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Chapter 316: Thornridge

The guild was quieter in the evening, though it still buzzed with the subdued hum of mercenaries sharing drinks, swapping stories, and occasionally eyeing the job board. Lamps cast a warm glow over the wooden beams, and the faint scent of spilled ale and smoke lingered in the air.

Kaelen sat at a small table near the wall, nursing a half-empty mug. His earlier frustration had dulled into a simmering annoyance, though the encounter with the scarred stranger still lingered in his mind. Who was that man, and what kind of job could possibly need twenty mercenaries? He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Mira was still at her desk, her sharp eyes flicking across the room as she meticulously recorded the day's contracts. Her pen scratched against parchment in a steady rhythm, the sound blending into the background noise. She looked up occasionally, her gaze sweeping the hall, but she seemed just as baffled as Kaelen had felt earlier.

The door creaked open again, and Kaelen instinctively glanced toward it. This time, his reaction was immediate—a sharp intake of breath, followed by a tightening in his chest.

The stranger had returned.

But he wasn't alone.

Behind him, Zirkel, the infamous leader of the Mad Dogs, stepped into the guild. His rough, battered appearance was unmistakable—scarred face, disheveled hair, and armor that looked like it had been through one too many battles. Yet what stood out most was the grin splitting his face, wide and almost predatory, as if he had just won a particularly satisfying gamble.

The sight of Zirkel smiling was enough to make Kaelen's stomach twist. Nothing good ever came of a Mad Dog in high spirits.

The guild hall seemed to collectively freeze, every eye locking onto the pair as they made their way toward Mira's desk. Even Mira, who rarely showed emotion, straightened in her seat, her brows furrowing as they approached.

"Evening, Mira," Zirkel drawled, his voice carrying a rough but amused edge. "Hope you've got some parchment ready."

Mira's eyes flicked between him and the scarred stranger, her expression carefully neutral. "Zirkel. Didn't expect to see you back here so soon. What's this about?"

Zirkel slapped a heavy hand on the counter, leaning forward slightly. "This man," he said, jerking a thumb toward the stranger, "and I have come to an agreement. He's got himself a job, and the Mad Dogs are ready to take it."

The murmurs started almost immediately, whispers rippling through the gathered mercenaries. Kaelen could barely believe what he was hearing. Zirkel? Accepting terms from anyone? The Mad Dogs weren't exactly known for being cooperative, let alone working under someone else's conditions.

Mira leaned back in her chair, her sharp gaze narrowing. "Is that so? And what's changed since this morning? Last I heard, this guy didn't have nearly enough to pay for twenty mercenaries."

Zirkel's grin widened, his teeth glinting in the lamplight. "Let's just say he made a compelling argument."

The scarred stranger remained silent, standing a step behind Zirkel with his usual calm composure. His pitch-black eyes surveyed the room, unbothered by the attention or the whispers. Kaelen couldn't shake the feeling that the man had orchestrated this entire situation—that every step, from the initial conversation with Mira to this moment, had gone exactly as he intended.

Mira's gaze shifted to the stranger. "You're the one making all these bold requests. Mind explaining how you convinced him?"

The stranger met her eyes evenly. "I provided him with the details he required. The terms are acceptable to both parties."

"Terms?" Mira echoed, her tone skeptical. "You expect me to believe Zirkel agreed to follow someone else's terms?"

Zirkel let out a low chuckle, leaning back and crossing his arms. "Oh, don't look so surprised, Mira. Even the Mad Dogs know a good deal when we see one. And this guy? He's got guts, brains, and a job that's just the right kind of challenge."

Mira exhaled sharply, her irritation evident. "Fine. Let's get this over with." She reached for a fresh piece of parchment, her pen poised. "Name?"

The stranger stepped forward, his voice steady. "You can refer to me as Lucavion."

Kaelen's ears perked up at the name, though it meant nothing to him. Still, it felt significant, as if it held weight beyond the simplicity of its sound.

Or was that the case really?"

Mira's pen scratched against the parchment with deliberate precision, her expression a mask of focus as she worked. The murmurs in the guild hall had quieted somewhat, though the tension was still palpable. Every so often, Mira's sharp gaze flicked up toward Zirkel and Lucavion, as if confirming they were real and not some bizarre figment of her imagination.

