The Cunning Treasure Hunter

"I knew this would happen, Kieran. Pretentious fool, boasting about being the Akrest Clan's Swordmaster, and now look at you. Kehehe…"

A hunched figure nudged Kieran's corpse with his foot.

Flies had already begun to gather.

At least two hours had passed since his death.

Now, the once-proud warrior was nothing more than a pale, blood-drained body.

"If you're an assassin, act like one. If you're a swordmaster, live like one. Otherwise, this is what happens."

His eyes gleamed with murderous intent, his crooked nose broken multiple times and twisted in various directions.

A deep scar ran across his face, evidence of a blade that had once slashed through his left cheek, leaving the wound crudely stitched.

He was Ezekiel, the Leader of Midnight Celestial Pavilion, an elite assassin unit under the Akrest Clan.

A disciple of the legendary Shadow Lord, he carried a reputation as the Shadow's Sole Blade.

Strapped to his back was a long, curved blade forged of Black Iron, a material similar to Profound Steel but darker and rarer.

Few dared to use Black Iron, and the reason lay at his feet: Ezekiel himself.

For over forty-five years, since the age of fifteen, he had trained in covert operations, executing missions with unparalleled precision.

His moniker, The Shadow's Sole Blade, had been earned forty years ago, and with it came a chilling reputation:

When someone wielded a Black Iron Blade, it meant one thing—they sought to kill without leaving a trace.

Many aspired to follow in his footsteps, idolizing his mastery of the Ten Thousand Ghosts Descend Sword Technique, a silent, ghostly art that left no sound as it carved through its target.

Combined with his perfected Shadow Veil Step, even the most seasoned warriors at the Martial Realm struggled to detect his attacks.

Indeed, Ezekiel had once slain a Martial Realm master in a single ambush.

"And this is why I refuse to accept Akrest Clan swordsmen into Midnight Celestial Pavilion."

He clicked his tongue in irritation.

This always happened.

They clung to their pride, boasting about their heritage while neglecting their training.

That damned Boundless Sky Sword they loved so much…

He sneered.

"You train all day in that flashy, ostentatious nonsense and ignore the Soul Slaughter Sword I taught you. No wonder you die like dogs."

If Kieran had mastered the Soul Slaughter Sword, he would have qualified to learn the Ten Thousand Ghosts Descend Sword Technique, a culmination of the assassin's art.
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But teaching martial artists deeply rooted in their own sect's techniques was an exercise in futility.

Even so, the Head of the Akrest Clan, Ebon Akrest, insisted.

"We cannot trust outsiders," he'd said. "The protectors of the clan must come from within."

Applications to join Midnight Celestial Pavilion surged, drawn by the allure of becoming the Akrest Clan's Shadow Blade, a position shrouded in mystique.

But the loyalty and affection these applicants had for the Akrest Clan became their greatest flaw.

They disregarded the assassin techniques of Midnight Celestial Pavilion, dismissing them as inferior.

And so, even warriors at the Supreme Realm, like Kieran, fell.

"And now, of course, it's my job to clean this mess."

Although Ebon Akrest was not the most insightful leader, he was cunning enough to plan contingencies.

Sending Kieran was just the first layer of his strategy.

"Everyone, show yourselves."

At Ezekiel's command, figures emerged from the shadows of the forest—

the elite assassins of Midnight Celestial Pavilion, the Night Shadows.

These were warriors who had abandoned all ties to the Akrest Clan, devoting themselves entirely to the art of assassination.

If the orders of their clan and Ezekiel clashed, they would obey him without hesitation.

Near Iron Fist Sect Temple, Mount of the Moon

Beneath the towering peaks of Mount of the Moon, a group of monks gathered.

It was clear they were waiting for someone.

"Sir Valen must have arrived ahead of us," remarked Master Nathaniel with a relaxed smile.

It dawned on Vera and Ethan that the monks were expecting them.

Their rescue of a Iron Fist Sect disciple had not gone unnoticed.

The Iron Fist Sect prided itself on meticulous gratitude and vengeance alike.

Nathaniel walked carefully, mindful of his own injuries.

The bleeding had stopped, and his internal injuries were under control, but sudden, forceful movements could worsen his condition.

"Do you think Senior Brother will be alright?"

Vera's voice was filled with worry.

She couldn't bear to lose another person. Marcus had risked his life to protect her, and the thought of losing him was unbearable.

"He will live, and his martial abilities will remain intact. Rest assured, young benefactor," replied Nathaniel.

"…Thank you," Vera murmured.

"You've already asked this, haven't you? If they say he's fine, then stop worrying," said Ethan, patting her back in an attempt to comfort her.

Though she nodded quietly, Ethan suspected she would ask again in a few hours.

As they approached Mount of the Moon, the monks became more distinct.

When they noticed Nathaniel carrying someone, they approached, joining their palms in respectful greeting.

"Homage to Infinite Light. Your disciple Arther has returned safely," said Abbot Gregory with a calm voice.

