Martial Artists

The small village had always been quiet, nestled between the mountains and forests, its people content with their simple lives. But lately, a cloud of fear had descended upon them. People were disappearing. Some bodies had been found drained of life, others vanished without a trace. Rumors spread like wildfire. Superstition festered, and soon enough, it was too much for the village to ignore.

Old women whispered in the corners of the tavern, and the men gathered in uneasy groups, throwing nervous glances over their shoulders. Fear clung to everyone like damp fog.

"Enough is enough," Mayor Zhou muttered to himself. The stocky man stood at the entrance of his office, staring out at the town square where his people gathered. He had called them to announce his decision.

"Fellow villagers, I've made arrangements," the mayor said, his voice loud and clear, though a nervous tremor flickered at its edge. "We've hired martial artists from the nearby sect to investigate these…deaths and disappearances. They will bring this madness to an end."

The crowd murmured, some relieved, others skeptical.

"When will they arrive?" someone shouted from the back.

"Today," Mayor Zhou answered. "They'll search the town, find the one responsible."

...

That afternoon, a group of three martial artists rode into the village. They were an intimidating sight—clad in light armor, their robes tied with sashes that bore the colors of their sect. Their leader, a tall man with a sharp, angular face, looked around with hawk-like eyes. His dark hair was tied back, and a scar cut across his cheek. Behind him stood a woman with twin blades on her back, her face expressionless, and a younger man, shorter but muscular, with a heavy mace slung over his shoulder.

The villagers parted as they approached, whispering among themselves.

"Are these really martial artists? They look too young," someone whispered.

"Doesn't matter, they're trained," another replied.

...

The leader, whose name was Han Shou, wasted no time. He gathered the key figures in the village—the mayor, the local healer, and the head guard—into a meeting at the inn. With sharp eyes and short, direct questions, he began to piece together what had happened.

"Describe the disappearances again," Han Shou ordered, leaning forward.

The mayor shifted nervously. "People have gone missing, mostly at night. Some…some bodies were found, drained of blood."

"Any suspects?" asked the female martial artist, her voice cold.

"None," the head guard said, shaking his head. "We don't know who could be doing this."

Han Shou's eyes narrowed. Someone here knows something, he thought. They began to interview the villagers, stopping at homes and questioning those who knew the missing. But the martial artists were skilled not just in combat, but in reading people. They could sense when someone was lying or hiding information. Yet, no clear answers emerged. It was as if the killer were a ghost.

...

Later, when the villagers were gone, Han Shou sat across from Mayor Zhou.

"You realize this will take time," Han said, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. "My team and I don't work for free."

"I know, I know," the mayor said quickly, wiping sweat from his forehead. "We've gathered what we could. Gold, supplies…we'll give you anything you need, just put an end to this. The people are terrified. If this continues, we'll lose control."

Han's expression softened slightly as he considered. The pay wasn't much, but he had his reasons for accepting the job—favors owed to the mayor and an interest in strange killings that matched an old case he'd once worked on. He gave a single nod. "We'll stay until the job is done."

...

Outside, the villagers weren't so confident. Rumors buzzed through the market and tavern. Some believed the martial artists would save them, while others thought the killer might be something unnatural, beyond the reach of mere fighters.

"I heard it's a demon," one woman whispered to another.

"No demon, just a murderer," said an old man. "Someone among us."

...

Jo Yuan had been keeping a low profile, but the news of the martial artists reached him quickly. He listened from a shadowed corner in the tavern as a few townsfolk spoke nervously about the newcomers.

"They've blocked all the roads," one man said, sipping his drink nervously. "No one gets in or out without their say-so. They're questioning everyone."

Jo's heart tightened. Are the exits blocked? That complicated things. He had always planned for an easy escape, just in case, but now that was off the table. He glanced around, eyes narrowed. He would need a new plan.

...

The next few days, Jo moved carefully. He wore his cloak more often, keeping to the less crowded areas of town, blending in with the fishermen and traders. He knew he couldn't afford to draw attention to himself now. The martial artists would be watching, their eyes sharp for anyone acting out of the ordinary.

But Jo was no fool. He knew he had a talent for playing roles—charming, calm, blending in when needed. The key now was patience. He had to wait, watch them just as they watched the villagers. If they came too close, he'd be ready.

...

Jo thought briefly about running, but that wasn't an option anymore. The martial artists would catch him before he left the village. Instead, he worked on small disguises—a change of clothes, a different walk, perhaps even feigning illness. Anything to seem ordinary and keep his true identity hidden.

The blood core in his dantian was inactive, but Jo knew better than to rely on it openly now. He would lay low, stay out of sight, and if needed, strike when the time was right.