Kaelen, still seated at his table, crossed his arms and scowled into his mug. 'Finally. Maybe this will mean less chaos around here.' He couldn't help but steal glances at the pair. Zirkel's grin hadn't faltered, while Lucavion stood calm and detached, his dark eyes taking in everything and giving nothing in return.

Mira, meanwhile, sighed as she wrote the last few words on the parchment and set her pen down with a quiet clink. She slid the document across the counter toward Zirkel. "All right, it's done. Standard guild terms apply. You're responsible for your own casualties, and any disputes are to be handled through the guild's arbitration system."

Zirkel snorted, the sound rough but amused. "Casualties? Mira, you wound me. We're professionals."

"I'm not the one you need to convince," she replied dryly, nodding toward Lucavion.

Zirkel didn't bother hiding his amusement as he scrawled his signature across the parchment, the bold, jagged letters a perfect match for his larger-than-life persona. With a flourish, he slid the contract back across the counter.

"All set," Zirkel said, turning to Lucavion with a grin that could've belonged to a wolf. "See you at dawn, boss."

Lucavion gave the faintest of nods. "Be ready."

Without another word, the scarred man turned and strode toward the door, his dark cloak swirling behind him. Zirkel followed with his usual swagger, his presence like a storm leaving the room. The other mercenaries parted instinctively, no one willing to risk even a brush against the infamous leader of the Mad Dogs.

Kaelen watched them go, his shoulders relaxing slightly as the door creaked shut behind them. The tension in the guild hall seemed to ease instantly, conversations resuming in low tones as people tried to make sense of what had just happened.

"Finally," Kaelen muttered under his breath. He glanced toward the job board, his earlier frustration replaced by a flicker of hope. With Zirkel and the Mad Dogs off chasing Lucavion's mysterious job, maybe he'd have a chance at reclaiming the posting that had been snatched from him this morning. It wasn't glamorous, but it was honest work—and far safer than anything involving the Mad Dogs.

Kaelen drained the last of his drink and pushed himself to his feet. The board was less crowded now, with most mercenaries having already settled in for the evening. He scanned the remaining notices, his eyes searching for the familiar posting about the caravan escort to Valford.

And there it was.

A wide grin spread across his face. The notice was still pinned to the board, untouched since the burly Mad Dog had claimed it earlier. Kaelen reached for it, the thought of finally having a chance to prove himself.

'I am really lucky…..The fact that I was able to get this without losing anything….'

********

The city of Thornridge sprawled across the base of the Greyed Cliffs, its stone walls weathered by centuries of cold northern winds. For a city governed by a mere baron, its bustling streets and well-paved avenues spoke of prosperity uncommon for settlements this close to the Arcanis Empire's border. Thornridge thrived, not due to fertile lands or trade routes, but because of the two sects that had dominated the surrounding region for decades—though that balance had recently shifted.

Now, only one sect cast its shadow over Thornridge: the Crimson Serpent Sect.

The sharp tang of incense lingered in the air as Manco Drast walked through the crowded market square. The city was alive with a mix of apprehension and curiosity, a palpable tension humming beneath the surface of daily life. Hawkers shouted their wares, though their voices lacked conviction. Even the town guards, clad in their Baron's blue-and-silver livery, stood straighter than usual, their hands resting anxiously on sword hilts.

His gaze drifted toward the towering stone pagoda that loomed over the city's northern quarter, its crimson banners snapping sharply in the breeze. The Azure Blossom Sect's monastery, once a bastion of serenity, now bore the unmistakable scars of battle. Its walls were cracked, its gates torn asunder. Crimson flags draped over its parapets, signifying its conquest.

The Crimson Serpent Sect's sigil—a coiled serpent with ruby scales—seemed to sneer at the city below, a silent declaration of victory.

Manco Drast veered off the bustling main street, slipping into a shadowy alley where the sounds of the market faded into a muffled hum. The air here was damp and cold, the scent of wet stone mingling with decay. He adjusted the cloak over his shoulders, keeping his face obscured as he moved deeper into the alley.

At the end of the narrow passage, a young woman waited, her hood pulled low over her face. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her tense posture betraying the caution and weariness of someone constantly on edge. When Manco approached, she straightened, her sharp eyes scanning the alley behind him before settling on his face.

"You weren't followed, were you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Manco shook his head. "I made sure. They're too busy showing off their crimson flags to pay attention to the shadows."

