"He blew first."
Rykarion said it like it was obvious. Like the flames licking at the cracked floorboards were just background noise to the real point.
Meyra's jaw tightened.
"But that doesn't mean you had to make it this loud," she snapped, stepping over the splinters. "You could've just—I don't know—incapacitated him quietly? Maybe without blowing a man through a wall?"
Rykarion raised a brow.
"And miss the opportunity to flex?" He gave her a lazy grin. "Sorry, love. I'm not built like that."
Meyra narrowed her crimson eyes.
The flames behind her crackled like they agreed with him—and hated that they did.
She exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through her hair. "You're going to get me shut down."
He leaned against what was left of the doorframe, arms crossed, golden eyes still glowing faintly from the fight.
"You're welcome for the free renovation," he teased.
She glared at him. Then sighed, muttering something under her breath that sounded dangerously close to idiot.
Rykarion tilted his head, smirk still in place. "You know, for someone mad at me, you're standing real close."
She blinked—then realized she was.
His heat was still rolling off him like a slow, lazy fire. His chest, bare now from the Qi burst, shimmered slightly with golden light. Not from exertion. From power. Controlled. Contained.
She took one step back. Just one.
"Don't flatter yourself."
"Too late. You've already been staring longer than the guy I just sent flying."
She opened her mouth.
Then shut it.
Then huffed and turned away.
"You're lucky he's still breathing," she muttered, walking over to the crumpled figure embedded in the next room's wreckage. Her dagger shimmered faintly as she crouched down and flipped the body.
Rykarion walked beside her, silent for a moment.
"…Silverthorn Sect," he said, eyeing the faint emblem burned into the disciple's belt. "Figures."
Meyra checked his pulse, then leaned back.
"Alive. But he'll wish he wasn't when he wakes up."
She looked up at him.
"So what now? You planning to finish him off?"
Rykarion didn't answer at first.
He looked out the shattered window, where the city night was still glowing with lanterns and the soft hush of the streets.
Then:
"No."
She raised a brow. "Merciful now, are we?"
He shook his head.
"If I kill him, they'll send another. Stronger. Angrier. Maybe smarter."
He stepped away, sliding his robe back over his shoulder, golden threads trailing behind him like molten lines.
"But if I send him back…"
He looked over his shoulder, and this time his smile wasn't playful.
It was sharp.
"—they'll realize this wasn't just some nameless rogue they messed with."
Meyra stared at him for a long second.
And then she laughed. Low. Almost admiring.
"Gods, you really are dangerous."
Rykarion turned his back to her and walked toward the ruined bed like it was nothing.
"I warned you."
---
Elsewhere… Minutes Later
Xuan Feng stood near the east canal, arms folded, impatience growing by the second.
Then a whistle cut through the alley.
The second disciple—scar-lipped—rushed in from the street, pale and panting.
"Well?" Xuan Feng barked.
The disciple hesitated.
"…He's still alive. Barely. But… he's not the one who walked back."
Xuan Feng's eyes narrowed.
"Then who—?"
And then they saw it.
Carried through the street by two patrolling guards, half-conscious, bloody, robes burned through. Slung like trash.
It was their spy.
Xuan Feng's jaw dropped.
The disciple was dumped near the city patrol post, barely breathing, a slip of charred parchment pinned to his chest.
It read:
"Next time, knock."
Xuan Feng crushed the note in his fist, his face red with rage.
Xuan Feng stormed down the empty street, the crushed note still clenched in his fist, veins pulsing on his temple. Lanterns hanging from shopfronts flickered as he passed, disturbed by the pressure leaking off him like boiling steam.
He didn't speak.
Didn't breathe right.
Just walked fast—straight through the market paths, past startled vendors and sleepy guards. His robes snapped behind him like whips, and his spiritual aura simmered, barely held back.
By the time he reached the Silverthorn Sect compound, he was shaking.
He kicked open the great hall doors.
BANG!
The sound echoed through the stone chamber like thunder.
Inside, elder disciples jolted to attention. A few guards drew closer, but stopped when they saw his face. Red. Tense. Wild.
At the center of the room, high on his seat carved from jade and bone, sat Xuan Lie, Sect Master. Cloaked in dark silver robes, a large fan resting in his lap, beard trailing down like white smoke. Calm. Composed. Eyes closed.
He didn't open them.
Not even when his son shouted:
"He humiliated me!"
The whole room stilled.
Xuan Lie's fingers slowly tapped the armrest of his throne.
"…I assume you're talking about the one you went after without permission?"
"He sent my spy back through the streets like garbage," Xuan Feng barked. "In front of guards. In front of everyone. He didn't even kill him. Just threw him back—with a note."
He slammed the charred parchment onto the polished floor.
"Next time, knock."
Xuan Lie opened his eyes.
Golden.
Sharp.
He stared at the note. Then at his son.
And he said nothing for a long moment.
"Who is he?" he asked finally, voice deep and cold.
Xuan Feng hesitated. "I don't know his name. But he walked into Moonveil like he owned it. Long silver hair. Carried no badge. No sect. Nothing. But his aura…"
He gritted his teeth.
"…It wasn't Foundation Realm. It felt like it. But it moved wrong. Like it wasn't supposed to be quiet. Like it was holding itself back."
The room shifted slightly.
Even the elders leaned in now.
Xuan Lie raised one brow.
"You think he's from the upper realms?"
"No," Xuan Feng said, quieter now. "I don't think he's from anywhere near us at all."
He swallowed.
"His flames weren't normal. Not just Qi fire. Something else. Something… older."
A silence followed that.
Then one of the seated elders spoke.
"But he's human, yes?"
"Looks human," Xuan Feng muttered. "Walks like one. Talks like one. But…"
He shook his head.
"I've never seen a human move like that."
Xuan Lie stood slowly.
The entire hall felt colder as he did. Like winter rolled in through cracks in the stone.
"Then you made a mistake," he said.
Xuan Feng looked up. "Father—"
"You thought you could drag a wild beast from its den just because you didn't recognize its name. But now it has your scent."
Xuan Lie walked down the steps of the hall. Each one silent. Heavy.
He stopped in front of his son.
And placed a hand on his shoulder.
"But we are not afraid of beasts," he said. "Even if they wear a human face."
Xuan Feng looked into his father's eyes.
"What do we do?"
Xuan Lie's lips curled into a thin, calculated smile.
"We invite him."