The air inside the pleasure boat was thick with the scent of ozone and singed silk. Flames licked at the ornate wooden pillars, casting dancing shadows that seemed to applaud the violence unfolding in the center of the cabin.
Jiang Dao stood amidst the wreckage, his grip iron-tight around the slender thigh of the girl in the red dress. He hoisted her into the air with the casual indifference of a butcher handling a carcass. Her dress, once a garment of seduction, fell away to reveal long, porcelain legs and the curve of her hips, but there was no lust in Jiang Dao's eyes. There was only a cold, clinical detachment.
The girl was a ruin. The "beauty" of the Painted Skin Path had been shattered by a single slap that left her face a bloody abstraction of flesh and bone.
"Let's try this again," Jiang Dao said, his voice a low rumble that cut through the crackling of the fire. He forced a smile onto his face, though it didn't reach his eyes. To anyone watching, it would have looked more like a predator baring its fangs than a gesture of kindness. "Who are you? And why did you think it was a good idea to target Jiang Wen and Jiang Wu?"
The girl dangled upside down, her blood dripping onto the floorboards where it hissed against the heat. She was trembling so violently that her joints rattled. Being held by Jiang Dao didn't feel like being captured by a man; it felt like being clamped in the jaws of a primordial beast, pending digestion.
"I… we are… from the Painted Skin Path," she choked out, blood bubbling past her lips. "We didn't know… we didn't know they were your family… I'm sorry…"
"Oh?" Jiang Dao tilted his head, the firelight reflecting in his pupils. "So, it was just a misunderstanding?"
"Yes… yes! A misunderstanding!" She grasped at the straw of hope, her voice shrill with terror. "Please, don't eat me…"
"There, there. Be good," Jiang Dao cooed, his grin widening into something truly grotesque. "I won't eat you."
His fingers contracted.
Bang.
There was no scream, only the wet, heavy sound of a body disintegrating under impossible pressure. The girl in the red dress exploded into a fine mist of blood and bone. Before the gory spray could even settle, the intense heat radiating from Jiang Dao's body ignited it. The blood mist turned into a fireball, burning away into gray ash in seconds.
He shook his hand casually, flicking away a speck of imaginary dust, and surveyed the boat. The structure was groaning now, the fire he had unleashed consuming everything. Outside, the night air was filled with the frantic shouts of the harbor patrol and panic-stricken citizens rushing to douse the flames.
Jiang Dao didn't run. He walked.
His hulking, monstrous form began to shrink, muscles compressing, bones shifting, until he returned to the appearance of a normal human male. As he strolled through the curtain of fire, unburnt and untouched, he flicked his wrist and summoned the invisible interface that only he could see.
The text hovered in the air before him, glowing with a spectral light. The martial arts techniques listed there had shifted status.
[Modifiable]
"Excellent," Jiang Dao murmured to the smoke. "I hope more of you monsters come. The more of you that die, the stronger I become."
He vanished into the night, leaving the chaos for the authorities to clean up.
The sun rose over the city, indifferent to the violence of the previous night. By the time the morning light hit the slate roof of the gang's headquarters, Jiang Dao was already seated behind his heavy wooden desk, the events of the flower boat filed away as just another transaction.
Guo Dutian stood before him, presenting the morning's intelligence briefing.
"Chief," Guo began, keeping his eyes respectfully low. "The investigation results for Lijia Village and Xinfeng Wharf are in. The reports indicate that the supernatural entities in both locations have vanished. It seems they migrated quite some time ago."
"Is that so?" Jiang Dao frowned, flipping through the papers. The disappointment was palpable. "That really is a pity."
He had been banking on harvesting those spirits. To hear they were gone was like a farmer finding his crops blighted. It was a waste of potential growth points.
"Chief, there is one other matter," the Right Protector, Xiang An, interjected. He hesitated, shifting his weight. "The former Vice Chief… Yan Wushuang. He is requesting an audience. He wishes to serve the gang again."
Jiang Dao's eyes narrowed. "The Vice Chief? Now that I've cut off his stipend and seized his assets, suddenly he's feeling patriotic?"
He let out a sharp, derisive snort. The old man was a mercenary parasite. But as Jiang Dao tapped his finger against the desk, he considered the logistics. The Flame Gang was expanding rapidly. The internal structure was hollow; aside from himself, there were few heavy hitters capable of holding the fort. He needed bodies, even treacherous ones.
"Let him in," Jiang Dao commanded.
Xiang An bowed deeply. "Summon Yan Wushuang!"
