Chapter 42

The Sundered moved like a phantom — flesh stretched taut over wiry muscle, red eyes glinting with a kind of manic hunger. I braced myself, but even with Qi thrumming in my veins, he was fast. His feet barely touched the ground as he danced through the clearing, twin daggers glinting from the sunlight. Before I could comprehend what was happening I felt the cold bite of metal, a flick across my shoulder that I barely registered before the second followed, carving a cruel line on my hip. I winced and sabre slashed back, but he was already gone, retreating just beyond reach with a hiss like steam escaping a kettle.

I gritted my teeth, this was the first time I had been to slow to react since I had advanced. I tightened the my grip and pushed more Qi into my limbs, forcing strength into muscles still frayed from earlier combat. Pain flared as skin tugged around the fresh cuts, but I moved forward anyway, sabre trailing behind me, ready to strike out. He met me in the middle, slipping under my diagonal swing with a spin. One dagger clipped my thigh, the other missed as I managed to step to the side. He was close enough that I saw the grin on his face. Close enough that I smelled the rot on his breath.

I moved back, adjusting my stance. Blood trickled from the shallow wounds—none deep, just enough to sting. He prowled around me now, bare feet silent on the moss, His eyes never left mine.

“You’re bleeding,” he rasped. His voice was too human, “So many little holes. I wonder how many more you can take.”

I smiled. “This is nothing.” I pointed my sabre at the tree corpses. “But don’t worry. I’ll send you on your way soon enough and you can say hello to them for me.”

I lifted my sabre high and lowered my centre of gravity. He looked towards the dead sundered and snarled before rushing me again and I sidestepped, my blade slashing for his gut. This time, I felt it bite — just a nick — but enough to draw blood. He hissed and leapt back, hand covering the wound.

His grin faded.

Now it was my turn.

I surged forward, pumping Qi into my legs until they burned. My sabre blurred as I attacked, slashing down, then up, then across in a flurry. He blocked the first strike with a dagger, the second with the other, but the third cut across his chest in a burst of red. He screamed in fury, and retaliated in kind. His blade slipped beneath my guard and buried itself in my side, just above the hip.

I roared and grabbed his wrist with my free hand, twisting until I felt something pop. He yelped and tried to pull away, but I held tight and drove my sabre toward his throat. His eyes widened comically and ducked just in time, the blade slicing across his scalp, shearing hair and skin. Blood poured down the side of his face as he ripped the dagger free and staggered back.

We both breathed hard now, blood painting the ground in dark streaks. My legs trembled. My side burned. But still—Last Stand hadn’t triggered. That meant I wasn’t dying yet.

The Sundered snarled and lunged again, moving like a monster possessed. His blades danced, slashing at my arms, my chest, my neck. One caught my forearm, tearing deep, he tried to follow it up but his injured hand didn’t carry the same fury as his other attack, so I stepped in. Too close for him to strike clean. My shoulder slammed into his gut, driving the breath from his lungs in a sharp bark. And also sending a jolt of pain through my nerves.

I twisted, let my sabre drop low, and drove it upward—through his ribs, between the plates of bone, and into the soft meat beneath.

His eyes went wide.

He opened his mouth to scream, but I was already pulling the blade free in a fountain of black blood. He fell to his knees, trembling, blades dropping to the forest floor. I grabbed him by the hair, forced his head back, and stared into his eyes.

There was no soul left in them. Just madness.

“Rest well.”

I raised my sabre, and with one clean stroke, severed his head from his shoulders.

It hit the dirt with a dull, wet thud.

The body crumpled beside it, twitching once before going still, in a mix of blood and rotting flesh.

I stood there, panting, blade dripping with dark ichor, blood soaking into my robes and pooling at my feet. I let out a deep breath and looked at my sabre. Now I had to figure out how to clean it.

I sighed, still standing over his dead body. My arms felt like led. The adrenaline that had been pushing me forward bled away in slow waves, leaving behind only the ache. My limbs throbbed with overuse, my side was bleeding again, and the dozens of cuts the Sundered had carved into me were burning like someone had dragged glass across my skin.

