> "Hold it too long, and you'll forget your hand belongs to you."
—Warning from an old weaponsmith
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[1] Departure
Morning fog clung to Tidehaven's south gate like a cold, pale, damp cloth.
The escort party, a dozen strong, stood outside—some cursing the weather under their breath, some checking their armor clasps, others chewing on hard biscuits. Lin Yuan stood at the rear, the rusted broken sword slung across his back.
The apothecary's chests were stacked on a two-wheeled cart, covered with oilcloth. The leader was an old soldier, his face like cracked leather, carrying a long-handled saber—a practitioner of Blade Dao.
"Take West Ravine Road, and don't stray. Ashheart Grass only grows on the east side of Broken Mountain. We must be back before dark."
He gave his instructions in a rough voice, then waved for the team to set out.
In the fog, the dirt road was slick. Reed leaves brushed against leg armor, wet with night dew. Footsteps, the clink of armor plates, and the sound of breathing merged into the monotonous beat of a marching drum.
Beneath his sleeve, Lin Yuan's right hand tightened and loosened on the sword hilt—the sensation still lagging by half a beat, as if getting used to the weapon's temper.
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[2] Prelude to an Ambush
By the time they reached the third river fork, the fog had thickened, visibility dropping to less than twenty paces.
The leader raised a hand. "Something's off. Listen."
The group fell silent.
From somewhere ahead in the reeds came a plop… plop…—the sound of something heavy moving through wetland. The pace wasn't fast, but it was steady.
The apothecary's face turned pale. "Marsh-Spotted Mastiffs… a whole pack."
Marsh-Spotted Mastiffs were low-tier beasts—not much trouble alone, but in packs they surged like a tide, tearing people apart alive. Bloodthirsty and afraid of fire—but in fog, flames didn't spread well, and would only reveal your position.
The fog thickened further; the sound of water drew closer.
Lin Yuan saw the reeds ahead give a faint tremble—
The next instant, a massive dog-like head marked with black spots lunged out. Its eyes glowed with an eerie green phosphorescence in the mist, like ghost-fires drifting in deep water. Its mouth bristled with uneven fangs, and its tongue was unnaturally long, faintly forked at the tip, slick with mucus that dripped steadily to the ground—each drop hissing into thin white smoke.
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[3] First Clash
"Front guard—block!" the leader bellowed.
Three Blade Dao fighters stepped forward in unison, their blades slicing through the fog, bringing with them the wet, hot reek of blood. The first mastiff was cleaved down, its body twitching as it toppled into the water.
But more shadows lunged out of the mist, from all directions.
One man drove his spear through a beast, only to be knocked over by another—its teeth grinding against his armor with a loud crunch. Screams ripped through the air.
At the rear, Lin Yuan saw a mastiff charging the apothecary from the flank—
Predatory cold gleamed in its eyes, and it was less than three steps away.
He drew his sword.
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[4] The Instant of Drawing
That familiar heartbeat surged up the hilt, like a beast opening its eyes after long sleep.
Lin Yuan stepped forward; the fog split in two with the shift of his shoulders.
First strike—a level thrust. The tip of the sword punched into the mastiff's throat, releasing a rush of thick heat.
Second strike—withdraw and slash across, severing its cervical spine.
It was over in two breaths. The mastiff's body fell without a sound, steam curling from the neck wound in the mist.
But numbness suddenly swept through Lin Yuan's arm, as though a portion of his blood had been drained—his fingers lagged half a beat behind his thoughts.
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[5] Killing in the Fog
"Right side!" the leader roared.
A larger mastiff leapt from the reeds, straight at Lin Yuan's back.
Whoosh—
He caught the sound of the wind, half-turned, and let the blade skim along his own waistline in a tight arc.
The beast split open midair; when it hit the ground, its entrails had already spilled out. The stink of blood filled his nose, thick and metallic like rusted water.
More mastiffs closed in—they circled in the fog, their eyes flashing on and off like the tightening mesh of a net.
Lin Yuan stepped back half a pace, bracing his back against the apothecary's cartwheel. The numbness in his right hand had crept to his forearm; he could barely feel the warmth of the hilt—only that heartbeat-like vibration urging him to keep swinging.
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[6] Price and Counterattack
One mastiff lunged, claws flinging droplets as they slashed for his throat.
Lin Yuan sidestepped, blade rising from below to rip open its belly—clean and precise. But as he turned for the next move, the strength in his right fingertips suddenly failed, the hilt slipping an inch in his grip.
A cold thought cut into his focus—
If his grip slipped another inch, its jaws would tear out his throat.
"Yuan!" someone shouted.
Another mastiff lunged from the left. Lin Yuan gritted his teeth, brought his left hand to the hilt, and swung with both hands, forcing the blade down to cleave the beast's spine in two.
He exhaled, feeling sensation slowly returning to his palm like the tide, along with a dull ache crawling from forearm to shoulder.
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[7] Aftermath
When the last mastiff fell beneath the leader's long saber, only the heavy sound of breathing and the blood-stench of the wetland remained in the fog.
Several team members were wounded; the apothecary's face was bloodless.
Lin Yuan drew his sword free. Beast blood slid down the blade, only to be sucked dry along the edges of the ancient patterns—leaving not a drop behind.
As it finished drinking, the patterns pulsed faintly, like tiny hearts, and deep within the grooves came a muffled thump—a swallowing echo that rattled through the bones of his palm.
He loosened his grip slowly, finding his fingers trembling, like a bowstring held taut for too long.
The leader came over and gave him a long look. "You're using… a sword?"
"Mm."
The old soldier narrowed his eyes. "The path of the sword is not an easy one." Then he turned to direct the cleanup.
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[8] Moving On
The fog was beginning to thin.
Beyond the wetland loomed the shadow of Broken Mountain—like a colossal blade driven into the earth and sky. Ashheart Grass grew there.
Lin Yuan slung the sword onto his back and followed the group. The numbness in his right hand hadn't yet faded completely, but he'd already learned to loosen his grip slightly while walking, letting the blood flow back.
The sword on his back was quiet—
But he knew it was watching, waiting for the next time it could drink blood.