Chapter 12: The First Blood

Chapter 12: The First Blood

The mist hung heavy over Mistveil Valley, its gray shroud twisting through the trees and cloaking the earth in a restless silence. Ming You stood at the sect's eastern perimeter, his gray robe a shadow against the crumbling stone wall, his sharp eyes piercing the haze where danger stirred. At twenty-two years of age, he wielded the 3rd stage of Qi Condensation with a cold precision, its triple strands a silent weapon he concealed beneath a mask of unassuming diligence. The jade slip of the Threads of Chance and the scroll of the Ninefold Mist Barrier rested within his sleeve, twin pillars of a destiny he would carve with ruthless ambition.

The sect had mobilized at dawn, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sharpened steel as outer disciples reinforced the defenses under Elder Liu's stern command. The scouts of Ashen Hollow had been sighted again, their dark figures glimpsed too close to the perimeter, a prelude to the storm Ming You had foreseen. He felt the tension like a taut string, a thread he would pluck with opportunistic cunning to advance his schemes. The sect was a battlefield, and he would turn its chaos into his gain.

Elder Liu's voice rasped through the mist, his scarred face a slab of grim resolve. "Form squads," he ordered, his single eye sweeping over the gathered disciples. "Patrol the eastern edge—two groups of five. Drive off any scouts you find. No heroics, no deaths." His gaze lingered on Ming You, a flicker of expectation in its depths. "You lead the second squad. Prove your worth."

Ming You nodded, his expression a mask of icy detachment, his mind already dissecting the task. Chen Hao stepped closer, his patched tunic faintly visible beneath his robe, his hands trembling with nervous energy. "We are really doing this," he said, his voice low, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and trust. "You will keep us safe, right?"

Ming You turned his gaze to him, his tone a blade of calculated ambiguity. "Safety is a shadow," he replied, his words a leash to bind Chen Hao's loyalty without promise. "Stay close, and you may live to see the dawn." His heart remained a void, unemotional and cold, his manipulative intent veiled behind a veneer of wisdom.

The squad assembled—Chen Hao, the broad-shouldered Wei, the quiet Lian, and the wiry Tao—all outer disciples whose fear was palpable, their Qi weak and untested. Ming You led them into the valley, his steps deliberate, his senses sharpened by the 3rd stage's subtle gifts. The mist swallowed them, its dampness a cloak for his thoughts, the air heavy with the metallic tang he had come to associate with the valley's secrets.

They moved in silence, the crunch of leaves beneath their boots a faint betrayal of their presence. Ming You's Qi pulsed faintly, the Veil of Fortunate Shadows a whisper in his meridians, its lattice ready to nudge fate when the moment demanded. He scanned the terrain, noting the twisted trees and hidden ravines, his mind mapping escape routes and ambush points with strategic patience. Ashen Hollow was a storm he would harness, its scouts a means to an end.

A guttural cry shattered the stillness, followed by the clash of steel from the first squad ahead. Ming You raised a hand, halting his group, his gaze narrowing as shadows flickered through the mist. Three figures emerged—Ashen Hollow scouts, their dark robes tattered, their blades gleaming with faint Qi. One lunged at Wei, his dagger slashing through the air, while the others circled, their movements predatory.

"Defend yourselves," Ming You commanded, his voice a cold whip, his squad scrambling into action. Wei parried clumsily, his Qi flaring weakly, while Lian and Tao retreated, their fear paralyzing them. Chen Hao stood frozen, his eyes locked on the chaos, his trust in Ming You a fragile shield.

Ming You stepped forward, his Qi rising with calculated intent, the Ninefold Mist Barrier weaving into existence before him. The misty veil shimmered, dense and sharp-edged, its haze obscuring his form as he assessed the scouts. They were at the 2nd stage of Qi Condensation, their energy crude but potent, their numbers a threat to the untrained. He saw opportunity in their aggression—a chance to prove himself, to loot their corpses, to widen the sect's wounds.

The nearest scout charged, his blade slashing through the mist, its edge glinting with bloodlust. Ming You shifted, the barrier absorbing the strike, its ripples a testament to his control. He countered with a surge of Qi, a palm strike aimed at the scout's chest, its force weak but precise. The man staggered, his breath a ragged gasp, and Ming You seized the moment, drawing the Veil of Fortunate Shadows to nudge fate's hand.

A rock rolled beneath the scout's foot, a subtle twist of luck, and he stumbled, his guard dropping. Ming You struck again, his Qi-infused fingers driving into the man's throat, a silent kill executed with ruthless efficiency. The scout collapsed, his blood staining the earth, his blade clattering uselessly beside him. Ming You bent, his hands swift and discreet, looting a small pouch from the corpse—a low-grade spirit stone within, its faint glow a prize he concealed with opportunistic greed.

Chen Hao cried out, the second scout closing on him, his dagger raised. Ming You moved, his barrier extending to shield the boy, its mist muffling the scout's strike. "Fight," he snapped, his tone a cold command, his intent manipulative—he would not coddle, but sharpen Chen Hao into a tool. The boy swung wildly, his Qi flaring, and landed a glancing blow, driving the scout back.

The third scout retreated, his guttural shout echoing as he vanished into the mist—a survivor to escalate the conflict, a thread Ming You allowed to slip free with strategic foresight. The skirmish ended, the first squad emerging battered but alive, their foes driven off or slain. Wei clutched a shallow cut on his arm, Lian and Tao trembling, Chen Hao panting beside Ming You, his eyes wide with relief.

"You saved me again," Chen Hao said, his voice shaking, his trust deepening. "I owe you everything." His gratitude was a chain, one Ming You accepted with silent ruthlessness, his heart unmoved.

Ming You wiped blood from his hands, his expression a slab of ice. "You owe me nothing," he replied, his words a deceptive feint, masking his intent to bind the boy tighter. "Survival is its own reward." He turned away, his gaze sweeping the battlefield, his mind calculating the spoils—one spirit stone claimed, a scout escaped, the sect's fear heightened.

Elder Liu arrived, his scarred face grim as he surveyed the scene. "You held them off," he grunted, his eye lingering on the dead scout at Ming You's feet. "Quick thinking. Return to the sect—report this to Elder Zhang." His approval was a tool, one Ming You would wield with tactful cunning.

The squad trudged back, the mist closing around them, its dampness a mirror to Ming You's thoughts—elusive, unpredictable, a veil for his schemes. The spirit stone weighed lightly in his sleeve, a secret he would hoard, its energy a step toward immortality. Ashen Hollow's aggression was a flame he would stoke, its chaos a forge for his ascent. He had killed with cold efficiency, spared Chen Hao with manipulative grace, and let a foe flee with strategic intent—each move a thread in his tapestry.

Back in the hall, he sat apart, the stone's glow a faint warmth against his skin. Chen Hao settled nearby, his trust a resource Ming You would harvest with patient cruelty. "We made it," the boy murmured, his voice soft. "Thanks to you."

Ming You's gaze flicked to him, his tone a whisper of detached purpose. "The mist shields the bold," he said, a poetic breath masking his cynicism. "Rest, and grow stronger." His words were a lure, a command veiled in wisdom, his heart a void of unemotional resolve.

The night deepened, the mist a silent witness to his ambition. He traced the jade slip's edges, his Qi refining itself with persistent effort, his mind a labyrinth of plans. Ashen Hollow would return, and he would turn their wrath to his gain—arrays sabotaged, wealth stolen, blame shifted with unscrupulous precision. Immortality was his star, and he would seize it, a schemer clad in shadow, his will unyielding, his path a blade through the heavens.