She relaxed slightly but didn't let her guard down entirely. Her fingers twitched at her side, brushing the hilt of a dagger hidden beneath her cloak. Her voice turned bitter as she spoke again. "I saw Elder Jayan today. That bitch..." She spat the word, venom dripping from her tone. "She was wearing the robes of those crimson bastards without feeling any remorse."

Manco's jaw tightened. "Jayan?" he repeated, disbelief and anger mingling in his voice. "She swore an oath to protect the Azure Blossom Sect. She's the one who taught us the weight of loyalty."

"And now she wears the serpent like it's a badge of honor," the woman snapped, her fists clenching at her sides. "Loyalty meant nothing to her. She was probably just waiting for the right moment to sell us out."

Manco stepped closer, his voice low and steady. "Did she see you?"

The woman hesitated, then shook her head. "No. I kept to the crowd. She didn't even glance my way." Her expression darkened. "Not that she'd recognize me now. I doubt she remembers the faces of the people she betrayed."

"Good," Manco said, his tone firm. "The last thing we need is her sniffing around."

"Are we really going to do it?"

"We have to. Before they force the young lady, we need to save her."

The life was grim for the two.

Chapter 317: Thornridge (2)

Manco's expression darkened as the woman—Lirien—spoke, her anger matched only by the unspoken weight between them. Their young mistress, Lady Ilyana, the heir of the Azure Blossom Sect, was now a captive of the Crimson Serpent Sect. Once, their lives had been simple: serving the sect, ensuring Ilyana's needs were met, and guarding her path toward becoming the next master of the sect. But now, that life had been reduced to a desperate mission to save the last shred of their once-glorious legacy.

"We have to act fast," Manco said, his voice low but firm. "Every moment we wait is another chance for them to tighten their grip on her."

Lirien nodded, though the doubt in her eyes was evident. "Ilyana… she's strong, but she's just a child. And with Vitaliara gone—" Her voice caught, and she shook her head, composing herself. "How did it come to this?"

Manco's jaw clenched. He didn't have to answer. They both knew how.

The Azure Blossom Sect, once thriving and secure under the protection of their guardian beast, Lady Vitaliara, had been betrayed from within. Vitaliara's ethereal presence had been the sect's cornerstone—a mythical being bound to the sect's essence, her strength the source of their unparalleled prosperity. She was their protector, their guide, and their pride.

But one fateful day, Vitaliara had weakened inexplicably, her radiant form dimming as if her very essence had been drained. Her strength, which had once repelled any threat to the sect, vanished almost overnight. The elders, who should have rallied around their guardian and prepared for what was to come, instead revealed their true colors.

Half of the Azure Blossom Sect's elders had already sold themselves to the Crimson Serpent Sect, secretly conspiring to deliver not only the sect's heir but also Vitaliara's essence to their new masters. When the Crimson Serpent Sect finally struck, it was a merciless onslaught. The sect's defenses were shattered before they could even mount a response. It was as if the enemy had known every detail—every hidden passage, every secret ward, every strength and vulnerability.

Manco and Lirien had fought through the chaos, cutting through the invaders in a desperate attempt to reach Ilyana. But by the time they reached her quarters, the sect's heir had already been taken, dragged into the clutches of the Crimson Serpent Sect. Lady Vitaliara herself, despite her weakened state, had fought to protect her, but she too had been forced to flee. They had last seen her vanishing into the wilderness, pursued by disciples of the Crimson Serpent Sect, her ethereal form flickering like a dying ember.

"Do you think Vitaliara is still alive?" Lirien asked now, her voice barely a whisper. "If she was captured…"

"She isn't," Manco said firmly. "They would have announced it if they had her. Vitaliara is too valuable to them to keep quiet. That means she's still out there, hiding, regaining her strength."

Lirien scoffed bitterly. "You're more optimistic than I thought. But even if she's alive, she's not here. We're on our own, Manco."

Manco met her gaze, his voice unwavering. "We're not on our own. We have each other, and we still have a purpose. As long as Lady Ilyana lives, so does the Azure Blossom Sect. That is why, we must act today…..This is our only chance."

*******

In a chamber where the air in the dim was stifling, heavy with the scent of damp stone and decay, a faint flicker of light from a single torch illuminated the figure hanging from the ceiling, casting long, distorted shadows across the walls.

Lady Ilyana, once the pride of the Azure Blossom Sect, hung by her wrists, her arms stretched painfully above her. Her once-pristine robes were torn and dirtied, her hair matted and disheveled. Trails of grime streaked her pale face, but her gray eyes, though sunken, still held a flicker of defiance.

