The fox's gaze shifted, settling on the remaining spirit tool.
The **fan**.
With a flick of qi, it drew the object forward. The ribs unfolded slightly on their own, runes along the surface glimmering faintly—as if responding to the fox's attention.
"…Here it is," the fox said softly.
It studied the fan more closely now, its expression thoughtful rather than dismissive.
"I'll be taking this as well."
The fan rotated once in the air, then snapped shut with a crisp *click*.
"Using only spears…" the fox continued, tails swaying slowly, "…makes me feel like something's missing."
Its eyes narrowed.
"As if the spear wasn't chosen because it was best," it said quietly, "but because it was *required*."
The fox tilted its head slightly, ears flicking.
"A doctrine that discourages versatility," it mused. "Or a tradition meant to counter something specific—something that punishes close-range weapons."
The fan folded completely and slipped into the pouch, joining the others.
The fox exhaled, its expression unreadable.
"Hm. I don't like it."
It glanced once more at the now-cleared space where the weapons had been, then leaned back, tails settling around its body.
"Still," it muttered, "their mistakes are my gain."
From the table came another quiet *glop*—another jar emptied.
The fox didn't even look this time.
Some mysteries could wait.
Others had already paid the price.
The fox gave the remaining weapons one last glance.
With a small flick of its qi, it pulled out an **empty storage pouch** of its own. One by one, the leftover spears and lesser tools slid neatly inside, the pouch bulging slightly before sealing shut.
"The rest will be sold," it said simply. "No reason to clutter my space with things I won't use."
It tied the pouch off and set it aside, clearly finished with that task.
Its attention then shifted to the **pile of looted storage pouches** taken from the fallen cultivators. The fox's ears twitched as it regarded them, calculating.
"…Opening all of these would take too long," it muttered. "Breaking imprints, sorting contents, cleansing residue—tedious."
It clicked its tongue once.
"And I don't feel like dealing with unstable seals tonight."
The fox reached out, gathering the looted pouches together without opening a single one.
"I'll let the imprints fade on their own," it decided calmly. "Time will do the work for me."
With that, it slipped all of them back into its own pouch, the space swallowing them without a sound.
The fox leaned back on the bed, tails curling loosely around its body.
"Efficient," it said, satisfied.
Behind it, the lizard was still drinking—slower now, but steady—its body humming faintly as it refined the last of the wine.
The fox spared it a brief glance, then closed its eyes halfway.
"For tonight," it murmured, "that's enough."
The room remained quiet, protected by layers of formations, holding two very different creatures as the night in Rivermarch continued outside—unaware, for now, of just how much blood and fortune had passed through its walls.
The bed was quiet now.
The fox sat alone at its center, tails drawn in closer than before, posture no longer relaxed—only **careful**.
With a thought, it opened its pouch again.
A **jade talisman** floated out, pale green and flawlessly carved, its surface etched with dense, overlapping runes. Even dormant, it carried weight—**Earth-grade**, unmistakably so.
The fox studied it in silence for a moment.
"I could wait," it said at last, voice low. "Let the imprint fade on its own."
The talisman rotated slowly, light catching along its edges.
"But knowing I have something like this in my possession…" the fox continued, eyes narrowing, "…I can't afford that patience."
It let out a soft breath.
"If I end up dying right now—when I'm this weary—that would be a real shame."
Its gaze sharpened.
"It's not that I'm unsafe," it clarified, almost to itself. "This room is sealed. Rivermarch enforces its rules. The odds are low."
But low wasn't zero.
"And an Earth-grade defensive tool that **automatically activates when I'm attacked**," the fox went on, "means I don't have to keep my guard up every single moment."
It reached out with its qi, touching the talisman's surface.
The runes responded immediately, flaring faintly as they recognized a foreign will pressing in.
The fox drew a slow, measured breath.
"This will take a while," it murmured.
Its eyes slid shut.
The jade talisman continued to float before it, perfectly still, runes faintly pulsing like a sleeping heart. The fox's posture straightened just a little—no longer relaxed, but disciplined.
From between its brows, a **thin strand of divine sense** slipped free.
Invisible. Sharp. Cold.
The strand reached out and touched the jade.
Instantly, resistance pushed back.
The original owner's imprint reacted like a coiled thorn—dense, layered, stubborn. Not violent, but **possessive**, clinging to the talisman with the last echoes of will left behind by a dead cultivator.
"Hmph," the fox thought. "As expected."
It didn't force its way in.
Instead, it **wrapped** its divine sense around the imprint, circling it patiently, testing its boundaries. Wherever the imprint was weakest—where the cultivator's will had frayed under death—the fox pressed in gently, shaving it away layer by layer.
Not destroying.
**Erasing.**
The jade trembled once, runes flickering erratically before settling again.
Time stretched.
Outside the sealed room, the night market of Rivermarch continued its quiet pulse. Inside, only faint spiritual pressure stirred the air—subtle enough not to trigger the room's defensive formations.
The fox remained motionless.
Sweat did not form. Breath did not quicken.
But within, the effort was immense.
Earth-grade tools were not meant to be claimed lightly. Each fragment of erased imprint resisted like hardened crystal, and the fox had to peel it away without damaging the core formations embedded within the jade.
"Slowly," it reminded itself. "Carefully just like I did it before."
Another layer faded.
The jade's glow softened, becoming less hostile—less… foreign.
The fox's tails twitched once.
Good.
It continued.
Patient. Methodical. Unyielding.
Across the room, the lizard lay amid empty jars, breathing evenly now, its body faintly warm with refined energy. It did not stir.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
By the time the fox finally paused, the jade talisman pulsed with a **new rhythm**—not fully claimed, not yet bound, but no longer rejecting its presence.
The fox opened its eyes just a slit.
"…That's enough for now."
It withdrew its divine sense slowly, letting the jade hover in place.