Moments later, a tall, withered figure shuffled into the great hall. Yan Wushuang, once a man of arrogance, now looked like a beaten dog. His white hair was disheveled, and he threw himself to the floor the moment he crossed the threshold.
"This old man, Yan Wushuang, greets the Chief! May the Chief enjoy eternal peace!"
"Rise," Jiang Dao said. He kept his eyelids heavy, his posture relaxed, yet the air in the room seemed to thicken.
"Yes, Chief!" Yan Wushuang scrambled to his feet, but his back was already soaked in cold sweat.
He didn't dare look Jiang Dao in the eye. A single glance from the young leader felt like a physical weight, a sword point pressed against his spine. It was terrifying. Yan Wushuang had feared the previous leader, Fang Tianba, but this was different. This wasn't just authority; this was the pressure of a predator that sat several links higher on the food chain.
"Yan Wushuang, you want to serve the gang again?" Jiang Dao's voice was devoid of warmth. "Tell me, why should I trust you? How many times must a dog bite before it is put down?"
"Chief, this subordinate is sincere! Absolutely sincere!" Yan Wushuang dropped to his knees again, the thud echoing in the silent hall. "I will guarantee my loyalty with the lives of my entire family. If I speak a word of falsehood, may my entire lineage be wiped from the earth!"
It was a desperate plea from a desperate man. Since Jiang Dao had stripped him of his rank and wealth, his life had collapsed. His home had been raided, his antiques sold, his walls smashed. He had been living in the ruins of his former glory, too terrified to fight back, knowing that Jiang Dao would crush him like an insect.
"Fine. Get up," Jiang Dao said, waving a hand dismissively. "I'll give you one last chance. But you aren't Vice Chief anymore. You will serve as an assistant to the Right Protector. Do his grunt work. If I see even a hint of incompetence or betrayal, I won't just kill you. I'll make you wish you had died in the womb."
"Yes! Yes! Thank you, Chief!" Yan Wushuang was practically weeping with relief.
Jiang Dao turned his attention back to his Right Protector. "Xiang An, what is the status of the Black Tiger Gang acquisition?"
"We are moving in, Chief. We've met some minor resistance, but nothing we can't handle. I estimate total absorption of their territory within the month."
"Have you seen anyone from the Anyang Xie Clan?"
"Not yet."
"If you do, tell me immediately." Jiang Dao's expression darkened.
Killing the Black Tiger Gang's leader—the eldest son of the Xie Clan—was a declaration of war. The Xie Clan was quiet now, which only meant they were gathering their breath for a scream. Jiang Dao didn't regret the kill; in this world, hesitation was the only sin. But he needed to be ready.
"Report!"
A gang member burst into the hall, skidding to a halt on his knees. "Chief! A letter was just delivered for you. The messenger vanished immediately after dropping it off."
Yan Wushuang, eager to prove his worth, intercepted the messenger. He checked the envelope for traps, poisons, or hidden needles before handing it respectfully to Jiang Dao.
There was no return address. No seal.
Jiang Dao tore it open. His eyes scanned the contents, and a cold smile touched his lips.
The Master of the Spirit Child Palace has exited seclusion. He is currently engaged in a violent skirmish with the Exorcist Tuoba Family.
It was intel from Han Ming.
Jiang Dao's hand clenched, and a burst of internal energy incinerated the paper instantly. "Excellent," he whispered. "Dog eating dog."
"Chief?" Xiang An asked tentatively. "Bad news?"
"No," Jiang Dao stood up. "Private business. Just focus on your work."
Deep in the mist-shrouded mountain range, the air tasted of copper and rot.
The Master of the Spirit Child Palace stumbled through the undergrowth, his face twisted into a mask of pure venom. He looked less like a human and more like a patchwork of nightmares. Blood leaked from his mouth, and his left arm was missing entirely.
At the stump of his shoulder, the flesh bubbled. Dozens of black, worm-like veins writhed and knotted together, slowly, agonizingly knitting the limb back into existence.
His entourage was decimated. Of the formidable force he had left with—Protectors, Dharma Kings, Spirit Children—only three remained.
"That damn Tuoba Family," the Palace Master hissed, clutching his regenerating shoulder. "They borrowed a Sacred Artifact from the Thirteen Corpse Demon Mountain. Who does that?"
He had gone to settle a score, and while he had slaughtered many of the Tuoba disciples, they had played a dirty hand. A Yellow-grade artifact struck him from behind, shattering his arm and nearly ending his existence.
"Where are we?" he rasped.
