The mission had been simple. Collect three stalks of Iron Back Fern from the southern ridges and return before noon.
For Li Wei and his two companions, outer disciples of the Spirit Cauldron Sect, it was a tedious chore, but one that kept them in the good graces of the pill hall elders.
They trudged up the winding mountain path that led to the sect's main gate, their robes dusted with travel and their spirits high with the anticipation of a warm meal and rest.
"I bet Elder Zhang will complain about the quality," Li Wei grumbled, adjusting the strap of his herb basket. "'The leaves are too dry,' he'll say. 'Did you pick these with your feet?'"
His companion, a stout youth named Chen Bo, laughed. "Let him complain. As long as he marks the contribution points, he can say whatever he wants. I'm just looking forward to the stew at the dining hall. Today is meat day."
They crested the final rise, the grand white stone archway of the Spirit Cauldron Sect coming into view.
Usually, at this time of day, the entrance would be bustling. Guard disciples would be checking tokens, servant wagons would be delivering supplies and the air would be filled with the rhythmic chanting of the morning training drills.
Today, there was only silence.
The massive iron wood gates stood wide open, swaying slightly in the gentle breeze. There were no guards stationed at the pillars. The path beyond was empty.
Li Wei stopped, frowning. "That's odd. Where is the shift change?"
"Maybe they're slacking off," Chen Bo suggested, though his voice lacked its earlier humor. "Or maybe there's a sect assembly we forgot about?"
"An assembly means the bell would have rung," the third disciple, a nervous girl named Xiao Hua, whispered. "I didn't hear a bell."
An unease settled over them. The silence was heavy. It pressed against their ears like water.
The usual scent of medicinal herbs that hung over the mountain was tainted with something else… something metallic and cloying.
"Let's... let's just go in," Li Wei said, trying to sound braver than he felt. "We need to turn in the mission."
They walked through the gates. Their footsteps echoed loudly on the stone pavers, a sound that felt like a desecration of the unnatural quiet. They passed the outer perimeter, moving toward the administration hall.
"Hello?" Chen Bo called out. "Is anyone… "
His voice died in his throat.
They had rounded the corner into the first courtyard.
A body lay in the center of the path. It was a senior disciple, his blue robes unmistakable. But his head was gone, severed cleanly from his shoulders. A pool of dark blood spread out around him like a gruesome halo.
Xiao Hua screamed. It was a piercing sound that shattered the silence.
Li Wei stumbled back, his face draining of color. "What... what is..."
He looked up.
It wasn't just one body.
The courtyard was a slaughterhouse. Dozens of bodies lay scattered across the training grounds.
Some were slumped against walls, others lay face down in the dirt. There were scorch marks, craters and limbs separated from torsos. The white stone of the sect was painted in strokes of red.
"They're dead," Chen Bo whispered, his voice trembling violently. "They're all dead."
"Run," Li Wei choked out. The basket of ferns slipped from his shoulder, hitting the ground with a soft thud. "Run!"
Panic seized them. They turned and sprinted back the way they came, their breath tearing at their lungs.
They ran through the open gates, down the mountain path and didn't stop until their legs gave out.
They reached the outskirts of Clearwater City, bursting into the bustling morning market like madmen. Their faces were masks of terror, their robes disheveled.
"Murder!" Xiao Hua shrieked, collapsing near a fruit stall. "Death! They're all dead!"
"The sect!" Li Wei screamed, grabbing the arm of a startled merchant. "The Spirit Cauldron Sect! Everyone is dead! It's a massacre!"
The market went quiet. People turned to stare at the terrified disciples.
"What are you saying, boy?" the merchant asked, pulling his arm away. "Are you drunk? Who is dead?"
"Everyone!" Chen Bo yelled, tears streaming down his dust streaked face. "There's blood everywhere! There's no one left alive!"
The news was a spark in a field of dry grass. A massacre? The Spirit Cauldron Sect was one of the three great powers of the domain.
It was a titan. The idea that it could be wiped out was impossible.
"Is he serious?"
"Did the Chen Family attack?"
"Maybe it was a beast tide?"
Curiosity overcame fear.
A crowd began to form, a living wave of people moving toward the mountain road. Cultivators from minor families, rogue martial artists and curious citizens joined the flow.
Li Wei and his companions, caught in the momentum, were dragged along, forced to lead the way back to the nightmare they had just escaped.
When the mob reached the gates, the bravado of the crowd evaporated. The smell hit them first… the undeniable stench of death.
They entered tentatively. The sight that greeted them was a scene from hell.
The Spirit Cauldron Sect, a place of order and alchemy, had been reduced to a graveyard. The crowd moved through the outer courts in stunned silence.
They saw the bodies of elders who had once walked through the city with their noses in the air, now reduced to broken meat. They saw the ruin of the alchemy pavilions, the cauldrons overturned and cold.
But as the shock wore off, another realization set in.
"Where is the treasury?" a rogue cultivator muttered, peering into a shattered storehouse.
"Empty," another replied, walking out of the pill depository. "Not a single pill. Not a single herb."
They began to search with a frantic energy. They checked the weapon racks. Empty. They checked the library. The shelves were bare. They checked the personal quarters of the elders. Stripped clean.
"Everything is gone," a merchant whispered, looking around the desolate main square. "Gold, jewels, artifacts... even the furniture in the main hall. It's like a swarm of locusts passed through here."
The crowd pushed forward, drawn to the center of power. They ascended the steps to the Sect Master's Hall. The heavy iron doors were blasted inward, embedded in the far wall.
Inside, the scene was gruesome.
Yao Guang, the powerful master of the Spirit Cauldron Sect, lay in the center of the hall. Or what was left of him. His limbs were shattered, bent at angles that made the onlookers wince. His chest was caved in. His face was frozen in a rictus of agonizing terror.
"He was tortured systematically," a healer from a small clan noted, pointing to the specific breaks in the bones. "Whoever did this... they wanted him to feel every second of it."
The news traveled down the mountain faster than the wind. It spread through the teahouses, the guild halls and the private courtyards of the noble families.
The Spirit Cauldron Sect had fallen.
PS: Should I write a cultivation novel with all Indian characters or go with an all English cast? I'm seriously considering starting one, but I want to see what you guys would prefer first. If I get enough responses and interest, I'll definitely make it happen. Please comment and let me know what you'd like to read.