The Masked Artisan

The Masked Artisan stood silently behind his mechanical cart, casting only a passing glance at Rinzei, saying nothing.

This was typical of him. Rinzei, a purchasing steward of the Kazen Clan, felt both powerless and quietly infuriated.

He was, after all, a cultivator of the main family—yet this old man showed no deference at all.

Still, the young heir of the Kazen Clan had issued clear orders: win over the Masked Artisan at all costs. Rinzei suppressed his growing irritation, forcing a cordial smile.

"Master Artisan, this time I've come with a substantial order."

"Eighty Twin-Wish Binding Cords."

"With such a bulk deal, surely we can negotiate a better price?"

"I've been your loyal customer all this time. Surely that merits a little goodwill? Two hundred Spirit Jades per cord—surely that's a bit steep?"

The Masked Artisan finally moved—just slightly—and responded in a hoarse, weathered voice. "You're right."

"Two hundred and fifty Spirit Jades per piece."

Rinzei froze. Then forced a laugh. "Master Artisan, forgive me, but that's not how bargaining works."

The Masked Artisan snorted. "Every extra word you speak adds fifty to the price."

Rinzei's jaw dropped. Fury surged within him—he nearly slapped the old man then and there. But he gritted his teeth and forced out, "Fine. I'll accept your price."

"However, our clan needs some adjustments to better suit our cultivation methods. For instance—"

"No modifications," the Masked Artisan interrupted. "Take it or leave it. If you don't want them, walk away."

Rinzei was dumbstruck.

After a long breath, he forced a smile and nodded stiffly. "Deal."

The Masked Artisan didn't move, but several mechanical puppets descended from the top of the cart, animated by ethereal strings.

They chattered and laughed, performing rolls and flips, even playfully wrestling. Then, coordinated, they opened a circular hatch on the cart, climbing down and retrieving the Binding Cords one by one, coiled like serpents.

As always, Rinzei watched with a complex expression—half awe, half envy.

Such mastery of string puppetry. Each movement so lifelike, so natural.

If even one percent of that mastery could be passed to the Kazen Clan's younger generation, their performance in the upcoming cultivation assessments would skyrocket.

But mechanical arts were low-ranked among the hundred cultivation disciplines—too many flaws. Chief among them: vulnerability of control.

Cut the strings—and the puppet dies.

Rinzei handed over the Spirit Jades and left the black market, carrying the cords with a twisted expression.

"Masked Artisan," he muttered darkly. "I've shown you nothing but respect—yet you've never reciprocated."

"This time… I've arranged something special for you."

"I hired the Rinka Clan's Three Shades just for this. Even prepared a 'gift'…"

"If you won't drink the toast, you'll drink the punishment."

He had no other option. His patience had long run dry.

The plan was simple: the Three Shades would cripple the Artisan. Rinzei would appear afterward as the rescuer and win the old man's trust—or, if it came to it, coerce his submission.

As long as he fulfilled his mission, the aftermath would be someone else's concern.

Later, as the black market shut down for the night, the Masked Artisan made his way home, burdened with goods.

Then, it happened.

A sealing talisman activated—Spatial Binding Sigil—instantly locking down the surrounding area.

The Artisan halted mid-step.

"Hehehe…"

Laughter echoed eerily as three ghostly figures emerged from the alley's edges, lunging toward him.

He didn't flinch.

When they closed in—

Several mechanical birds burst from beneath his cloak, darting through the air like silent arrows.

Silent Skyrazors—avian mechanisms laced with lightning talismans. They detonated in flashes of electric light, wordless and brilliant.

In mere moments, the ghostly trio was struck down.

"How?!"

"That talisman should've disabled Divine Sense…!"

"He's not using control strings?!"

"Whatever! Attack together!"

The Rinka Shades leapt out from hiding, summoning a swarm of vengeful spirits, wrapping the alley in deathly chill.

The Artisan stood unmoved. His tangled, oily black hair writhed to life—splitting into long, flexible cords.

Mechanism—Obsidian Lifesnare.

These cords snapped out like dark serpents, coiling and snapping with lethal grace.

Inside his sea of consciousness, an ancient sigil trembled—half holy, half malevolent.

Treasure Seal—Zenfiend Sigil.

The demonic ghosts stuttered mid-attack, suddenly frozen by the force within the Artisan's soul.

In that moment of hesitation, two of the Shades were shredded by the Obsidian Lifesnare, their spirits torn to nothingness.

Only the eldest remained. Burning with hatred, he risked his core, unleashing his final technique—driving a dagger directly into the Artisan's head.

Clang!

A sharp metallic ping rang out.

The ghost froze in horror.

Before he could react, ten lifestrands pierced him from every angle, suspending him like a doll, bleeding out in mid-air.

Nearby cultivators who heard strange noises came to investigate—

—but the alley held no corpses. Not even blood.

Rinzei, still waiting in the shadows, began to panic.

"Still nothing? They should've succeeded by now."

He gritted his teeth. "The Masked Artisan is only at Foundation Establishment. The Three Shades are too. I even gave them a sealing sigil and the Windblade Mantis to sever his strings!"

"There's no way he could've survived… right?"

He waited longer. But the wait would bring nothing.

Deep within a hidden tunnel, the Masked Artisan strolled calmly.

Trailing behind him—three corpses, bound by the Obsidian Lifesnare, casting monstrous shadows along the stone walls.

A red glow appeared up ahead. The heat grew.

He turned a corner—to a massive pill furnace.

He opened the lid. Without hesitation, he tossed in the bodies.

After sealing it shut, he moved into the adjacent chamber.

He retrieved several pounds of Fire Jade Essence bought earlier. The storage room already held a small mountain of the stuff.

"Only ten pounds more… and it's ready."

Finally, he stepped into the Teleportation Room and activated the circle.

In the next instant, he returned to his underground workshop.

And then—his transformation began.

The tangled black hair retracted. The hunched frame straightened.

The cloak shimmered—revealing a silver-gray armored suit beneath, runes softly glowing across its surface.

A new scar marred the helmet—gift of the eldest Shade's dagger.

Then the armor's breastplate, shoulder guards, and leg plates unlatched with a hiss.

A boy stepped out.

Fair-skinned. Clear-eyed. Serene.

The armor was known as: Hanrin Shell.

The boy's true name: Kazen Riku.