I pulled in a breath, then another, trying to get my thoughts back under control. One more fight. One more kill. But the satisfaction was dull this time. At least I knew the poison was effective.

I wiped my blade on his robes, whatever remaining poison left on the blade was removed, along with the blood. I sheathed my sabre and turned away from the corpse, not looking back as I stepped out of the clearing.

The forest welcomed me with silence again. Just the soft crunch of leaves beneath my feet and the slow hiss of my own breath as I moved between trees.

I was halfway to the grove when I heard the sound of water trickling. It was faint, distant, just a whisper beneath the wind, but unmistakable.

I hesitated, then changed course. My robe clung to me like wet parchment—torn, bloodied, stiff with half-dried sweat and blood. My side itched where the Sundered had cut deep. I needed to clean up. The grove could wait.

It took a few minutes of weaving through the underbrush, following the sound. Eventually, the trees thinned, and I came upon a narrow stream winding through the forest like a murky ribbon. The water ran clear and cold, shaded beneath the overhanging boughs of ancient trees.

I knelt beside it and dipped my hands in. The cold bit at me like teeth, but I didn’t flinch. I rolled up my sleeves, removed the outer layer of my ruined robe, and began washing the worst of the blood from my arms and face. The water turned pink where it met my skin. When I looked down, I could see the myriad of cuts the Sundered had given me. None deep enough for Last Stand to activate, but all painful enough to remind me I was alive.

I shook my head, that was the flaw, wasn’t it?

I stared at my reflection in the water. The face that looked back at me was gaunt, pale, older than I remembered. A thin smear of blood still lingered across my jaw.

Last Stand was a miracle, yes — but it only saved me when I was on the edge of death. It didn’t help with the in-betweens. These shallow wounds, these cuts that didn’t kill — they could still weaken me. And worse, if I wasn’t injured enough to trigger the skill, but still used my cultivation technique, my own body became the enemy. And now because the skill didn’t activate my meridians and tendons felt stretched thin.

I finished washing, peeled off the rest of the ruined robe, and pulled a fresh one from my duffle. The dark fabric was rough and simple, but clean. I wrapped it tight around my chest, mindful of my shoulder I’d re aggravated. At least the rot was gone. I filled my canteen with stream water and tracked a branch that floated downstream with the current.

Then I stood, and headed back toward the grove.

By the time I returned, the golden light had begun to fade from the trees. Dusk was settling in like smoke. The clearing felt just as it had earlier — still, sacred and quiet. I didn’t know what this place was, or why the Qi felt stronger here, but it seemed safe enough.

I sat at the base of the white-barked tree, pressing my back into its cool trunk. The fox curled near my side without a sound. My thoughts drifted as I reached inward, beginning to cycle Qi once more. Hoping it would fill my reserves back up and heal my body.

I guided the Qi slowly. Let it trace the paths through my limbs, let it wash over the soreness like a balm. It helped. Not like Last Stand. But it was better than nothing.

By the time the stars appeared, I was already drifting off, the sound of the fox breathing softly beside me the only company I needed.

———

Morning broke in silence.

No bird calls. No sunrise colors painting the sky. Just a slow brightening of the haze above the forest as the mist curled away from the grass.

I stretched, wincing as stiff joints cracked and half-healed wounds protested. My robe was rumpled, but clean. My sabre lay across my lap. The fox was already up, pacing around the edge of the grove like a silent sentry.

I stood slowly, rolling my shoulders. My muscles still ached, and the wound on my thigh twinged with each step, but I was whole enough. Even the stab wound had scabbed over.

I looked at the tree one last time.

It was time.

I headed back through the trees, back toward the place I’d seen the cave mouth yawning open like the entrance to hell. The wind stirred through the canopy above and for a moment, I imagined it whispering warnings in a language I didn’t understand.

The Sundered encampment waited.

So did whatever secrets they were hiding.