The Golden Sand Sect's outpost was less a fortress and more a declaration of dominance. It was a stark, three-story tower of yellow sandstone built atop a wide, circular base, situated in the middle of a barren salt flat. There were no canyons to hide in, no forests to offer cover. The outpost stood alone under the vast, open sky, a bastion of power and arrogance. Any approach would be seen for miles. For a lone assassin, it was a nightmare. For a trinity, it was a puzzle waiting to be solved.
Shen Mo did not approach. For a full day and a night, he remained motionless, concealed within a shallow, hand-dug trench a mile from the outpost, buried under a camouflage tarp and a layer of sand. From this hidden command center, he was a spider at the center of a web, his consciousness extending outwards through his two clones.
Ghost 1 and Ghost 2, clad in simple traveler's clothes the color of the salt flats, approached the fortress from opposite directions. They were his eyes and ears, his scouts on a hostile shore. They didn't get close enough to be spotted, instead circling the outpost at a distance, using their spiritual sense in short, controlled bursts to map its layout and defenses.
The mental strain was immense, far greater than it had been during the simple journey back from the badlands. Here, every detail mattered. While Shen Mo remained perfectly still in his trench, his mind was a whirlwind of activity. Through Ghost 1's senses, he mapped the patrol routes of the sect disciples on the outer walls, noting their numbers, cultivation levels—mostly early Foundation Establishment—and the precise timing of their guard changes. Through Ghost 2's senses, he analyzed the fortress's defensive arrays. He could feel the faint, rhythmic pulse of the main ward, a powerful energy shield that encompassed the entire structure. But more importantly, he located a secondary, more concentrated energy signature on the top floor—a powerful, localized formation protecting the alchemy lab itself.
By the time the twin moons rose high in the sky, Shen Mo had a perfect, three-dimensional understanding of his target. The outpost was manned by roughly fifty disciples. The captain of the guard was a formidable seventh-level Foundation Establishment expert. His target, Elder Chen, remained secluded in the top floor of the tower, a section that hummed with the potent, volatile energies of alchemy. The elder's own aura was a steady, powerful beacon at the eighth level of Foundation Establishment—stronger than Scythe, stronger than Kang, and two full levels above his own.
A direct assault was suicide. This mission required a surgeon's touch, not a butcher's cleaver. His plan, formulated in the silent nexus of his mind, was a complex dance of infiltration and misdirection.
He waited until the darkest hour, the moment just before the pre-dawn guard change when vigilance was at its lowest. He recalled his clones, storing them in his soul-space to conserve their energy. Then, Shen Mo moved. He didn't run across the open salt flats. He channeled his Qi, using a low-level earth-elemental technique to travel just beneath the surface, a mole burrowing through the salt and sand, leaving no trace of his passage.
He emerged in the shadow of the fortress's outer wall. He manifested only Ghost 2, a single, silent figure appearing beside him. He handed it one of the new swords.
"Your target is the power source for the lab's private ward," he commanded silently. "I've traced its energy lines to a maintenance conduit on the second floor, west wing. Infiltrate the tower, find it, and sever the connection. Once the deed is done, escape and head to the rendezvous point. Do not engage anyone."
Ghost 2 gave a subtle nod and melted into the shadows, beginning its silent climb up the main wall towards a lower-level window.
With Ghost 2 on its mission, Shen Mo began his own task. He scaled the sheer, fifty-foot wall of the main tower alone, a single spider climbing a silk thread. He reached a second-story window and used his precise Qi control to disable the simple alarm talisman placed upon it. He slipped inside a library, a solitary ghost in a silent tower.
He moved through the halls, his presence suppressed to an absolute minimum by the
. Twice, he flattened himself into shadowed alcoves as patrols of sect disciples walked by, completely oblivious to the assassin holding his breath just feet away.
He reached the top floor. The heavy, iron-bound door to the lab stood before him, its inscribed talismans glowing with a faint, protective light. Shen Mo concealed himself in the shadows of the hallway and waited. Through his mental link, he could feel Ghost 2 moving through the tower's maintenance shafts, a rat in the walls, closing in on its target.
After ten tense minutes, he felt the confirmation. Ghost 2 had located the bundle of glowing energy conduits and, with a single, clean slash of its sword, had severed the connection. On the door before Shen Mo, the protective talismans flickered and died. Ghost 2 immediately began its own silent retreat from the fortress.
The time had come.
In the silent, shadowed hallway, Shen Mo reached into his soul-space. With a faint shimmer of displaced air, Ghost 1 materialized beside him. He handed his second clone the third of the identical swords.
"Stay in the shadows," Shen Mo directed the part of his consciousness that was Ghost 1. "Move to the far side of the room. Do not reveal yourself."
He placed a hand on the door and manipulated the lock. With a soft click, it came undone.
He pushed the door open just a crack and slipped inside, as silent as a wisp of smoke. Ghost 1 followed a second later, a shadow detaching from other shadows, and immediately began a slow, silent circuit of the room's perimeter, keeping to the deepest darkness behind tall shelves and bubbling cauldrons.
