Chapter Six: The Desolate Land

As time passed, three figures inexplicably appeared around Soul Sparrow. Their attire was uniform, yet the colors were distinctly layered—one in red, one in black, and one in gray. The red was like congealed blood, motionless and ominous; the black, an ethereal shadow, leaned against a tree, a green leaf dangling from his lips in stark contrast to his dark garb. The last, unlike the other two who had blades strapped to their backs, bore nothing but his hands clasped behind him; save for a pair of deep gray eyes, his features were entirely obscured, crouched like a beast ready to spring at the slightest opportunity.

Bai Qi’s gaze fixed on these three sudden arrivals, his heart thudding in alarm. These people looked like hired assassins—mercenaries for whom no price was too great if it meant finding Kun. Such killers had never been seen before. The East’s strength had forged rules of steel, forbidding such assassins by decree. Hiring them not only veiled the mastermind’s identity but also tangled the lawless networks of the Great Tang, creating spiderwebs of chaos, which the state strove to eradicate. That Soul Sparrow had summoned them meant his intentions went beyond simply assassinating Kun—there was more at stake.

Bai Qi cared little for the rest; the immediate problem was how to escape with Kun—an almost certain deathtrap.

Kun shifted his stance, half his body deliberately shielding Bai Qi, his posture hunched in a protective guard.

At that moment, the gray-clad assassin advanced with measured steps, every stride exactly a foot, coming to stand beside Soul Sparrow. With a cold, mocking tone, he said, “Soul Sparrow, this isn’t your usual style. Though our connection is only business, losing an intermediary in pursuit of profit makes future deals far more complicated.”

Soul Sparrow’s face twisted with fury at the jibe, his features contorted as he snarled, “Mind your own business. Do as our patron commands: take the Guangling Silence Zither from Kun’s hands and deliver it to our employer—then you can get lost.” As he spoke, black spiritual energy surged around him.

Gradually, vortex-like currents gathered around Soul Sparrow from all directions, spreading like a spider’s legs.

“Ming Soul’s Temporal Sunder!” he shouted. Instantly, the expanding energies snapped back in on themselves, condensing into a black skull that surged toward Bai Qi and Kun.

As the skull hurtled forward, its speed left only afterimages in its wake. Just as its savage maw drew within a few paces, Kun’s lips moved in silent incantation. Around them, a bell materialized, its mouth aimed at the oncoming skull. Waves of sound pulsed forth—intangible, yet resonant and forceful. In mere heartbeats, the bell’s vibrations consumed and dissipated Soul Sparrow’s attack entirely.

Soul Sparrow stood stunned that his strike had vanished in so brief an instant, his fists clenching until the joints cracked audibly.

He snorted coldly. “Soulfall Trap!” Another attack burst forth. Four pillars of solid darkness shot up around Bai Qi and Kun, forming a square. The pillars attracted one another, merging into four thin walls, trapping the two within.

Bai Qi was awed by Soul Sparrow’s endless repertoire. Kun, silent, watched the shifting spiritual energy, his hand gathering yellow energy into crystalline spheres—clear as ice. Two yellow orbs circled the pair, crisscrossing, their speed mounting rapidly. Soul Sparrow saw Kun forming a hollow yellow sphere within the barrier, swelling at alarming speed.

With a thunderous crash, the yellow sphere forced the black walls apart, shattering them like glass. The shockwave hurled Soul Sparrow backward, blood spraying from his lips and tracing an arc through the air. His body slammed to the ground, leaving fissures in the earth.

Seeing Soul Sparrow’s arrogance come to ruin before Kun, the three assassins vanished instantly, the air tearing with their speed. They formed a three-pronged attack, converging on Kun and Bai Qi.

Assassins squander no opportunity. Silent and swift as shadows, they strike without mercy. Soul Sparrow’s attacks had been straightforward enough, but the real reason for his defeat was the poison Bai Qi had previously injected into his veins—not potent in venom, but designed to numb the nerves and erode spiritual power. The more one relied on spiritual energy, the faster it devoured reserves, leaving the victim crippled and spent.

The trio, however, were ruthless and efficient. Within two or three steps of Kun, they vanished again. Kun shouted, “Damn! Bai’er, be careful!”

Their target was clear—the one Kun shielded: Bai Qi. Although Bai Qi saw them approaching, at such close range their disappearance left him no time to react. In an instant, the gray-clad assassin materialized behind him, a dull, oppressive gray energy gathering in his palm—emotionless, formless, like a blade thin as a cicada’s wing, slicing toward Bai Qi’s throat in slow motion.

Assassins of their caliber recognized it at once: the silent resonance of the Guangling Silence Zither’s string, defending its master by slowing time’s flow. All but the zither’s owner were caught within its radius.

The gray-clad killer realized his sudden disadvantage. Bai Qi, understanding this, twisted away, pulling Kun aside. In that slowed moment, the red and black assassins’ blades missed Kun by mere inches—a hair’s breadth from disaster.

The duel with Soul Sparrow had depleted much of Kun’s strength. Had the formation trapped them been truly lethal, they would have already fallen. Perhaps Soul Sparrow underestimated his adversary’s resilience. The three assassins, their eyes burning with frustration, finally grasped why their employer had paid such a steep price to capture—or failing that, kill—these two. All for a treasure they’d only heard of in whispers, its true power unknown. Now, resolved to finish the task, they unleashed their deadliest skills.

As Bai Qi withdrew, the assassins resumed their attack, though their strike found only empty air. Bai Qi wondered if the zither would shield them again, or whether its power was spent. In the past, Kun had only said the instrument’s true strength would reveal itself ‘when the time was right,’ and refused to elaborate. Now, pressed to the limit, they could only muster what spiritual energy remained, injuries forgotten, prepared for a desperate fight.

At this moment, the gray assassin’s voice bristled with rage—a man unused to failure, his pride demanding blood in recompense. He snarled, “Red, Black, no more delay. Let’s combine our arts!” As he spoke, the other two moved in practiced unison, murmuring incantations as their steps traced precise patterns. In an instant, molten black and red energy surged from the earth around them, radiating intense heat and desiccating the surrounding air and soil.

The gray assassin, swift as a phantom, merged his energy between them. The three powers fused, forming a deep, inky darkness threaded with sinister streaks of blood-red.

The destructive force unleashed was overwhelming, as if it would swallow the world itself. Wave after wave of chilling energy swept over them: the cold of death, the despair and agony of countless victims, their final screams echoing from the depths of the soul. The wails of unnumbered vengeful spirits filled the air, encircling Bai Qi and Kun.

Kun, too, was shaken by the assassins’ methods—after a lifetime in the martial world, never had he imagined such complexity. He knew brute force alone could not prevail. All he could do was gather what spiritual strength remained to shield himself, though it was a feeble defense at best.

Bai Qi saw the resignation in Kun’s eyes and could not accept dying here—not when he had yet to survive, yet to return home, back to his own world, back to the one he loved most. Tears blurred his vision, mixing with the blood congealing at the corner of his mouth, thinning to a crimson stain.

As blood and tears mingled, a droplet fell from his chin, landing on the hidden pattern on his chest—a mark he had borne for years.