The night was deathly silent. The only sound was the wind whispering through the trees as Yao Yan and Qing'er stood still, their senses sharpened.
Then—whoosh!
A streak of light tore through the darkness, aiming straight for Qing'er's throat.
Yao Yan's figure blurred.
Clang!
His sword flashed, intercepting the attack mid-air. The force behind it sent a ripple through the air, shaking the treetops.
From the shadows, a group of Ji Clan assassins emerged. Their faces were masked, their killing intent sharp as their blades.
Yao Yan's smirk widened. "I was hoping they'd send something more… interesting."
The leader of the assassins, clad in jet-black robes, stepped forward. His voice was like ice. "You should have never touched Ji Xuan."
Qing'er lifted her sword. "He deserved it."
"That may be," the assassin said coldly. "But now, you die."
They attacked.
Their movements were flawless—an elite force trained to kill.
But against Yao Yan… they were nothing.
He moved like a shadow, his sword cutting through them with terrifying precision. One assassin swung a dagger at his back—Yao Yan vanished and reappeared behind him, piercing his heart in a single stroke.
Another launched a barrage of sword strikes—none landed. Yao Yan caught the last blade between two fingers, snapping it effortlessly before impaling its wielder through the chest.
Qing'er, too, fought fiercely, her movements sharper than before. Yao Yan had trained her well.
Within moments, only the leader remained.
He staggered back, gripping his blade tightly. "Impossible…"
Yao Yan's golden eyes gleamed. "Tell the Ji Clan," he said, stepping forward, "that if they send another, I won't be this merciful."
The assassin hesitated.
Then, in a flash of movement—he fled.
Yao Yan didn't chase him. He turned to Qing'er, brushing dust off his robe. "Shall we keep moving?"
Qing'er exhaled, shaking her head. "You really do enjoy this too much."
Yao Yan laughed.
The Ji Clan's revenge had only begun. But so had his.