The room was a massive alchemy lab, filled with the acrid smell of powerful reagents. In the center stood Elder Chen, a long-bearded old man in fine robes. The sudden failure of his lab's private ward had startled him. He was standing with his back to the door, his spiritual sense sweeping the room in confusion, trying to find the source of the malfunction.
Shen Mo allowed the [Misty Shadow Form] to dissipate slightly. He took a single, deliberate step forward, the soft scuff of his boot on the stone floor an intentional sound.
"Who's there?!" Elder Chen spun around, his powerful eighth-level aura flaring to life like a physical force, pressing down on Shen Mo. His eyes, sharp and alert, locked onto the shadow-veiled figure standing just inside his doorway.
"Elder Chen," Shen Mo said, his voice a calm, distorted rasp. He didn't draw his weapon. He simply stood with his hands clasped behind his back, the very picture of a confident intruder.
"An assassin," the elder spat, his eyes narrowing. "Bold of you to enter my domain. You will not leave this room alive."
"Perhaps," Shen Mo replied, his tone unhurried. "But I felt it was only proper to inform you of the terms of your demise. A professional courtesy."
Elder Chen scoffed, but a flicker of curiosity entered his eyes. "Terms? What nonsense are you spouting?"
"The contract is specific," Shen Mo said, taking another slow step into the room. All the while, his mind perfectly tracked Ghost 1's silent progress. The clone was now positioned perfectly behind a large cauldron, directly behind the elder. "The client requires your death before the Foundation Firming Pills are completed. They also require the destruction of the formula and all related ingredients."
The elder's face paled, his fury momentarily replaced by shock. "The formula? How... how could they know the specifics?"
"Our clients are very thorough," Shen Mo said, using the lie to deepen the elder's confusion and paranoia. "They paid a handsome price. Two hundred mid-grade spirit stones. A respectable sum for an alchemist of your standing, wouldn't you agree?"
Elder Chen was no longer looking at Shen Mo as an assassin, but as a messenger of some deeper betrayal. His mind was clearly racing, trying to figure out which of his rivals had such intimate knowledge of his work and the resources to hire The Paid Ferrymen. His powerful spiritual sense was focused entirely on the visible threat in front of him, the one who was speaking, the one who held all the answers. He was completely oblivious to the silent death creeping up behind him.
"Who is it?" the elder demanded, his voice a low growl. "Who is the client?"
Shen Mo took one final step forward. "That, I'm afraid, is not part of the deal."
As the words left his lips, the final piece of his strategy fell into place. While Elder Chen's full attention was locked on the veiled figure before him, a second shadow detached itself from the darkness behind the alchemist. Ghost 1 moved. It didn't use [Void Flash Step]. It simply took three impossibly fast, utterly silent steps, emerging from the shadows behind the distracted alchemist.
Elder Chen's highly-tuned senses finally screamed a warning, a primal instinct of imminent death from behind. He started to turn, his protective Qi flaring, but it was too late. His attention had been masterfully diverted. The trap had been sprung, and the blade was already falling.
Ghost 1's sword, a pale gray shimmer in the alchemical glow of the lab, drew a silent, horizontal arc. It was not a flashy technique. It was a simple, brutal, and perfectly executed strike aimed at the one place an alchemist, not a true warrior, would be weakest: his neck.
The blade sliced through the elder's protective Qi as if it were paper, severing his spine and windpipe in one clean motion.
Elder Chen's eyes went wide, not with terror, but with pure, uncomprehending shock. He stared at Shen Mo, a question dying in his eyes. A gurgling sound was the only thing that escaped his lips. His powerful aura sputtered and died like a snuffed candle. His body stood frozen for a second before slumping forward.
Shen Mo caught the elder before he could crash into the delicate alchemical equipment. He gently lowered the body to the floor. As the last spark of life faded, he leaned in close.
"The Ferrymen collect their debts," he whispered, a final, cold epitaph.
The heavy footsteps of the fortress captain thundered outside the door. "Elder Chen! Are you alright?!"
Shen Mo didn't waste a second. He swept his arm across the main workbench, sending the priceless pill formula and all the rare ingredients crashing into the glowing, unstable cauldron. A violent chemical reaction began instantly.
He and Ghost 1 ran to the large window at the back of the lab, shattered it, and leaped out into the night.
Just as the fortress captain blasted the door off its hinges, the cauldron behind him exploded in a brilliant, cleansing flash of alchemical fire, destroying everything in the lab.
The two figures hit the ground in a roll, the force of the explosion at their backs propelling them forward. They melted into the pre-dawn darkness, two ghosts leaving the fortress of chaos and death behind them.
Miles away, at a pre-designated rendezvous point in a cluster of wind-eroded rocks, they waited. The mental link felt stretched and thin, but he could sense his final clone approaching. Ghost 2 emerged from a different direction minutes later, covered in the grime of the fortress's underbelly.
The trinity was reunited. He stored his two clones, the world snapping back to a single, clear perspective. The contract was complete. His rank would be promoted. But more importantly, he had proven that the [Myriad Shadow Soul Art] was not just a technique for a three-on-one fight. It was a tool for waging a one-man war.