The sound of sha-sha moved through the mist—unhurried, yet carrying a certain patience, like a predator gauging the distance to its prey.
Shen Lan's hand was already wrapped around his short blade, the edge cool against his palm.
The mist was thick, the red glow of the fire basins reduced to a faint, blurry halo. He slowly shifted his stance, his ears catching the faint scrape of metal—not the ring of weapons, but the sound of joints slipping in and out of place.
In the next heartbeat, the mist split.
A figure lunged out, its speed so great it seemed to cut directly out of the air. Its form was twisted, no taller than a man, but its limbs were unnaturally long. Its skin shone with a dark bluish luster, its fingers bound in metal rings, each sharpened like a beast's claws.
Shen Lan instinctively ducked—the wind from its strike brushed over his hair, carrying away a wisp of dampness.
He countered with a backward slash, the blade grazing its ribs and sending up a burst of gray-white sparks. It wasn't blood, but some kind of metallic scales being split open.
The creature hissed low, the sound wet and metallic between its teeth. Half its face was lost in the mist, leaving only a single gray-lit eye fixed on him—as if trying to burn his image into memory.
Shen Lan did not retreat. He stepped sideways, using the greenstone wall of the alley to push off, his body gliding along the wall as his blade rose from below, cutting toward the creature's neck.
Its reaction was unnaturally fast. Its head twisted sharply, body snapping back like a puppet with its strings cut—yet its claw whipped forward toward Shen Lan's abdomen.
—An opening.
Shen Lan's eyes narrowed. His wrist turned, the blade reversed, and with the force of his arm he severed the claw completely.
Instantly, a stench hit his nose—like burnt iron filings mixed with rotting seaweed. Black liquid dripped along the blade's edge onto the greenstone road, hissing softly as it touched, as though evaporating, releasing a thin wisp of black vapor.
The creature's scream was forcibly stifled into a low growl, as if afraid to alert the black market crowd. It suddenly flung its remaining claw, trying to leap onto the rooftops and flee.
"Too late."
Half crouched, Shen Lan pushed off the ground, surging forward. The tip of his blade parted the mist and drove precisely into its spine. In that instant, a subtle vibration ran through the weapon—like cutting into a live, electrified cable—cold and heat climbing the blade to his arm at the same time.
The creature froze, its gray-white eyes losing all focus. When its body collapsed into the mist, there was no sound of weight hitting the ground—only the sense of it dissolving into the fog, sending out a ripple that was unnaturally smooth. The air temperature in the mist dropped sharply, as if someone had blown an icy breath against the back of his neck.
Shen Lan stood still. The trace of black liquid on his blade was swallowed by the mist, vanishing quickly, leaving only air colder than before.
He exhaled slowly and sheathed his knife.
But just then, the mist behind him stirred faintly.
Without turning, his voice was low and cold:
> "If you're planning to ambush me, who's next?"
From deep within the fog, a faint talismanic glow flickered—the mist rippling subtly as the light steamed through it, eerily similar to the patrol talisman plates from earlier. The moment the light appeared, an almost inaudible pulsing came from within the mist, its rhythm heavy and steady, like the slow beat of a massive heart behind the fog.
Shen Lan's shoulders and back tensed instantly, his fingers tightening around the hilt once more, his whole being like a fully drawn bowstring—ready to be loosed at any moment.