"Sifang City territory, Master," the Left Protector, Han Ming, answered, glancing around nervously. "Formerly controlled by the Anyang Xie Clan."
"The Xie Clan?" The Palace Master's eyes, black pools of malice, narrowed. "The Tuoba dogs are tracking us too closely. We need to go to the ground. We'll heal here, and once I am whole, I will return and burn their lineage to the ground."
One of the surviving Dharma Kings pointed toward the valley below. "Master, the city of Qianyuan is nearby. That new faction, the Flame Gang, is based there."
The Spirit Child Palace Master stopped. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face, cracking the dried blood on his lips. He ran a tongue over his teeth.
"Is that so?" he purred. "Perfect. I need a distraction. Once I've healed, we'll wipe out this little Flame Gang as a warm-up before we go back for the Tuoba Family."
They began their descent toward the city, death walking on two legs.
Night fell over Sifang City, but the violence did not sleep.
The power vacuum left by the Black Tiger Gang was being violently filled. The Flame Gang was a hungry beast, devouring territory block by block. Those who bent the knee were spared; those who stood tall were cut down.
'Mad Dragon Palm' Meng Tian and 'Yama Sword' Zhao Beng were drunk on victory. They were the new stars of the Flame Gang, two heavy hitters who had defected early and were now reaping the rewards. They had just obliterated a small resistance cell and were marching toward the Money Gang's headquarters.
"Tonight, we take the south!" Meng Tian shouted to his men, his voice booming down the empty street. "Once the city is ours, the Right Protector will grant us an audience with the Chief himself!"
"To the Chief!" the men roared, waving their bloodied weapons.
But when they arrived at the Money Gang's compound, they found only ghosts. The leadership had fled, stripping the place bare.
"Cowards," Zhao Beng scoffed, kicking over a chair in the empty hall. "They ran at the mere rumor of us. The south belongs to the Flame Gang now."
"We've done well," Meng Tian laughed. "The Chief will reward us heavily for this."
They spilled out into the street, looking for a tavern to celebrate their easy conquest. That was when the sound started.
Caw. Caw. Caw.
It was a dry, scratching sound, like bone on stone.
The men stopped. Above them, the twilight sky was suddenly filled with dozens of pitch-black crows. But these weren't natural birds. Their eyes glowed with a sickly, necrotic green light, staring down at the warriors with an intelligence that made the skin crawl.
A chill that had nothing to do with the weather settled over the street.
"Where did these damn birds come from?" one of the mercenaries shouted. Irritated, he flicked his wrist, sending a poison dart whistling into the flock.
Thwack.
The dart struck a crow true in the chest. But instead of a spray of feathers and blood, the bird exploded into a cloud of thick, black mist. The mist didn't dissipate; it swirled, heavy and oily, drifting down toward them.
The laughter stopped. Hands tightened on sword hilts.
"That… that's not a bird," Meng Tian stammered, his bravado evaporating. He was a veteran; he knew that when things turned into smoke, you were in trouble. "It's a supernatural art."
"Hehehehe…"
The laughter seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. It was soft, wet, and utterly devoid of humor.
From the shadows down the street, a figure emerged. He wore a black robe that seemed to absorb the moonlight. His skin was the color of old parchment, his lips and nails stained black. He walked with a leisurely gait, flanked by two smiling attendants.
"You…" Zhao Beng stepped forward, raising his sword.
He never finished the sentence.
Suddenly, Zhao Beng clutched his chest. His face twisted into a mask of agony, his eyes bulging. It looked as though an invisible giant had reached inside his ribcage and squeezed his heart like a ripe fruit.
"Urgh… ahh…"
His vision blurred, the world tilting on its axis. Blood erupted from his nose, his ears, his eyes. He collapsed face-first into the dirt, twitching once, then still.
Panic exploded among the gang members.
"Brother Zhao!"
"Sorcery! Run!"
"The Chief! The Chief will avenge us!" one man screamed as he backed away.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The sound of exploding hearts echoed like a drumbeat. Men were lifted off their feet by invisible impacts, their chests caved in, their bodies tossed aside like ragdolls.
The figure in black stepped over the corpses, his smile widening.
"Your Chief?" The Spirit Child Palace Master chuckled, the sound like dry leaves skittering on pavement. "If your Chief doesn't come to find me, I will personally go and find him."
He waved a hand. The black mist swirled, and the street fell silent.
Within moments, Meng Tian, Zhao Beng, and their entire unit were gone. The only thing left in the street was the smell of blood and the lingering echo of crows.
The monster had arrived in Sifang City.