The first thing Shadow felt was warmth—not the searing agony of lightning, but the soft cradle of healing Qi. It flowed gently through his limbs, steady and refined, stitching bone and sinew with precision.
He opened his eyes slowly.
The ceiling above him was of polished jade, its edges inlaid with bronze patterns depicting the imperial sun and a sword crest. Warm light spilled through a latticed window, dancing with dust motes.
He lay on a bed layered with medicinal silks. Bandages wrapped tightly around his ribs and thigh, stained with a faint golden hue—evidence of alchemical salves. His blade rested nearby, cleaned and set upon a lacquered stand.
A man sat beside him.
Not the City Lord.
This one was younger. Broad-shouldered, dressed in black robes marked with the Mourning Wind City sigil—a twisting whirlwind beneath a steel crown. His face was sharp, serious.
> "You're awake," the man said. "Good. City Lord said you'd rise by dawn."
Shadow blinked, his throat dry. "Where am I?"
"Imperial Recovery Wing. Inside Mourning Wind City's inner citadel."
Shadow tried to sit up and groaned as pain flared across his side. The man stopped him gently.
> "Don't move too much. Your left rib was shattered. And your thigh... torn nearly to the bone."
A pause.
> "You're lucky you didn't bleed out."
Shadow exhaled. "The assassin..."
"Gone. Likely back to whoever paid him. The City Lord sent hawks already. If he shows again, he'll die on our soil."
Shadow's fingers curled. "Who is the City Lord?"
The man looked at him a moment, then replied, "Zhao Fenglan. General of the Southern Empire's Eastern Watch. Former disciple of the Imperial Sword Pavilion."
Shadow blinked.
That name... carried weight.
> "He saved me."
The man nodded. "He does that. Especially for cultivators like you."
Shadow frowned. "What do you mean?"
The man rose, stepping to the door. "Rest today. He'll speak with you himself."
Before leaving, he added, "Also… the city knows who you are."
And then he was gone.
---
Outside the room, Mourning Wind buzzed with unease.
Reports of a cloaked killer flashing through the cliffs had spread. Many believed Shadow to be a fugitive from the capital. Others whispered he was one of the 'unseen heirs' of a sect war.
Whatever the truth, one fact had stirred every courtyard:
A cultivator had survived an assassin from the Muscle and Skin Forging Realm.
And he was still alive.
As for Zhao Fenglan—the reason he had been outside the city at all—was tied directly to the looming threat of the Purple Devil Sect.
The City Lord of Mourning Wind didn't just command from towers. He patrolled his lands personally, watching the borders and forests where demonic sect members often stirred. It was during one such sweep that he arrived just in time to stop Shadow's execution.
Some called it fate.
Others, the will of the heavens.
---
That evening, Shadow was escorted to the City Lord's hall. The wound at his side still ached, but he walked unaided.
The inner hall was wide and warm, adorned with crimson banners and floor-to-ceiling windows that opened onto a view of the distant canyons. A table had been set, laden with tea, fruit, and medicinal broth.
Zhao Fenglan stood by the window, arms folded behind his back. He turned as Shadow entered.
> "You walk with the will of thunder," he said calmly. "Good. You survived. That alone earns my respect."
Shadow bowed deeply. "This junior thanks City Lord Zhao for his great kindness. If not for your timely intervention, my bones would be buried in that canyon."
Zhao waved a hand. "Spare the flattery. I did what was right. The fault lies with those who chased you like a dog across my borders."
He motioned for Shadow to sit.
They drank in silence for a moment before Zhao spoke again.
> "You trained under Elder Yan, didn't you?"
Shadow blinked. "You knew him?"
Zhao's eyes grew distant. "We shared a battlefield, once. Your master was a noble man. Steady. Brave. Loyal beyond words."
His voice tightened.
> "And to think that snake you call a Sect Master cast you aside after all Elder Yan did for that sect… Hmph. Greedy bastard. Typical of those who sit too long on thrones built from bones."
Shadow clenched his fists. "I wanted to do more for him. I still do."
Zhao nodded solemnly. "And you will. But first, tell me—why did you come here?"
Shadow raised his eyes slowly.
> "To grow stronger. And to face the Purple Devil Sect with my own blade."
Zhao's brows rose, impressed. "Not a light ambition. You've chosen a path few dare to walk."
Shadow nodded. "I've walked alone before. I'll walk again if I must."
The City Lord leaned back, observing him quietly for a moment, then gave a small smile.
> "We may have something in common after all."
He poured more tea and gestured to a map rolled out on the table, marked with red flags and sect emblems.
> "These are the confirmed movements of the Purple Devil Sect in our region. If you want war, then you'll have to understand the battlefield first. We don't fight shadows—we burn them out at the root."
Shadow's eyes scanned the map. "What are you planning?"
Zhao smiled faintly. "Something that requires blades. Quiet feet. And men who aren't afraid to die."
He stood, his tone deepening.
> "Rest tonight. Tomorrow, if you can walk, we'll see what storm you really bring."
---
**End of Chapter 81 – Ashen Wake**