As Ming and the others moved toward the nearby village, Gluttony naturally took the lead.
He knew this land.
With every step, his unease grew.
Something's wrong…
When I was in the army, there were always at least two or three platoons guarding this wall.
So how did it become like this in just one year?
His thoughts were interrupted when Wrath suddenly pointed ahead.
"There—look. The village."
Everyone's eyes turned forward.
The village stood there… but it felt wrong.
Thin black smoke rose from every corner.
Envy squinted.
"Is someone's house burning?"
Gluttony's expression darkened instantly.
"No," he said sharply. "Bandits."
The moment the word left his mouth, he ran.
Years of battlefield experience screamed the truth at him.
He had seen this scene too many times before.
The others followed—running hard.
All except Ming.
Ming continued forward at an unhurried pace, his steps steady and calm.
When Gluttony reached the village, his worst fears were confirmed.
Bodies lay everywhere.
Men.
Women.
Children.
The bandits had spared no one.
Blood soaked the dirt. Flames raged through homes, devouring everything.
Wrath's eyes trembled.
She raised her hand, icy qi surging outward.
In moments, raging fires were sealed into towering crystals of ice, smoke frozen mid-air.
Greed stood still, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.
In this world, there was nothing he hated more than bandits.
They had killed his family.
And now… this scene dragged every painful memory back to the surface.
Envy and Gluttony rushed through the village, desperately searching.
"Anyone alive?"
"Is there a survivor?"
But the silence answered them.
Pride yawned, completely uninterested.
Then Ming arrived.
He looked over the bodies… calmly.
No sorrow.
No anger.
No shock.
He understood this world well.
In a world ruled by strength, the weak were trampled without mercy.
Ming walked to a nearby well, drew water, and drank.
Then he sat down beside it.
After some time, the others returned and silently drank as well, sitting near him.
Greed finally spoke, voice low.
"My lord… if you don't mind… may I bury them?"
Ming glanced at him briefly.
"Do as you wish."
Greed immediately stood and began digging with his bare hands.
Gluttony moved beside him.
"I'll help."
Envy joined as well.
Only Pride and Wrath remained seated beside Ming, unmoving.
The village stayed silent—
except for the sound of earth being turned…
and the unspoken weight of hatred growing heavier in the air.
As Greed gently laid down the body of a dead child, Gluttony's eyes narrowed.
"This is wrong," he said aloud.
Everyone turned to look at him.
"What do you mean?" Envy asked.
Gluttony took a slow breath, his voice heavy.
"First, there were no guards on the wall.
Now bandits slaughtering women and children."
He shook his head.
"If it were only men, I could understand.
Even women…" he paused, disgust flickering across his face.
"But children?"
They can be sold.
Silence followed.
His words sank deep.
Women and children were valuable alive.
Slaves.
Ransom.
Profit.
So why kill them?
As everyone stood there thinking, Greed continued burying the villagers—
one body after another.
With each corpse he laid to rest, his anger grew heavier.
Thicker.
Darker.
Black qi began to flicker around his body, unstable and violent, leaking through his skin like smoke.
Greed's hands trembled.
Not from exhaustion—
but from hatred.
After the burials were finished, Greed returned and sat beside the others.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, without lifting his head, he spoke.
"My lord… may I ask you something?"
Ming glanced at him.
"What is it?"
Greed's fists clenched. Black qi leaked faintly from between his fingers.
"Allow me to go and kill those bandits."
The words were calm—but his body trembled with rage.
Ming looked at him quietly.
"Did you know any of the villagers?"
Greed hesitated.
"…No."
"Then why do you want to avenge them?" Ming asked.
Greed raised his head, eyes burning.
"Because it's the right thing to do.
If we don't kill them, they'll slaughter even more innocents."
Ming shook his head slowly.
"In this world, there are no innocents," he said coldly.
"Only the strong… and the weak."
"The villagers were weak—so they died."
"The bandits were strong—so they lived."
"Justice has nothing to do with it."
Greed's jaw tightened, but before he could reply—
Hoofbeats thundered across the ground.
Everyone turned.
More than fifty men on horseback charged toward the village, weapons raised, laughter echoing in the smoke-filled air.
Their leader scanned the ruins, irritation on his face.
"How are there survivors?" he barked.
"Did you forget to check somewhere?"
One of the men hesitated.
"No, leader—"
"Forget it," the leader snapped.
His gaze shifted… and stopped.
A slow grin spread across his face as his eyes locked onto Wrath.
"Well," he laughed, licking his lips,
"Looks like my luck hasn't run out after all." The bandit leader raised his hand and barked a single order.
"Kill them all."
The riders charged.
Dust exploded beneath pounding hooves as fifty men rushed forward, blades drawn.
Greed stepped ahead instinctively—
—but Ming grabbed his shoulder.
"No," Ming said calmly.
"You'll give them a merciful death later."
Before Greed could understand those words, Ming stepped forward alone.
The bandits burst into laughter.
"Is he insane?"
"He doesn't even have a weapon!"
Ming walked straight toward the charging horses.
Then, in one smooth motion, his sword slid out from his shadow.
A flash.
The arm of the first bandit flew into the air.
The man didn't even scream—he only stared as blood poured from his shoulder.
Ming leapt, kicked him off the horse, landed on the saddle, and in the same breath—
Sheathed his sword.
Then unsheathed it again.
"Demon Art — Third Form."
Death Qi surged.
In a single flowing motion, Ming moved through the charging line.
Steel flashed like falling rain.
Hands.
Feet.
Every strike was precise.
Not a single bandit died.
But when Ming passed them—
Arms fell.
Legs collapsed.
Screams filled the air.
The leader's face drained of color.
"He's a martial master!" he screamed.
"Run!"
They fled.
Even though many of them were martial artists, all were only at the Inner Meridian Realm, lacking proper techniques.
Running was their only choice.
But Ming raised his hand.
His fingers closed.
"Death Art — Yin Twist."
Death Qi twisted through the ground.
Every fleeing bandit stiffened mid-run.
Bodies locked.
Qi froze.
Muscles failed.
One by one, they fell from their horses like broken puppets.
The horses bolted—
leaving fifty paralyzed men sprawled across the earth.
Silence.
Behind Ming, Wrath, Greed, Pride, Envy, and Gluttony stood frozen, eyes wide, staring at his back.
None of them spoke.
They were trying to understand—
What kind of monster their lord truly was.