"Homage to Infinite Light. I was on my way back with three young disciples of the Suncrest Sect, who had been traveling with Sir Valen. Thank you for coming to our aid, Abbot," replied Nathaniel, bowing respectfully.

The Iron Fist Sect Monks Assemble

Abbot Gregory, the head of the Iron Fist Sect, stood before the group.

As Vera and Ethan clasped their hands in the gesture of respect, the abbot raised a hand to stop them.

"Thanks to your actions, we did not lose one of our own. However, it seems someone here has sustained grievous injuries..."

"After Sir Valen left, an assassin ambushed us," explained Nathaniel.

At the mention of this, Valen's brow furrowed deeply.

It was a clear sign of his anger at being manipulated.

"Say that again? Who attacked whom?" he demanded.

"It was an assassin from Bloodshadow Pavilion, Sir Valen. It seems someone deliberately arranged this to ensure you couldn't protect the young disciples of Suncrest Sect," replied Nathaniel calmly.

"Hah! They even dared to harm a disciple of Iron Fist? As expected of Bloodshadow Pavilion..." he said with a snarl, his frustration evident.

"Did you save the children yourself, monk?" he asked.

"No, I did not."

"…Then, don't tell me—"

"Yes. These young disciples fought off the assassin themselves and emerged victorious. The assassin was killed," said Nathaniel, his tone steady.

Shock Among the Monks

A wave of murmurs rippled through the gathered monks.

Bloodshadow Pavilion was known for producing assassins who did not venture into the world until they reached the Peak Realm.

Their ambushes were so swift and cunning that even warriors of the same level often struggled to defend against them.

In other words, surviving and defeating a Bloodshadow Pavilion assassin required someone at least at the Supreme Realm.

"Are you saying these young disciples of Suncrest Sect survived an ambush by a Bloodshadow Pavilion assassin and even defeated him?" one of the monks asked, disbelief coloring his tone.

"I've heard rumors recently. It is said Suncrest Sect now has a genius unlike any other in the mortal world," added another monk.

"They say she even defeated the Young Master of the Akrest Clan!"

At this, Valen turned his gaze toward Vera.

"Explain to me what happened," he demanded.

"The assassin… didn't ambush us," Vera began hesitantly.

"What?"

"Strangely, he walked out from the forest and attacked us head-on..."

The monks exchanged puzzled glances, their murmurs rising once again.

Even Valen seemed momentarily stunned.

A direct attack from an assassin?

The very idea seemed absurd.

"...At that moment, Senior Brother Marcus threw himself into the fight to create an opening," she continued.

"I see. Forgive me for not being there," said Valen, his tone somber.

"No, Sir Valen. You have done enough," replied Vera, bowing her head.

Though she offered words of gratitude, she couldn't suppress the resentment she felt deep within her.

Owing her life to Valen? The thought alone was unbearable.

If his presence could have prevented Marcus's injuries, she would have chosen that outcome without hesitation.

...But even so, her feelings of distaste were unavoidable.

"Now is not the time for talk. We must bring the injured disciple inside immediately," said Abbot Gregory, breaking the tense atmosphere.

The monks quickly moved to assist.

Carrying the still-unconscious Marcus on his back, Nathaniel began ascending Mount of the Moon, step by careful step.

His movements were deliberate, ensuring that the injured boy's body would not be jostled.

Far Away, in Suncrest

Among the Five Great Mountains, Suncrest stood as the Western Peak, famed for its stunning rocky landscapes.

At its highest point, the Southern Summit soared into the sky.

At its base, amidst a rugged terrain of rocks, stood Gideon, accompanied by his successor Magnus and Magnus's disciple, Aetheris.

"Look there," said Gideon, pointing toward a massive cave below the Southern Summit.

The entrance was unnaturally smooth, as though carved by a master craftsman. The walls and ceiling of the cave were equally pristine, the slope leading inward steep but unchanging.

"Master, is that..."

"Silence, Aetheris. What you suspect is correct," said Gideon, his tone stern.

At this revelation, Aetheris's face went pale.

Even as a disciple of Magnus, the next successor of Suncrest, he was keenly aware of his own limitations.

Such a place was not meant for someone of his rank to tread.

"Let us descend," said Gideon, taking the lead.

The moment they stepped into the cave, even by a single step, an overwhelming aura of demonic energy pierced their senses.

The air felt dense and oppressive, each breath constricting their lungs like an invisible vice.

"Khrrr..." groaned Gideon, his expression tightening.

"Are you alright, Master?" asked Magnus, his voice laced with concern.

"I'll manage. You and Aetheris, circulate your Clear Mind Technique before proceeding any further," he instructed.

Drawing upon his own inner energy, Gideon activated the profound Purple Mist Divine Art, a technique that imbued his internal energy with the strength to resist demonic auras.

A violet glow enveloped his body, radiating like the light of a setting sun.

"...Now, you may enter," he said firmly.

With their techniques active, Magnus and Aetheris cautiously followed their master into the depths of the cave.