Two days had vanished into the ether. Jiang Dao remained sequestered in his room, lost in the labyrinth of his own mind. He was trying to weave two martial arts together, but it was like trying to braid smoke and steel. Fusing the two saber styles had been instinctual, a dance between cousins. This, however, was a clumsy collision of worlds—a brutal staff technique and a fluid saber art. He wanted to keep the best of both, a feat that felt less like training and more like trying to touch the heavens. The fusion remained stubbornly out of reach.
Jiang Dao's eyes opened in the dim light of his room, a flicker of frustration giving way to a new line of thought. If I can't have it all, I'll take one perfect piece. The fourth level of the Mad Demon Staff technique, known only as Sha—a pure, malevolent aura—could be the ultimate killing stroke if he could just embed it into his Blood-Shadow Saber form. The first three levels? They were noisy. He could discard them.
The idea solidified. He closed his eyes, ready to dive back into his mental forge.
Just then, footsteps approached his door.
"Young Master," Pang Lin's voice called out, respectful but tinged with excitement. "I found the saber you wanted. I think you'll want to see this."
Jiang Dao rose from his meditation, pulled on his boots, and unlatched the door.
Pang Lin presented a long, hide-wrapped object. "I turned Fengzhou City upside down for this. Found it in a dusty old shop in the West City. It's supposedly forged from Xuan Iron, strong enough to cut through lesser metals like mud. I tested it myself—it's a world apart from common steel."
Jiang Dao took the bundle. It was heavy, easily thirty pounds. He gripped the hilt and drew the blade in a single, fluid motion. A low, resonant singing filled the air. It wasn't a blade that flashed with light; it was forged from a dark, black metal that seemed to drink the light around it, giving it a profound, ancient feel. The spine was thick and heavy, tapering to a razor-sharp edge.
"A fine blade," Jiang Dao said, his voice low with appreciation. He ran a thumb cautiously near the edge. "But can it resist a strong poison?"
"That… I didn't get a chance to test," Pang Lin admitted with a grimace.
Jiang Dao walked into the courtyard. With a casual, almost dismissive arc, he swung the saber at a heavy stone table. There was no jarring clang of impact, only a soft thwump.
The corner of the heavy stone table simply… fell away. The cut was glass-smooth, a perfect plane of severed rock.
He lifted the blade, inspecting the edge in the daylight. It was flawless. Not a single mark, not a whisper of a chip. A normal blade would have been blunted, if not ruined. This was something else entirely.
"Excellent work, Master Pang. I'm in your debt."
"Not at all, Young Master!" Pang Lin bowed, clasping his hands. His respect for Jiang Dao had long since morphed into a deep, unshakable awe. He had seen what the young man could do, and he knew it defied all logic. You could train for a hundred lifetimes and never touch that kind of power. Jiang Dao wasn't just skilled; he was something other than human.
Suddenly, a raw, grating noise filtered in from the front courtyard. It was the sound of voices—one a brutish roar, the other a wheezing, sinister laugh.
Jiang Dao's brow furrowed. "What is that?"
"Trouble, by the sound of it," Pang Lin said, his face hardening.
Gripping his new saber, Jiang Dao moved. He didn't run; he flowed toward the sound, Pang Lin right at his heels.
The voices grew clearer.
"What, the great Jiang family can't spare a few taels of silver? We're not here to rob you, just to borrow a little something for the road. Or are you too good for us? Is that it?"
"Heh heh, throwing a feast for the whole city but not us, eh? A little disrespectful, don't you think? We're just here to collect the invitation you forgot. Don't be so stingy."
In the front yard, the scene was tense. Jiang Dalong, the family patriarch, was pale and shaking with rage. His top guards, Fang Biao and Wang Xingquan, were on the ground, clutching their sides and spitting up blood as others tried to help them.
"Get Dao'er," Jiang Dalong hissed through clenched teeth. "Now!" He couldn't believe the audacity. Some gutter-born Jianghu thugs thought they could shake down his family? He knew his flashy feast at the Radiant Sun Tower had been a mistake, a beacon for every parasite in the city.
He knew calling the city guard was a fool's gambit. These weren't common thieves; they were wolves of the Jianghu, desperate and dangerous. Annoying them could easily turn a robbery into a massacre. His son was the only answer.
A servant, his face panicked, intercepted them before they even reached the courtyard. "Young Master! Intruders! They've hurt Guards Wang and Fang!"
"They're courting death," Pang Lin snarled, breaking into a run.
A cold smile touched Jiang Dao's lips. Extortion? At my home? This should be interesting.
They burst into the front courtyard. Six men stood there, masked and clad in black. They were a motley crew of shapes and sizes, armed with a chaotic assortment of weapons. Their eyes, however, were universally hard and cruel. One, a one-eyed man with a vicious scar cleaving his face in two, seemed to be their leader.
"You dare bring your filth to the Jiang family's door?" Pang Lin roared, not bothering with pleasantries. He launched himself forward, his iron staff whistling through the air as he brought it down on the nearest man.
"Coming to me?" the man sneered, his eyes flashing. SHIING! His own saber was out, and he met Pang Lin's charge head-on.
The air cracked as iron met steel, sending a shower of sparks into the air. The impact sent a paralyzing jolt up both their arms. As Pang Lin staggered back, preparing his next move, a shadow detached itself from the group. With a predatory grin, another thug slammed a palm strike squarely between Pang Lin's shoulder blades.
The sound was a sickening thump. Pang Lin coughed up a spray of blood and was thrown across the yard like a broken doll.
"Hahaha! Is that your champion? Pathetic!" the attacker crowed, landing lightly on his feet. The others joined in his mocking laughter.
The swordsman who'd blocked Pang Lin's initial attack advanced on his fallen form, the smirk on his face turning murderous. "Looks like the Jiang family needs a lesson in hospitality. You thought we wouldn't draw blood? Let me show you how wrong you are."
He lunged, his blade a silver blur aimed straight for Pang Lin's neck.
Then, the air itself seemed to thicken. A pressure, heavy and absolute, descended on the courtyard, making it hard to breathe. The swordsman's lunge faltered, his senses screaming at him.
Before he could even process the new presence, a massive figure stood over Pang Lin. It was Jiang Dao. His eyes were as cold and empty as a winter sky.
The swordsman watched, frozen, as Jiang Dao's hand—his bare hand—closed around the blade. Not the hilt. The blade itself.
There was a sound like cracking porcelain. The Xuan Iron saber, a weapon that could shear through stone, crumbled in Jiang Dao's grip, shattering into a dozen pieces. His fingers, unbloodied and unstoppable, continued their motion and clamped onto the thug's forehead.
A flicker of pure terror crossed the man's eyes. It was his last expression.
There was a wet, tearing sound. Jiang Dao didn't even seem to exert himself. He simply dug his fingers in and ripped a piece of the man's skull away, revealing the pale glisten of bone and brain beneath.
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the corpse aside. It landed in a heap in the corner, a discarded piece of trash. Jiang Dao calmly shook his hand, sending a spray of red and white against the cobblestones. His gaze, an electric current of pure killing intent, swept over the remaining five men.
His voice was deceptively calm.
"So… who's here to borrow money?"