Orin shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. " I didn't do much, really. I just pushed too hard, then the dark qi surged, and I passed out. When I woke up, my spirit vein was already unblocked."
His voice was casual, almost sheepish, like he'd stumbled into a win he didn't fully grasp.
Old Han opened his mouth, ready to say something, but his gaze flickered on something, dark threads pulsing under Orin's skin, faint but sharp, snaking up his arm from the cloth.
His brows shot up, and he stepped closer, leaning in so near that Orin could smell the sour tang of old herbs on his breath. His eyes narrowed, tracing the black lines like they were a map. "Hold on," he muttered, voice low and tight.
"That's still in you, isn't it?"
Orin rubbed his head, awkward under the stare. "Yeah, about that… I need to get it out. Do you have something?"Old Han straightened, a slow nod creaking out of him.
Old Han was silent for a moment as he pulled back. "It's Fifth-step stuff, it takes way more than grit to pull off." He tapped his stick on the ground, a faint smirk tugging at his weathered lips.
"Crimson Leech—it'll suck that filth right out. Sit tight, kid."
Orin's eyes widened a fraction. Fifth step? Old Han had kept that quiet—grubby robes and a limp stick didn't scream power, but here he was, claiming a rank that could flatten Tor twice over.
That was only a step behind the village elders, however, Feng knew that even Old Han wouldn't stand a chance against any of the village elders, the difference in cultivation steps simply got bigger with each new step.
Orin swallowed, suddenly seeing the old man's hunch as less frailty and more weight. "You're… fifth step?"
Old Han snorted, waving it off. "Don't gawk— it was just earned the hard way. Now, brace yourself. This isn't gentle."
He planted his stick deeper into the moss, its tip flaring red—a deep, bloody glow that pulsed like a heartbeat. He raised both hands, fingers curling as if gripping something invisible.
Orin raised his brow, all this while, he had simply thought that stick was for support. But clearly, it was way more than that.
"Crimson Leech draws qi through blood—your blood. It hurts like hell, but it'll drag that dark rot out."
Orin nodded, jaw tight, and sat cross-legged on the damp ground beside Scar. Old Han stepped over him, his hands hovering above Orin's chest. "Breathe deep," he grunted. "And don't scream—scares the birds."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face, then vanished as his palms glowed the same crimson as his stick. The air thickened, heavy with a low hum.
Old Han's qi flared—red tendrils snaked from his hands, coiling down toward Orin's tattooed palm. They latched on, sinking into his skin like needles, and Orin hissed, teeth clamping shut.
Pain erupted—sharp, searing, like molten iron pouring through his veins.
His arm jerked, but he held it steady, sweat beading on his forehead. He had also had his fair share of pain, even though this was totally new, he could handle it.
The dark qi stirred, waking inside him, and then it moved—a black, oily swirl bursting from his palm, spiraling up around him in jagged arcs.
The clearing darkened as the dark energy churned, twisting like a storm cloud tethered to Orin's body. It hissed and crackled, tendrils lashing out, scorching the moss where they grazed. Orin's breath hitched, his chest heaving as the red tendrils pulled harder, dragging the blackness out in thick, sluggish waves.
His vision blurred, the pain spiking into his skull—every nerve screaming as the dark qi fought to stay rooted.
"Keep going," he rasped, voice trembling but firm.
Behind a bush, Tep's eyes bulged, his stick slipping from his grip to thud softly on the dirt. The swirling black mass around Orin danced like a nightmare, shadows flickering over his sweat-slick face.
"He—he's a demon,"
Tep whispered, voice breaking. His legs shook, then gave—he spun and bolted, crashing through the undergrowth, eyes darting wild as he fled towards the orphanage.
"Mrs Matron was right!"
Back in the clearing, Old Han's hands trembled, sweat dripping from his brow as the Crimson Leech strained against the dark qi's pull.
"Stubborn bastard,"
he growled, forcing more qi into the tendrils. The red glow brightened, and with a final, wrenching tug, the last of the black swirled free—hanging in the air a moment before dissipating into thin, acrid wisps. Orin slumped forward, gasping, his palm raw but clean, the tattoo was dimmer now, but still very thick. its runes faint against his skin. Old Han staggered back, leaning hard on his stick.
"Done," he panted, wiping his face with a sleeve. "That's all of it—clean as it gets."
He squinted at Orin, who was still catching his breath, hands braced on his knees. "You're tougher than you look, kid."
Orin flashed a small smile in reply.
A groan broke the quiet—Scar stirred, one swollen eye flickering open, then the other. He blinked slow, groggy, peering up at Orin. "Boss…?" he mumbled, voice thick. "We dead yet?"
Orin cracked a tired grin, shaking his head. "Not today. Welcome back."
Meanwhile, Tep stumbled into the orphanage courtyard, legs wobbling as he burst through the gate. His chest heaved, dirt streaking his face, and he waved his arms like a madman.
"Matron! Matron, he's possessed—I saw it!" His voice cracked, loud enough to bounce off the wooden walls.The matron poked her head out from the main building, broom still in hand, apron dusted with flour.
"What's all this racket, boy? I gave you a single task!" she snapped, stepping out, but her eyes widened at Tep's pale, trembling state.
She calmed as her mind registered what he just said. "Saw what?"
"Brother Orin!" Tep blurted, hands shaking. "He—he's got black stuff swirling 'round him, like a storm! The old man was pulling it out—red light, it was all creepy! He's a demon, I swear it!"
His words tumbled over each other, frantic and panicked.
Before the matron could reply, a shadow fell across the yard—three figures stepped through the gate, robes rustling, their presence heavy as stone.
The village elders—just three of the twelve, but their qi pressed the air tight. The tallest, Elder Gao, fixed Tep with a cold, unblinking stare, his gray beard twitching as he spoke. "What do you mean, boy? Speak clear."
Tep gulped, shrinking under their gaze, but pointed back toward the forest. "I—I followed them, just like the matron said. Orin and Scar...they're with some old man by the waterfall. I saw black energy, swirling all 'round him, like he's cursed or something.
The old man did a ritual—red light, pulling it out. It's true, he's possessed!" The matron nodded fast, clutching her broom tighter.
"I told you—told you he's a demon! Such a strange kid! Always sneaking off, and now this! He's a danger!"
Elder Gao's frown deepened, lines carving into his weathered face. He glanced at the other two—Elder Wei, a squat man with a scar over one eye, and Elder Lian, lean and silent, her hands clasped behind her back. "Black energy, you say?" Gao rumbled, voice low but sharp. "And an old man with red qi—sounds like cultivation, not spirits." Wei snorted, crossing his arms. "Could be some rogue trick.
"B-but! Orin has no spirit vein! He can't cultivate!" The Matron shouted, eager to push down her point that Orin was possessed.
The elders exchanged glances amongst themselves, silent.
"Lian tilted his head, eyes glinting. "Still, we can't have that roaming free in the village. Cultivation or not, it's trouble." He turned to Tep.
Wei nodded. "We need to find them, he needs to be studied."
"You saw where they were?"
Tep nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes, Sir!—by the waterfall, not far."
Gao straightened, his energy flaring faintly—a ripple of heat that made Tep flinch.
"Take us there, boy. We'll see this for ourselves."
The matron stepped back, relief flickering in her eyes as the elders turned toward the gate, Tep scurrying ahead to lead the way.