Chapter 4
Flames licked the trees like hungry tongues.
They spread fast—too fast.
Within seconds, the outer edge of Wutai was swallowed in orange. Villagers screamed as sparks rained from the branches above, and the crisp air turned thick with smoke.
Rui didn't move.
He couldn't—not yet.
Jiang Fei stood at the forest's edge, calm, composed, a storm behind his eyes.
Yan Zhi stepped up beside Rui, blades drawn, her eyes scanning the fireline.
"No monks this time," she muttered.
"He doesn't need them," Rui said darkly. "That scroll in his hand—that's a Sect Summoning Scroll."
"What's it do?"
Rui's jaw tightened. "Calls something worse than monks."
---
Jiang unrolled the scroll fully and slammed his palm into it.
The parchment burned with a crimson glow and dissolved into ash.
The ground shook.
And the fire stopped—mid-air.
Flames froze, twisted upward like red serpents suspended in time. The trees bent inward. The wind died.
And then, from the smoke, they came.
At first, just silhouettes—hulking, slow-moving.
Then the shapes solidified.
Steel statues.
Each one over seven feet tall, armor blackened and cracked, joints stitched together with glowing red wire. Their faces were blank iron masks, each marked with the Azure Dragon sigil—but twisted, deformed, like something was wrong with the carving.
Yan Zhi inhaled sharply. "What... are those?"
Rui swallowed hard. "Sect Warden Puppets. We weren't even supposed to know they existed."
"They look like corpses."
"They are."
---
The Warden Puppets stepped into the village with thunderous weight. The ground cracked beneath them.
One turned to a villager who had fallen, crawling to safety.
With mechanical precision, the puppet raised its arm—and drove a spike through the man's back.
Rui flinched.
The scream didn't even echo. It was swallowed by the fire.
"You call this loyalty?" Rui shouted across the flames.
Jiang didn't blink. "I call it order."
He stepped closer, smoke curling around him like a cloak. "This village hides outlaws. It harbors a traitor. And the Dragon Pulse you stole belongs to the sect—not you."
Rui's pulse pounded in his ears. "You want the pulse back? Fine. Come take it."
---
He launched forward.
The Dragon Pulse surged to life, blue fire erupting along his arms. His feet barely touched the ground as he spun through the air toward the nearest Warden Puppet.
"Third Form—Falling Fang!"
He drove his fist down like a hammer.
The ground shattered on impact, sending the puppet flying into the well, stone and metal exploding into fragments.
But two more charged at him, fast for their size. One swung a massive blade made of bonesteel.
Rui ducked low, slid beneath its legs, then vaulted upward, twisting mid-air.
The second puppet grabbed him by the throat.
"Shit—"
Its grip was like iron. Searing heat flowed into his neck. His veins flared red.
Before he passed out, a crescent blade whirled through the air—Yan Zhi's throw.
It sliced clean through the puppet's elbow joint. Sparks flew as the arm dropped. Rui broke free, landing hard on his side.
Yan Zhi caught her returning blade like it was routine.
"Focus!" she shouted. "They're feeding on energy!"
"What?"
"The more you use the pulse, the stronger they get!"
---
He looked around.
It was true.
Every time he released flame, the puppets shimmered brighter—red cracks pulsing along their bodies like veins of molten steel.
"They're absorbing spiritual power," he realized aloud.
Jiang smiled across the flames. "Did you really think we would abandon the pulse without safeguards?"
Rui's jaw clenched.
"Then I'll burn without spirit."
He tightened his fists.
And began using his body—raw martial technique.
He ducked beneath a puppet's swing, planted a foot on its knee, and launched upward, cracking his elbow into its jaw. The mask fractured.
Another charged him—he caught its blade between his palms, bled instantly, but twisted the hilt and threw it off-balance.
A kick to the knee.
A palm strike to the core.
A final stomp to the head.
The puppet fell—sparking.
---
But there were still five more.
Yan Zhi fought with terrifying precision—two blades flashing like mirrors, dancing through opponents twice her size.
Rui backed her up, moving in tandem.
Each puppet they dropped took longer to rise.
But they always rose.
And the fire kept growing.
Wutai was collapsing.
Smoke blanketed the air, turning breaths into coughing fits. The villagers were running, crying, dragging the wounded behind them.
A mother clutched a baby, screaming for help as a puppet marched toward her.
Rui didn't hesitate.
He leapt into the air, flipped over the puppet, and drove a boot into its back.
It staggered forward—straight into Yan Zhi's blade.
The puppet collapsed.
The baby cried louder.
But it was alive.
---
"Rui!" Yan Zhi's voice was sharp.
He turned.
Jiang was gone.
In his place, a burning seal hovered in the sky—cracking open like a rift.
From it, a new presence emerged.
Not a puppet. Not a monk. Not a man.
It was cloaked in white armor. No face. No feet. Just floating. And its aura crushed the air around it.
Rui's body shivered instinctively.
"What is that?" Yan Zhi whispered.
Rui's mouth felt dry. "It's a Sect Executioner."
"You've seen one before?"
"No," he said. "Because no one survives long enough to talk about it."
---
The Executioner raised a hand.
All the fallen puppets rose in unison—repaired.
"No," Rui breathed.
The Executioner moved toward them, slow but unstoppable.
Yan Zhi gripped her blades tighter. "Run?"
"They'll kill the villagers."
"And we'll die trying to stop that thing!"
Rui stepped forward. "Then I'll die standing."
He closed his eyes.
And did what he swore not to do.
He released the full Dragon Pulse.
His body exploded in blue-white flame.
Power surged through his bones, burning every nerve.
The world slowed.
He stepped once—and vanished.
Appeared behind the Executioner—and struck with both palms.
Dragon Breath – Final Gate.
The energy blasted the ground apart. A crater opened where the Executioner floated.
But it didn't fall.
It turned. Reached out. Touched Rui's chest.
And smiled—though it had no face.
Pain shot through his ribs.
His vision dimmed.
Then hands grabbed him—Yan Zhi.
She dragged him back as the Executioner raised its arm to finish the job.
But something in the sky interrupted it.
A sound.
A roar.
A real one.
From the clouds above, a massive shadow descended.
Wings.
Scales.
Eyes of thunder.
A dragon—not spirit, not metaphor.
Real.
It slammed into the ground between them and the Executioner, flames erupting from its jaws.
The Executioner reeled back.
The puppets short-circuited.
And Rui blacked out.
He woke to silence—then a voice whispering into his mind:
> "You carry my pulse, little heir. But you're not the only one. And the others… There will come for you.