Chapter 27: Banquet of the Night (Part 1)

The night was a blade, sharp and unyielding, as the Blood Banner's contingent moved through the borderlands. Zhang Yan's medallion pulsed faintly against his chest; a cold reminder of his allegiance, or perhaps his leash. Around him, the unit moved like wraiths, their shallow breaths blending with the wind, their steps ghosting over the damp earth. The air was thick with the scent of mud and the metallic promise of blood.

Ahead lay the camp: a ragged gathering of righteous sect insurgents, their crude fires flickering like wounded stars in the moonless dark. Zhang Yan's shadow coiled at his feet, restless, as the commander's orders echoed in his mind: Intercept. Subdue. Kill.

This was no ordinary mission. It was a crucible; a chance to test the Infernal Sanguine Heart against the ravenous hunger of his Devouring Nine Shadows. Every breath felt sharper, every heartbeat a pounding drum in his ears.

At the flick of the commander's hand, they surged forward. Moving as one, they became a wave of steel and shadow, crashing over the unsuspecting camp. Zhang Yan melted into the charge, his dagger a gleam of moonlight as his shadow stretched ahead; a dark sentinel tasting the air for fear.

The first insurgent died without a sound as Zhang Yan's blade slipped cleanly between his ribs. The man's eyes widened, then dulled as his heart faltered; as his body crumpled, the shadow beneath him rippled, alive and eager. Without hesitation, Zhang Yan's own shadow lunged forward, devouring the fading essence before it could escape. A cold shiver spread through his body, igniting the Infernal Sanguine Heart. His muscles tightened, his senses sharpened, and the world slowed into vivid clarity.

Another insurgent barreled toward him, spear thrusting with righteous fury. Zhang Yan sidestepped with ease, his shadow lashing out to trip the man. As the insurgent stumbled, Zhang Yan's dagger traced a red arc across his throat, and again, his shadow surged forth; a relentless feast consumed.

Chaos erupted around him. Swords clashed, arrows hissed, and the acrid stench of burning tents thickened the air. Zhang Yan prowled through the carnage like a predator, his shadow a second blade in a deadly dance. Every strike, every death fed the inferno within him, and with each fallen enemy, the Devouring Nine Shadows grew darker, more tangible, as if reaching out to claim their stolen essence...