Chapter 4: Shadows in the Night

Chapter 4: Shadows in the Night

The night air was crisp, carrying the distant howl of the wind as it swept through the mountain pass. Wuyao Shengjun sat cross-legged atop a rocky outcrop overlooking the sect. Below, the faint glow of lanterns flickered in the courtyards as the disciples retired for the night, their training complete.

His muscles ached from the relentless drills earlier, but his mind was far from rest. He traced the wooden training sword resting across his lap, his fingers moving over the grain of the wood with silent contemplation.

He had never had something like this before guidance, purpose, a home. It was unfamiliar, yet… it stirred something in him. A longing he hadn't realized he possessed.

This is my second life.

I will not waste it.

A sharp rustling in the trees below shattered his thoughts.

His instincts flared.

Wuyao's grip on the wooden sword tightened as he shifted into a low stance, his senses sharpening. He had heard many sounds in the past few hours branches swaying, birds taking flight but this was different.

This was deliberate.

The shadows between the trees moved. Not the flickering of moonlight against the leaves, but something real. Something alive.

And watching.

Wuyao felt his pulse slow. A strange calm settled over him one he knew well from his past life. The quiet clarity that came before danger.

Instead of calling for the guards or alerting the sect, he remained still. If they were truly enemies, they wouldn't strike so carelessly. They were watching, waiting for something.

Then I will wait, too.

Minutes passed.

Then, in a blur of motion, the shadow moved. A flicker of black against the trees. A faint whisper of steel unsheathing.

Wuyao reacted instantly.

He rolled to the side as a throwing knife embedded itself in the rock where he had been sitting. The metallic clang echoed in the night.

Assassins.

More figures emerged from the darkness, clad in black, their faces hidden behind cloth masks. Their movements were precise silent, efficient, deadly.

Wuyao exhaled.

So it begins.

The first assassin lunged.

Wuyao sidestepped, twisting his body just as the blade passed an inch from his ribs. Without hesitation, he lashed out with his wooden sword, striking the attacker's wrist with pinpoint accuracy. A sharp crack rang out as the blade tumbled from the assassin's grip.

A second figure came from behind. Wuyao spun, ducking low as another strike barely grazed his shoulder. He countered instantly, sweeping his leg under the assassin's stance, sending them crashing to the ground.

But there were too many.

The remaining attackers adjusted their positions, surrounding him. Their movements were eerily synchronized, their eyes cold and calculating.

Wuyao's mind raced.

They aren't ordinary mercenaries. These are trained killers.

And they weren't here for random slaughter. No this attack was targeted.

They were here for him.

The sect was still unaware. If he called for help, the assassins might retreat, blending into the night before anyone arrived.

But if I let them escape…

They'll come back.

The thought sent a slow burn through his veins.

He would not cower. Not in this life.

Wuyao tightened his grip on the wooden sword. Then I will kill them before they get the chance.

The assassins struck in unison.

Wuyao's world narrowed to the moment. The flow of battle became instinct. He weaved through their attacks, his body moving faster than he had ever known it could.

A feint to his right. A low strike to his left. He parried, deflected, countered his wooden sword a blur in the moonlight.

One assassin overextended Wuyao took the opening, driving the tip of his sword into their throat. The impact sent them staggering, gasping for breath.

Another assassin's blade cut toward his back he twisted, narrowly dodging. But he wasn't fast enough.

A sharp pain bloomed along his side as steel grazed his ribs, drawing blood.

Wuyao ignored it. Pain meant nothing.

He struck back, relentless. Faster. Harder.

Another enemy down. Then another.

Until only one remained.

The last assassin hesitated. Wuyao saw it the flicker of doubt in their stance, the slight tremble in their grip.

Good.

"Who sent you?" Wuyao demanded, his voice cold.

The assassin didn't answer. Instead, they made a sharp gesture one Wuyao recognized too late.

Suicide technique.

A small explosion of smoke erupted around them. By the time it cleared, the assassin was gone vanishing into the forest like a phantom.

Wuyao remained still, his breath steady despite the pain in his side.

He had survived. But this was only the beginning.

Someone wanted him dead.

And soon… they would regret failing.

The following morning, the sect buzzed with unease. The guards had discovered the bodies. Whispers spread among the disciples assassins had entered their sacred grounds, and yet, only one person had fought them off.

Wuyao stood before his father in the main hall, his side bandaged, but his expression unreadable.

Master Sheng's gaze was heavy. "You should have called for help."

"If I had, they would have escaped without a fight."

His father was silent for a long moment. Then, finally, he said, "This was not random. Someone is moving against us."

Wuyao met his gaze. "Then I will move against them first."

Master Sheng studied him, as if seeing something different in his son.

"…Very well," he said at last. "Your training will intensify. You must be ready for what is to come."

Wuyao's lips curled into a faint smirk.

Ready?

He had already died once.

This time, he would be the one to carve his own fate.

And if the world sought to erase him again…

Then he would burn it down first.