In a dark alley, surrounded by abandoned houses and overgrown weeds, the air twisted unnaturally for a few seconds, then

  Poof!

  A figure collapsed onto the cold earth as smoke curled around him.

  Spurt!

  Blood gushed from his lips. Clutching his chest, the man fell to one side, propping himself up weakly with his trembling hand.

  Spurt! Spurt!

  More blood followed, splattering the dirt as his breathing grew ragged. His entire body quivered as he fought to stay conscious.

  Then, from the deeper shadows, a second figure emerged, cloaked and silent.

  The newcomer grabbed him by the collar like a sack of waste and vanished with a whisper of air.

  They reappeared in a vast, dimly lit hall. The atmosphere was cold and oppressive, like ancient stone soaked in killing intent.

  At the highest point of the room sat a throne, veiled in shadow.

  Below it, ten seats formed a hierarchy, five aligned on either side, descending step by step like a pyramid. Each one was occupied by a robed figure, shrouded in mystery.

  The cloaked escort knelt and bowed.

  “Overlord.” a calm, feminine voice echoed, formal and sharp. She stepped back to take her place behind one of the seated Lords.

  From the second-highest chair on the right, a figure shifted and sneered.

  “Lord Smoke,” he drawled, “you insisted on dealing with that runt yourself. Yet your pawn comes crawling back half-dead. Don’t you feel shame?”

  Scoff.

  From the leftmost chair, a figure responded with dry disdain.

  “That was merely a test,” he said. “You don’t honestly believe this toy was my best disciple, do you?”

  “Then you admit your incompetence,” the first jeered. “Resign, old man, and stop humiliating us all.”

  “Keep dreaming.”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  Tension flickered through the room.

  One of the lords on the left stood and bowed slightly toward the throne.

  “Overlord, allow the Bug Faction to handle the target. Lord Smoke has grown senile.”

  Another immediately followed from the opposite side.

  “Tch. And let worms fail where shadows succeed? Overlord, grant this mission to the Shadow Faction, we’ll handle it cleanly.”

  “Fighting over a boy?” a voice snorted. A third figure stood and gave a respectful bow. “How embarrassing. The Phantoms request this task. We do not fail.”

  At last, the throne stirred.

  The figure atop it leaned forward, unseen eyes sweeping across the bickering council. A voice, detached and ancient, echoed through the room, neither male nor female, neither warm nor cold.

  “One more chance.”

  The words struck like a verdict.

  Lord Smoke rose from his seat and bowed deeply, shadows curling beneath his feet.

  “Thank you, Overlord.”

  He sat again, slower this time, the corners of his mouth curling smugly.

  Scoffs and hisses followed from both sides. The other Lords shot him looks of disdain, but the Overlord had spoken.

  They had to obey.

  ------

  The gate behind him vanished with a low hum.

  Before Jin Yu could even take in his surroundings, a voice echoed through the dim corridor. Youthful, almost playful.

  "Finally… finally… finally."

  Jin Yu turned.

  His eyes narrowed.

  That boy.

  His heart skipped a beat, not in fear, but in stunned confusion.

  Didn’t I kill this brat earlier?

  The childlike figure stood a few feet away, smiling with eerie calm.

  "Surprised?" the boy grinned, head tilted.

  "You don’t know how death is written, do you?" Jin Yu replied, a flicker of madness danced across his eyes as he returned the smile.

  "Awwwn, You broke my heart, big brother." the boy pouted, placing a delicate hand on his chest and batting his eyes. "Don’t you know what gentle means?"

  Disgust churned in Jin Yu’s gut.

  What the hell kind of creature is this…?

  “Damn old thing,” he spat, “You’ve got to be at least a hundred. Doesn’t your cheek hurt from all that fake innocence?”

  The boy's expression dropped in an instant.

  The warmth vanished, replaced by a void of cold Fury. That innocent mask cracked like glass, and something ancient simmered behind the boy’s eyes.

  Ding!

  Influence +5,000

  Ding!

  Influence +5,000

  (Emotion provoked: Anger)

  "Kid," the boy’s voice turned low and venomous. "No one in all of Blackflame dares lay a hand on my puppets. Yet you destroyed one. Do you believe I won’t destroy you too?"

  Jin Yu casually picked at his ear, unimpressed.

  "I believe…" he said, smirking, "…I will."

  The words had barely left his mouth before he disappeared.

  Crack!

  He reappeared behind the boy, twisting his head in a clean, unnatural spin. The neck snapped with a muted crackle, a full 360 degrees, before the puppet’s body dropped like a ragdoll.

  Its dimming eyes stared lifelessly at the ground.

  "Bitch."

  Jin Yu spat and kicked the corpse aside with a snort, turning his back and walking into the dark hallway without another glance.

  ------

  He found himself in a stone hallway lit by flickering lanterns bolted to the walls. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, blood, and damp earth. Faint sounds echoed from deeper within: cheers, crashes, the dull thud of bodies meeting stone.

  A man sat behind a chipped desk at the corridor’s end, legs propped up, flipping through a worn booklet.

  He glanced up, uninterested, until his eyes landed on Jin Yu. Then, he straightened.

  “…Name?” he asked flatly.

  Jin Yu didn’t answer. He tossed the letter onto the table. The man caught it mid-air and inspected it briefly before nodding.

  “Private quarters are this way. You’re in the third bracket, your match will be called soon. Until then, stay quiet and don’t cause trouble.”

  Jin Yu said nothing as he walked past.

  The corridor opened into a sprawling underground hub. Fighters sharpened weapons, sat meditating in corners, or paced with tension thrumming in their muscles. A pair of brawlers argued over match results while another cleaned blood from his robes, humming softly.

  No one noticed him.

  Or rather, they noticed but pretended not to.

  His aura was still faintly unstable, Poison Qi lingering beneath his skin like something alive. Those who passed him by felt the undercurrent and instinctively kept their distance.

  He stepped into a small private chamber with bare walls, a stone bench, a bowl of water. The door shut behind him with a final-sounding thud.

  He didn’t sit.

  He walked to the far wall, leaned his back against it, and closed his eyes.

  Somewhere, just above the silence, the crowd roared again.

  He smiled.