Before her, untouched, sat a simple meal on a wooden tray—a bowl of rice, a small piece of meat, and a cup of water. The food's pristine state stood in sharp contrast to her wretched appearance, a silent testament to her refusal to break.

The heavy wooden door creaked open, its rusted hinges groaning in protest. A young man strode into the chamber, the torchlight catching on his immaculate crimson robes embroidered with the sigil of the Crimson Serpent Sect—a coiled serpent, its ruby scales glinting like fresh blood. His hair was slicked back, and his face was devoid of scars or blemishes, a stark contrast to the rough disciples of the sect. His eyes gleamed with amusement, and a self-satisfied smirk curved his lips.

"Ah," he drawled, stepping closer. "Dear Ilyana. Still holding out, I see."

His voice echoed in the chamber, smooth and laced with mockery. He stopped a few feet from her, tilting his head as if examining a curious animal.

"You've been here for, what… a week now?" he continued, his tone casual. "No attempts to eat. No pleas for mercy. No tears. Quite impressive. Or perhaps… incredibly foolish."

Ilyana lifted her head slowly, her movements strained. Her gaze met his, unflinching. Despite her wretched state, there was no fear in her eyes—only cold defiance.

"Thalion Veynar," she said, her voice hoarse but steady. "The pampered prince of the Crimson Serpent Sect. Tell me, does it fill you with pride to gloat over someone who cannot fight back?"

Thalion chuckled, the sound low and mocking. "Oh, Ilyana, you wound me." He stepped closer, his polished boots echoing against the stone floor. "I am simply here to check on you. You're a guest, after all."

Her lips twitched into a grim semblance of a smile. "A guest doesn't usually hang from the ceiling like a butchered carcass."

"Semantics," Thalion replied with a shrug. He crouched slightly, bringing himself to her eye level. "You should feel honored, really. My father may have ordered your capture, but I was the one who ensured you were brought here… safely."

Ilyana scoffed, the sound sharp despite her parched throat. "Safely? Is that what you call this?"

The sound rang out like a thunderclap, reverberating off the stone walls. Ilyana's head snapped to the side from the force of Thalion's hand, her cheek stinging and red. Strands of her matted hair fell across her face, obscuring her expression. She didn't cry out, didn't flinch. Instead, she stayed perfectly still, her breathing even as she slowly turned her head back to face him.

Her eyes were sharper than ever, blazing with a quiet fury that no slap could extinguish. A faint, defiant smile curved her lips, and despite the reddened mark on her face, her gaze pierced into him like a dagger.

"Did that make you feel powerful, Thalion?" she asked, her voice calm, yet brimming with disdain. "Striking someone who can't fight back? Is that how the heir of the Crimson Serpent Sect defines his strength?"

Thalion's composure wavered, his chest heaving as he glared at her. For a moment, his carefully crafted veneer cracked, revealing the volatile anger simmering beneath.

And then his hand shot forward, gripping Ilyana's face with brutal force. His fingers dug into her cheeks, mushing them painfully, and her head was forced back slightly against the tension in her wrists. The sharp sting of his nails biting into her skin only fueled the ache, but Ilyana's glare didn't falter. Her gray eyes burned with unyielding defiance, a silent declaration that no amount of pain would make her cower.

Her defiance, that unrelenting fire, only seemed to enrage Thalion further. His composure shattered as he leaned in closer, his breath hot and acrid against her face. His smirk was gone, replaced by a sneer that revealed his frustration.

"Listen here, you bitch," he hissed, his voice low and venomous. "You are nothing but a mere toy for me from now on. Do you understand that?"

His grip tightened, and Ilyana's breath hitched slightly, but still, she didn't avert her gaze. If anything, her defiance deepened, her expression a twisted mirror of her disdain for him. He loomed over her, a man desperate to assert control, and she refused to give it to him.

Thalion's sneer deepened, his voice dripping with mockery as he continued. "Do you know why I haven't started yet? Why I haven't shown you the true meaning of submission?"

He leaned even closer, his lips barely inches from her ear. "Because of that 'cat' of yours." He chuckled darkly, the sound grating and cruel. "I know she's still out there, somewhere. You won't tell us where, but don't worry—we'll find her. When we do…" He pulled back slightly, his eyes gleaming with malice. "…you'll watch as we tear her apart, piece by piece. And when she's gone, you'll finally understand that you have nothing left. Not your sect. Not your beast. Not even your pride."

