For a full month, Shen Mo vanished from the world. His small, windowless room in the boarding house became a sealed tomb, a private training ground where he waged a war on his own limitations.
His Anchor body sat in the center of the room, a statue wreathed in the faint shimmer of a Qi-gathering array fueled by his newly earned spirit stones. He focused the entirety of his will on two tasks: healing the last of his internal injuries and mastering the chaotic symphony of his tripartite consciousness. The headache was his constant companion, a dull, grinding pressure behind his eyes that sharpened into a piercing spike whenever his focus wavered. He learned to build mental walls, to compartmentalize the streams of input from his clones. He designated his Anchor's perception as the 'core,' the primary reality, while the senses of Ghost 1 and Ghost 2 became 'threads,' secondary data streams that he could monitor without being fully immersed in them. The Soul-Calming Incense helped, its fragrant smoke soothing the ragged edges of his mind, but it was the Mind-Settling Dew, taken one precious drop at a time, that truly allowed him to make progress, strengthening his mental resilience.
While the Anchor cultivated, the clones worked. They were his hands and feet in the city, extensions of his will that allowed him to be in multiple places at once. Dressed in simple, nondescript traveler's clothes, Ghost 1 and Ghost 2 became fixtures in the sprawling, chaotic markets of Blacksand Oasis. They never spoke, never haggled, never drew attention. They were simply observers, two more faces in a city of countless desperate souls.
Ghost 1's task was to find a buyer for Glimmer. This was the most dangerous part of the plan. Selling a high-grade spiritual weapon was not like selling common herbs. It attracted sharks. The clone moved through the city's underbelly, visiting the shadowy establishments where such transactions took place. It visited the "Iron Anvil," a black market auction house known for its discretion and its exorbitant fees. It scouted the "Silent Pavilion," an information broker that also dealt in high-value item brokering. Through silent observation, Shen Mo mapped the flow of illicit wealth in the city, identifying the key players and the safest, most profitable avenues.
Ghost 2, meanwhile, had a different mission: find a master craftsman. The creation of three identical spiritual swords was a task beyond any common blacksmith. It required a Forging Master, a cultivator whose Dao was the way of the hammer and the flame. Such individuals were rare, reclusive, and notoriously eccentric. Ghost 2 spent its days in the Artisan's District, a cacophony of ringing hammers and roaring forges. It watched smiths craft weapons, discerning their skill level from the purity of the Qi they infused into the metal, the precision of their strikes, and the quality of their finished products.
After two days of relentless, silent reconnaissance, Shen Mo had his targets. There was a special, no-questions-asked consignment auction at the Iron Anvil in two days' time, the perfect venue to sell Glimmer for its maximum value without revealing his identity. And Ghost 2 had identified a potential craftsman: an old, reclusive master known only as "Old Man Tie." His forge was at the very edge of the district, a small, soot-stained hovel that was perpetually silent. The locals said he hadn't taken a commission in years, but the faint, powerful aura of refined metals and dormant fire that clung to the building told Shen Mo that this was a master of the highest caliber.
The plan was executed with precision. Ghost 1 successfully registered Glimmer at the auction house. Ghost 2 visited Old Man Tie's forge, communicating the complex order for three identical, soul-forged swords without speaking a word, using only hand gestures and a masterfully drawn forging rune. The price was astronomical—five hundred mid-grade spirit stones—but the old master agreed.
The auction was a resounding success. Glimmer sold for a staggering six hundred and fifty mid-grade spirit stones. After the house's cut, Shen Mo was left with a pouch containing five hundred and eighty-five spirit stones. The next morning, Ghost 2 delivered the payment and all the Starlight Steel he could purchase to Old Man Tie.
"A month," the old master had grunted, his eyes gleaming with a craftsman's passion. "Come back then. The blades will be ready. They will be sisters, born of the same fire and the same soul. You will not be able to tell them apart."
The following weeks were a blur of disciplined activity. Shen Mo continued his mental training while his clones scoured the city for soul-strengthening resources and information on shadow veil amulets, both searches proving mostly fruitless. The amulets were an exclusive item of The Paid Ferrymen, and true soul treasures were the domain of powerful sects. He knew these would be long-term goals.
Exactly one month after he had commissioned the swords, his Oarsman's plaque chimed. A new contract.
He sent Ghost 2 to Old Man Tie's forge. The clone returned not long after, carrying a long, cloth-wrapped bundle. Inside the privacy of his room, Shen Mo unwrapped it. There lay three swords, their pale gray steel seeming to drink the dim light. He picked one up. The weight, the balance, the feel of the leather-wrapped hilt—it was a perfect echo of Glimmer. He drew his Qi, and it flowed through the blade's channels as if it were an extension of his own arm. They were a step down in quality, low-grade spiritual weapons instead of peak mid-grade, but their absolute uniformity was a power all its own. He now had his weapons.
He descended into the Ferrymen's lair, his mind a fortress of calm. He approached the Toll Taker's desk, the familiar pressure of the powerful entity's gaze washing over him.
"Vermillion Ghost," the raspy voice echoed. "You have been idle. Your next contract is here."
A black jade slip slid across the desk. Shen Mo took it. The information was more complex this time.
Target: Elder Chen, a guest elder of the Golden Sand Sect.
Cultivation: Eighth Level, Foundation Establishment.
Identity: A renowned alchemist.
Details: The client, an anonymous rival, wants Elder Chen eliminated before he can successfully refine a batch of "Foundation Firming Pills" for the Golden Sand Sect's disciples. The client also requires the destruction of the pill formula and all related alchemical ingredients.
Location: The Golden Sand Sect's heavily guarded outpost, a small fortress one day's travel from Blacksand Oasis.
Time Limit: Three days.
Payment: Two hundred mid-grade spirit stones.
Shen Mo's mind processed the information instantly. This was a true assassination, far more difficult than the last. The target was two levels higher than him, a significant gap in power. More importantly, the target was inside a sect's fortress. Infiltrating a secure, hostile location filled with dozens of cultivators was a monumental challenge.
"The target is of a higher cultivation," the Toll Taker stated. "The location is fortified. This is an Iron-grade contract. Given the difficulty, you are authorized to requisition a support squad. Four Ferrymen-in-training. They will follow your commands. They are... disposable."
Shen Mo considered the offer for a moment. A squad like Scythe had led. Four extra bodies, four extra blades. It was the logical choice for a direct assault. But he was not a commander, and this was not an assault. It was an assassination.
"Squads are clumsy," Shen Mo's voice was a cold, steady whisper. "They leave tracks. They make noise. For a mission requiring infiltration, they are a liability."
The mirrored veil of the Toll Taker seemed to focus intently on him. "You intend to refuse the support? You will undertake an Iron-grade contract alone?"
"I am never alone," Shen Mo stated simply.
A long, heavy silence filled the hall. The Toll Taker's inscrutable gaze seemed to bore into him, searching for any hint of arrogance or foolishness. It found only cold, unshakable confidence.
"Very well," the voice finally rasped. "The choice is yours. Succeed, and your rank will be promoted. Fail..." The unspoken threat hung in the cold air.
Shen Mo crushed the jade slip. He thought of his two clones, silent and waiting in his soul-space. He thought of the three identical blades now resting in his storage pouch. This was not just a contract. It was the first true test of his new power.
"Understood." He turned and walked away, the weight of the mission settling on his shoulders. He was outmatched, outgunned, and walking into a fortress. But for the first time, he felt a sliver of an advantage that no one else could possibly account for. The enemy was expecting a single ghost. He would bring them a trinity of death.