid—he understood what that "invitation" meant. That safe position in the demonic sect was only for the upper circle: the leader, his loyalists, and their families. He wasn't one of them. Neither was White Mask. The moment they returned, they'd be silenced.
The girl, however, would live. She was a daughter of one of the organization's senior members.
That's why he'd altered the message. He told them the mission still stood—that they'd only return after it was done. Then he sent a false report claiming they were on the run from the Zhaorath Empire, buying more time for his plan.
Kill his two companions. Fake his death.and then Disappear.
He never intended to strike a deal with Madam Qu—he only wanted to drop her guard. Maybe, if she got desperate, she'd injure one of the others, make his plan easier.
He didn't fear this screaming worm—she was weaker than him. But White Mask was different. That boy was a mystery. Never gave a name except white mask. Always silent. Always watching. But his movements, the pressure he exuded in combat—there was real power behind the stillness.
In the blink of an eye, he moved.
His sword slashed across Madam Qu's shoulder in a surprise attack, blood spraying.
"DAAAMN BASTARD!" she cried, stumbling back, barely catching herself.
"Oh come on," he laughed, his tone gleeful. "Didn't I just say I love torturing Zhao slaves? You really thought I'd make a deal? Hahahahaha!"
The girl beside him stepped forward, expression twisted with frustration. "When are you going to stop with this nonsense and finish her already? We need to leave soon!"
"Alright, alright—you're such a fun-killer," he replied lazily. Ice began to form beneath his boots, spreading slowly across the ground. Frost curled over his blade. "I'll kill her quickly. But letting her scream a little won't do us any harm… right?"
The girl muttered under her breath, disgusted, "Sick bastard..."
White Mask remained silent, his face hidden, his presence unreadable. But his gaze never left the black-masked man.
And in the rising tension, beneath the cruel amusement and desperate breathing, something was beginning to shift.