Ilyana's chest tightened at his words, the venom in his tone cutting deeper than the physical pain. Yet, despite the ache in her jaw and the trembling in her exhausted body, she forced her lips into a faint, mocking smile beneath his grip.

TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!

Just then, suddenly the sharp sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the oppressive chamber, cutting through the tense silence. The door creaked open, and a disciple of the Crimson Serpent Sect burst in, his crimson robes disheveled and his face pale with panic.

"Young Master!" the disciple gasped, bowing hastily despite his urgency. "We are under attack!"

Chapter 318: Mercenaries also have their work

SLASH!

The streets were painted with the crimson sprawl of fresh blood.

SPLASH!

Amid the chaos, Zirkel wiped his blade against the cloak of a fallen disciple, his mismatched eyes narrowing as he glanced around. The once-pristine crimson robes of the Crimson Serpent Sect now lay tattered, their wearers reduced to lifeless forms sprawled across the cobblestone streets.

The metallic tang of blood hung thick in the air, mingling with the faint scent of burning incense that lingered from the Sect's rituals. Zirkel's axe gleamed, still dripping with the blood of his most recent opponent. Around him, four other Mad Dogs stood in varying states of readiness, their weapons bloodied but their spirits undeterred.

Zirkel exhaled heavily, shaking his head as he glanced at the carnage. His gaze drifted upward, toward the looming sect compound ahead. A part of him still couldn't believe they were here, let alone succeeding. His thoughts churned, replaying the last three days in a loop as if trying to find some logic in the madness.

"We're going to take down the Crimson Serpent Sect."

Those words. They still echoed in his head, sharp and absurd. They were spoken so matter-of-factly by their employer, Lucavion, as if wiping out an entire sect was no different than handling a particularly unruly gang.

Zirkel snorted, kicking aside the body of a disciple as he muttered under his breath, "This guy's not just insane—he's completely unhinged."

For three days, Zirkel had traveled with him, watching him from the saddle of his horse. He couldn't wrap his head around the man. Lucavion was different—not in the way nobles who played at being warriors were different, but something deeper. He wasn't just fearless; he acted as if the rules that bound others didn't apply to him at all. It was unnerving.

How can twenty men be enough to take down an entire sect? Zirkel thought, glancing at one of the other Mad Dogs who was wiping his blade on a crimson robe. If it were that easy, everyone would be doing it.

The question had plagued him since the moment Lucavion had made the declaration. It wasn't just bold; it was outright suicidal. The Crimson Serpent Sect was no small-time operation. They had numbers, resources, and decades of entrenched power in Thornridge. And yet, here they were, cutting through the sect's disciples like reapers in a field.

The real question, though—the one that Zirkel couldn't stop turning over in his mind—was why he had gone along with it.

He could have refused. He could have stayed in the camp, left Lucavion to march alone into his doom. But he hadn't. And the reason was as infuriatingly simple as it was compelling.

"If you can survive until the end, you'll earn one gold coin for every kill."

The promise of that reward had silenced every protest in the camp. One gold coin per kill—an offer so absurdly generous it could only come from a madman. For most mercenaries, an average job might pay fifty silvers if they were lucky. A gold coin was a king's ransom in comparison.

And so, they had followed. Not out of loyalty, not out of trust, but out of greed—and maybe, for some, a curiosity about the man who had made such an outrageous offer.

Now, standing in the blood-soaked streets of Thornridge, Zirkel found himself questioning more than just the promise of coin. What kind of person throws around that kind of money? What does he actually want?

Zirkel's thoughts were interrupted as another wave of disciples emerged from the shadows of a nearby alley, their crimson robes fluttering like bloodied banners. They moved with coordinated precision, their weapons glinting in the dim light. For a moment, the air stilled, the tension crackling like a live wire.

"More of them," one of the Mad Dogs muttered, hefting his mace with a grin. "Looks like we're not done yet."

Zirkel grunted, raising his axe. "Form up. Don't let them surround you."

In the end, he would just be doing his job.

"Create chaos all around the city….Make them come at you. And leave the rest to me."

Those words still rang in his ears, absurdly confident and yet delivered with such calm certainty that Zirkel couldn't help but follow them. He'd thought Lucavion a lunatic then—hell, he still thought that—but as the night unfolded, a darker part of him couldn't deny the intrigue. He wanted to see what this man was truly capable of.

