Arc 2 – The Path of ShadowsWord Count: ~1,070
The first strike came on a night without wind.
No thunder, no warning. Just the flicker of a torchlight being snuffed out, and the scream of a sentry before his body slumped into the courtyard shadows—lifeless, blood pooling beneath him like spilled ink.
By the time the Hall stirred, the enemy was already inside.
Red Willow Sect assassins moved like ghosts in the fog, their blades silent, their eyes empty. But they weren't alone. Among them were former comrades. People Li Fan had trained with his own hands. Some still wore their old Assassin Hall cloaks, though the Oath he once branded into their hearts was long gone.
Mei Xiu had made her move.
And it was merciless.
Li Fan stood at the edge of the central compound, the cold night air biting through his robes. His face was smeared with soot, and blood stained his sleeves. Behind him, Jiao barked orders to the younger trainees, pushing them back into the inner chambers where the remaining loyalists gathered.
"This is no raid," Zhao Liang muttered beside him. "She's come to finish us."
Li Fan nodded grimly. "She's not here for control. She's here to destroy the old Assassin Hall—burn out the roots."
His fingers tightened around the curved blade at his side.
"They don't want to inherit what we built. They want to erase it."
They fought street by street, hallway by hallway. Each corner of the Hall became a battlefield. The scent of blood mixed with the scent of the rain-soaked stone. Li Fan moved like a shadow, his dagger whispering across throats, his presence a grim echo of the man who once avoided violence.
But now, there was no room for restraint.
He met his first betrayal in the northern corridor—a boy named Han Feng, barely nineteen, someone he had rescued from a debtor's prison just a season ago. Li Fan hesitated for a heartbeat.
That was all it took.
Han Feng lunged at him, blade flashing in the dark, his eyes wide with desperation—not hatred, not madness… just fear. The kind of fear Li Fan had seen in too many eyes.
"I'm sorry," Li Fan whispered as his blade found the boy's chest.
Han Feng gasped, the light in his eyes fading like the last ember of a dying fire.
Li Fan didn't wait for the body to fall.
Hours passed like minutes.
By the time the assault slowed, the once-mighty Hall had been reduced to a bloodied shell. Charred timbers cracked underfoot. The training grounds were strewn with the dead—friends and traitors alike.
Jiao was wounded in the side, but still breathing. Zhao Liang bore three slashes down his arm. Lin Jian hadn't been seen since the second wave hit the western wing.
But worst of all, Mei Xiu was gone.
She hadn't come to fight. She had sent others to die in her place—others who believed in her vision of strength.
Li Fan stood among the ruins of his home, the dagger still clenched in his hand, his shoulders heaving from exhaustion.
The blood on his hands no longer surprised him.
It was the silence that did.
Later that night, what remained of the Hall gathered in the inner sanctum. A half-collapsed meditation hall became their last haven. The flickering firelight danced on weary faces.
No one spoke for a long time.
Finally, Zhao Liang stood, his voice hoarse. "We lost nearly half our remaining strength tonight."
A heavy silence.
"Mei Xiu's forces retreated before dawn," Jiao added quietly. "They left the wounded. Took only their dead."
"She never meant to conquer us," Li Fan said. "She just wanted to cut out our heart."
"And what now?" Jiao asked.
Li Fan looked up.
His eyes were bloodshot, but no longer clouded. "Now we bury the dead. We rebuild again."
"You keep saying that," Zhao said, more tired than bitter. "But how many more times can we rebuild, Li Fan? How many more pieces can you hold together before the whole thing shatters in your hands?"
Li Fan didn't answer at first.
Instead, he stood and walked to the center of the room, where an old cloth banner still hung from a cracked beam. The Oath was written on it—stitched by his own hand when the Hall had first begun.
"We do not serve power. We do not sow chaos. We are the edge of justice when justice fails."
He looked at those around him.
Some were wounded. Some were terrified. But they were still here.
"This Oath was never about winning," he said. "It was about standing. Even when it hurts. Even when we're alone."
He pulled the banner down, folding it gently. "Mei Xiu betrayed the Hall. But she didn't betray me. She betrayed herself."
Zhao Liang shook his head. "You're still clinging to ideals. Even when they've already cost you everything."
Li Fan looked at him, not with anger, but something gentler. "If I stop believing, then the Hall dies. Not from betrayal. But from within."
Later that night, Li Fan stood alone at the edge of the cliff behind the compound. Snow was falling again. Below, the valley was silent, blanketed in white.
He held Han Feng's dagger in his hand—a simple blade, unmarked.
Not a weapon of vengeance. Just a boy's dream of survival.
Li Fan closed his eyes.
We are the edge of justice when justice fails.
But tonight… justice had bled.