Chapter 23: The Factions of the Sect (Part 3)

Disciples surged forward, clamoring like beggars. The Corpse Courtyard envoy pressed a hand to a boy's chest, evaluating his qi, then sneered. "Too much life in you." The boy was shoved aside.

Zhang Yan lingered at the edges, watching. To kneel to a faction was to surrender a piece of his autonomy, but to stand alone was to starve. His shadow slithered up his leg, a silent plea.

Not yet.

The Slaughterer's Smelt envoy locked eyes with him, nostrils flaring as if smelling the blood on Zhang Yan's shadow. He took a step forward; 

And Zhang Yan turned away.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. The envoy stiffened. Even Elder Wu's mask tilted faintly.

The Slaughter Smelt blacksmith locked eyes with Zhang Yan, nostrils flaring as if smelling the blood on his shadow. He took a step forward, his voice a graveled threat. "You. Boy. Your bones would make fine steel."

Zhang Yan's gaze slid past him, drawn instead to the Blood Banner's envoy; the spear-bearing woman with kill tallies inked across her face and neck. She stood like a blade half-unsheathed, her armored arms folded, eyes scanning the disciples as if measuring their worth in spilled entrails. Behind her, the faction's banners fluttered in the still air, their rust-red stains whispering of countless battles.

"The Blood Banner," he thought to himself...

His shadow pulsed in recognition. They were hunters, raiders, warriors who carved strength from chaos. Their path was not one of alchemy or corpse-mongering; it was conflict, pure and unrelenting. They ventured beyond the sect's walls, clashing with righteous cultivators and demonic beasts alike, returning with treasures drenched in blood.

To join them would mean freedom to kill... and devour.

The Devouring Nine Shadows thrived in battle, and the Blood Banner's endless wars would provide a feast of fallen shadows. No tedious rituals, no poisoners scheming in towers—just raw, unfettered violence. He could cloak his true technique within their brutality, letting them believe he fought for the sect's glory while he siphoned power from every corpse left in his wake.

Yet;

The envoy's eyes met his, sharp as a whetstone. Her lip curled, as if she sensed his thoughts. The Blood Banner demanded loyalty, but they rewarded ambition. To them, betrayal was only a sin if you were caught.

Zhang Yan's fingers twitched, his shadow coiling like a serpent ready to strike. Yes. This faction would suit him. Not as a master, but as a weapon he could wield. Let them give him missions, let them point him toward enemies; he would turn their wars into his forge, tempering himself in blood and stolen power.

The envoy growled, growing increasingly impatient. "Well? Your bones, boy..."

"Are mine," Zhang Yan said softly, not looking away from the Blood Banner envoy. Her smirk was fleeting, but it was enough.

He stepped back, melting into the crowd. Not yet. Let the factions think him undecided. Let them wonder.

The Blood Banner would pick for him soon enough. And when they did, he would ensure they were the ones making concessions.

As the sun climbed, casting the courtyard in stark light, Zhang Yan lingered in the shadows of the murals. His gaze lingered on the Blood Banner's banners, their crimson color like old and new bloodstains constantly fighting for dominance...

Soon...