And that was why they had split into five groups, scattering across Thornridge like wild dogs unleashed. If there was one thing the Mad Dogs excelled at, it was creating havoc.

"Come, you bastards," Zirkel growled, his smirk widening as he raised his axe. The crimson-robed disciples surged forward, their cries of anger mingling with the crackle of flames and the distant shouts of civilians fleeing the carnage. Around him, the other Mad Dogs braced for impact, their blood-streaked faces alight with feral glee.

The first disciple lunged at Zirkel, a curved blade flashing toward his throat. Zirkel sidestepped with practiced ease, his axe coming down in a brutal arc that cleaved through the disciple's chest. Blood sprayed across the cobblestones as the body crumpled, but Zirkel was already moving, his axe whirling to meet the next attacker.

"Keep it tight!" Zirkel barked to his men, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Don't let them pin you down."

******

The grand chamber of the Crimson Serpent Sect was a stark contrast to the dim prison below. Lavish red banners hung from the high ceiling, embroidered with the sect's coiled serpent sigil in golden thread. The room's centerpiece was a massive obsidian throne, its jagged edges gleaming ominously in the torchlight. Sitting upon it was Vaelric Veynar, the Sect Master of the Crimson Serpent Sect, his aura exuding menace.

Or at least that was what the whole place around him gave the vibe of.

Vaelric was a man of imposing stature, his crimson robes draped around him like the folds of a storm. His sharp, angular features seemed carved from stone, and his piercing amber eyes burned with an intensity that made even his most loyal disciples avert their gaze. In his hand, he toyed with a black jade serpent figurine, his fingers curling and uncurling around it as he listened to the frantic report before him.

"You dare disturb me for this?" he growled, his deep voice reverberating through the chamber like distant thunder.

The disciple who knelt before him trembled, sweat beading on his brow. "Sect Master, please, it is urgent. We are under attack. A group has been targeting our people around the city—they've already killed twenty of our disciples."

Vaelric's hand stilled, his grip tightening on the figurine until his knuckles turned white. His eyes narrowed, and his presence seemed to swell, filling the chamber with an oppressive weight. "Who dares?" he said, his voice dangerously low. "Who dares to challenge us and attack us on our own land?"

The disciple hesitated, his voice quivering as he spoke. "We… we don't know, Sect Master. They appear to be a group of mercenaries. Their motives are unclear. They are attacking indiscriminately, cutting down anyone bearing our emblem."

Vaelric rose from his throne, his robes billowing like blood-red smoke. The figurine in his hand shattered under his grip, shards of jade falling to the floor. "Mercenaries?" he repeated, his voice rising to a roar. "A bunch of hired blades dares to defy the Crimson Serpent Sect? To kill my disciples?"

The disciple flinched, his head bowing lower. "Y-yes, Sect Master. They're moving quickly, hitting key outposts and retreating before reinforcements arrive. We've lost control of the eastern district, and they're pushing toward the main gates."

Vaelric's fury blazed like an inferno. "Twenty of our disciples, slaughtered! And you come to me with nothing but excuses?" He took a step forward, the sheer weight of his presence forcing the disciple to press his forehead to the floor. "How is this possible? How did they breach our defenses? Answer me!"

"That just happened."

Vaelric's glare burned with unrelenting intensity as he paced the grand chamber, his crimson robes trailing behind him like flames licking at the air. The disciple cowered, trembling under the weight of his rage.

"They're not coordinated," the disciple stammered, his voice quivering. "Sect Master, they fight like madmen. They wreak havoc wherever they go—they don't even care about bystanders. They strike fast, they kill without mercy, and they vanish."

Vaelric's expression twisted into a scowl. "Madmen? A pack of rabid dogs causing chaos under our noses?" His fists clenched as his voice rose. "What are the city guards doing about this?"

The disciple hesitated, his shoulders hunching further. "Sect Master… the city guards aren't responding."

Vaelric froze mid-step, his fiery gaze snapping toward the disciple. "What did you just say?"

The man gulped, his voice barely above a whisper. "The city guards… they've done nothing. They aren't intervening."

For a moment, the chamber was silent, save for the faint crackle of torches along the walls. Then Vaelric laughed, a cold, humorless sound that sent shivers down the disciple's spine.

"Of course they haven't," Vaelric said, his tone dripping with derision. "That pathetic lordling who rules this city—did you really think he'd dare lift a finger without my permission? I crushed his authority beneath my heel long ago." He smirked, though the fury in his eyes remained. "That was how I silenced the Azure Blossom Sect without interference. That fool was so easy to intimidate, he became little more than a puppet."

Vaelric turned abruptly, his robes swishing as he closed the distance between him and the kneeling disciple. "So, now you come to me," he hissed, his voice low but venomous, "because these so-called mercenaries are rampaging unchecked, and no one is left to stop them?"

The disciple nodded frantically, his forehead pressed to the cold floor. "Y-yes, Sect Master. Forgive me."

"How many of these vermin are there?" Vaelric demanded, his tone sharp as a blade.

"We've identified five different groups, Sect Master," the disciple replied quickly. "Each group consists of four people. They move separately, but their timing is precise. Wherever they strike, they leave behind carnage before we can respond."

Chapter 319: Mercenaries also have their work (2)

Vaelric stood motionless for a moment, his fiery gaze fixed on the disciple as his mind churned. The fact that a mere twenty individuals—divided into groups of four—could cause such chaos, even against the Crimson Serpent Sect's disciples, spoke volumes about their strength.

The average strength of their disciples was at the peak of 1-star, with a few promising individuals reaching early 2-star Awakening. But these attackers… if they were capable of such precision and carnage, they couldn't be below 2-star, and some might even be stronger.

"Twenty men," Vaelric murmured, his voice low and deadly. "And yet you dare to tell me this is the work of mere mercenaries?"

The disciple flinched, lowering his head further. "Sect Master, their techniques… they don't match any local groups. They're skilled, and they fight as though they've trained for years."

Vaelric's lips curled into a sneer. "Skilled or not, they are vermin. Their strength is insignificant next to mine. But for the sake of appearances…" He turned, his robes swishing, and gestured sharply toward the guards near the door. "Summon Elder Jayan and the others. I want elders of at least peak 3-star Awakening leading the charge. Let them bring these fools to their knees."

One of the guards hesitated, glancing at Vaelric before bowing deeply. "Sect Master, Elder Jayan is… preoccupied with overseeing the interrogation of the Azure Blossom Sect's former disciples."

Vaelric's glare snapped toward him, his amber eyes blazing. "Then relieve her of that duty. Those broken dogs can wait." He straightened, his aura expanding with suffocating intensity, sending a ripple of unease through everyone present. "Do you think I would entrust this matter to anyone less? Elder Jayan will handle this personally."

The guard nodded quickly and left the chamber, not daring to look back.

Vaelric's attention returned to the kneeling disciple, his sharp features twisted into a scowl. "Make no mistake. These attacks threaten more than just our reputation—they undermine the entire foundation of what we've built here."

For sects like the Crimson Serpent Sect or the Azure Blossom Sect, power was everything. Their reach might not have extended to the grand capitals of the empire, but in the countryside and smaller cities, they were undisputed rulers. Having even a 3-star Awakened elder was a sign of strength, one that demanded respect and submission from the surrounding populace. That strength was why they could collect protection taxes and fees, imposing their will without resistance.

For Vaelric, maintaining this facade of power was paramount. A threat like this—an organized, deadly group that could cut down disciples and destabilize their influence—could not go unanswered. The Crimson Serpent Sect's grip on Thornridge and its surrounding regions had to remain ironclad.

"Send the elders," he repeated, his voice colder now. "Crush these insects. I want their corpses hung at the city gates as a reminder to all. Anyone who defies us will meet the same fate."

The disciple nodded frantically. "Yes, Sect Master."

As the disciple scrambled to obey, Vaelric turned toward the grand window that overlooked the city. The skyline of Thornridge stretched out before him, a mix of stone buildings and bustling streets. His gaze lingered on the distant horizon, where the fading light of the sun cast long shadows over the city.

His thoughts darkened as he considered the timing of the attacks. Two years ago, the Crimson Serpent Sect was different than how it was just now.

Back then, even Vaelric himself had been stuck at mid-4-star Awakening, unable to break through no matter how hard he pushed.

And with the Sect Master of the Azure Blossom Sect being mid-4-star rank as him, his sect was actually weaker than the Azure Sect thanks to the Guardian Beast, which they called.

In fact, he hated the feeling though his core. After all, he was a lot more talented than that bitch, and he was much more hardworking.

But because of the existence of the Vitaliara, the Guardian Beast, she was able to advance while he was stuck dealing with the matters of his sect.

His ambition had burned brighter than his strength, and he'd known the sect's survival would require more than sheer determination.

It was then that they had come.

The memory of that fateful meeting sent a shiver down his spine. Their offer had been simple: power in exchange for allegiance. The means by which they'd delivered on their promise remained a mystery, but the results were undeniable. Vaelric had surged past his limits, reaching the peak of 4-star Awakening, and the sect had grown stronger under his rule.

But the deal had come with strings, and now, those strings were tightening.

"Where is that 'cat'?" Vaelric muttered, his voice low and dangerous.

The guards stiffened, exchanging uneasy glances. None dared to answer immediately.

"Did you not hear me?" Vaelric snapped, his gaze slicing through them like a blade. "Where is Vitaliara?"

"....Sect Master…..4 Elders are already looking for her through the Shadow Thicket….It is just, you know that place…"

"It has been a fucking year!"

Vaelric's hand slammed against the black stone wall, the force of his rage shaking the chamber. A crack spidered through the smooth surface, dust crumbling at his feet. His amber eyes burned with barely restrained fury as he turned back toward the guards, his presence swelling like a storm about to break.

"A year!" he roared, his voice echoing through the chamber. "It has been a fucking year, and you're telling me she's still eluded us? How many elders have I sent into that cursed Shadow Thicket? How many of our resources have I burned for this hunt, only for you to return empty-handed every time?"

The guards flinched, their heads bowing further, none daring to meet his gaze. One of them, a younger man trembling under Vaelric's oppressive aura, hesitated before speaking.

"S-Sect Master… the Shadow Thicket is vast and treacherous. Even with the elders' strength, the place is… unnatural. It shifts, it misleads."

"Enough!" Vaelric snapped, his voice cutting through the explanation like a blade. He advanced on the trembling guard, his expression a mask of wrath. "Do you think I don't know the dangers of that place? Do you think I care about excuses?"

The guard fell silent, swallowing hard as Vaelric loomed over him.

Vaelric stepped back, running a hand through his slicked-back hair, his fingers trembling with frustration. He turned toward the window once more, staring out at the darkening horizon. His thoughts raced, the weight of the promised time pressing down on him like a vice.

The deal.

The memory of that meeting was as vivid as ever. The shadowy figures, their impossible presence, their cryptic smiles as they made their offer. They had given him what he'd longed for—strength beyond his limits, the power to crush the Azure Blossom Sect and claim Thornridge as his own. But their terms had been clear.

Vitaliara.

The beast's essence was the price they demanded, and if he failed to deliver, the consequences would be dire. The whispers of what would happen to his sect, to him, if he failed… they had haunted his dreams ever since.

And now, the promised time was approaching.

"Sigh….."

Vaelric exhaled sharply, his shoulders rising and falling as he tried to steady the storm raging within him. The weight of his failures, the looming consequences of the deal, and the chaos erupting in his city gnawed at his composure. He closed his eyes for a brief moment before opening them, his gaze sharp and calculating.

"Bring her," he said coldly, his voice low but firm. "Now."

The guards exchanged uneasy glances before one of them bowed and hurried out of the chamber. Vaelric didn't move, his back to the room as he stared out the window, the city lights flickering like distant stars. The air in the room grew heavier as the moments stretched, his impatience simmering beneath the surface.

Minutes later, the heavy doors creaked open again. The sound of dragging footsteps echoed through the chamber as two guards entered, a figure between them. She stumbled slightly as they brought her forward, her hands bound with enchanted cuffs that glimmered faintly in the torchlight.

Vaelric turned slowly, his eyes narrowing as they fell upon the woman.

She stood tall despite the bindings, her posture graceful but rigid. Her long, dark hair framed her strikingly beautiful face, but it was her eyes that drew the most attention—or rather, the lack of life within them. Her pale gray eyes, once filled with vitality and pride, were now shallow pools of emptiness, devoid of any spark of resistance or hope. She was a ghost of the person she had once been.

"Leave us," Vaelric commanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "All of you. Get out."

The guards hesitated, exchanging wary looks before bowing and stepping out of the chamber. The door shut behind them with a heavy thud, sealing the room in oppressive quiet.

"Hehe…..Crawl."

It was his time to play.