Kazel knelt beside the corpse, rummaging through the assassin's bloodied robes with precise, unhurried movements. He ignored the murmuring crowd, his fingers sweeping through the man's pouches, cloak seams, even beneath his belt sash.
Then came the heavy, fast steps—calm but commanding—splitting the crowd like an invisible blade. All turned.
It was Wu Rong.
The elder's robe flared as he stepped through the doorframe, his eyes immediately drawn to the gruesome sight: a lifeless body in a pool of blood, and a head discarded like waste beside it. His gaze then shifted to Kazel, who hadn't even bothered to look up.
"What is the meaning of this?" Wu Rong asked, voice low, controlled—but the heat beneath it was unmistakable.
"The meaning is," Kazel muttered without pause, still pulling at the dead man's sleeve, "someone tried to kill me, and he got killed instead."
"That's not what I've heard," Wu Rong said, arms crossed.
"Of course not," Kazel replied with a faint scoff, finally pausing as his fingers brushed against something on the corpse's inner forearm. He rolled the limb over, pulling up the sleeve—and there it was.
A symbol.
Burnt into the skin, a brutal brand: a sword plunging into a heart, crude yet unmistakable.
"Would you happen to know what this is?" Kazel asked, turning the arm slightly for Wu Rong to see, his expression unreadable.
Wu Rong's brows twitched. But before he could speak, Jin Shui stepped forward.
"That mark…" Jin Shui narrowed his eyes, his usual playful demeanor gone. "That's the symbol of the infamous mercenary group in the Land of the Wolf. They operate outside the laws of sects. Someone put a bounty on your head, Kazel."
A brief hush fell over the room.
Then Kazel smirked, lifting the corpse's arm a little higher. "Is that so…"
He let it drop.
"Well then," Kazel said, brushing his hands clean against his robe, "someone just wasted a lot of money."
Wu Rong's brows arched, his tone calm but resolute. "Kazel, I'm afraid that from this moment on, you are forbidden to set foot inside the Jade Basin."
Kazel finally looked up, the edge of his smirk still lingering as if he were told the weather had turned, not that he'd just been exiled. "Hmm," he hummed thoughtfully, brushing off a fleck of blood from his sleeve. "Alright. I'll be gone… but I need to change first." He turned to the mess around him and then added, "You're welcome to scatter away."
Wu Rong sighed lightly, raising a hand. "Let's respect the man," he said to the crowd that still lingered, their eyes full of awe, fear, and something else—curiosity. "Everyone, out."
People began to shuffle and disperse, some glancing back at Kazel as if expecting him to sprout wings or horns. Whispers followed them into the corridor like smoke.
But Wu Rong's sharp eyes noticed someone still standing at the edge of the room.
Mei Rong.
She hadn't moved. Her eyes hadn't even blinked. She stood caught in the moment—her lips slightly parted, biting the corner with tension that betrayed everything her dignified stance tried to hide. There was heat in her gaze, not of battle, but something more primal. Kazel hadn't just won a fight. He had claimed her attention—fully and wholly.
Wu Rong smiled knowingly.
"Mei Rong," he said with a calm, fatherly amusement, snapping her from the haze of thoughts.
She blinked rapidly.
"Give him some space," Wu Rong added gently.
"O-of course," she mumbled, flustered, before quickly turning away, her face slightly red as she followed the others out.
Kazel watched her leave, a brow raised and a faint smirk tugging his lips again. "Charming lot in this basin," he muttered to himself, rolling his shoulders.
"Uncle, can't we make an exemption?" Mei Rong asked softly, walking beside Wu Rong as they made their way through the moonlit corridor. Her steps were measured, but her voice carried the undercurrent of frustration and worry.
Wu Rong didn't stop walking, but his expression tightened. "No. I need to be fair to everyone else as well," he said. "Thankfully, the young master understood… though, I reckon he already accepted it before I made the decision."
"Why?" she asked, turning her head to look at him, her eyes searching his face.
"He looks young, but the mentality…" Wu Rong paused, exhaling as if trying to piece the words together. "That was honed. It's strange—either he's gone through hell, or he's the type that sees the world too clearly. Weird… or rather, talented."
A silence lingered between them before Mei Rong asked again, quieter this time, "So… he's in danger?"
Wu Rong gave her a sidelong glance. "He's been marked by The Punctured, Mei Rong. That mercenary group doesn't take half-measures."
Her lips pressed into a line. "Then don't you think it'd be safer for him here? At least in Jade Basin. The Immortal Sect is still rebuilding. They don't have the resources or the strength to protect him."
Wu Rong stopped in his tracks.
"We are not an organization, Mei Rong," he said firmly. "We are a community. That's what makes us strong—but also vulnerable. They didn't even show me face, and tried to end Kazel right here, on my ground. If they can do that here, under my watch, then believe me… it's not safer here than it is on the street."
Mei Rong looked down, biting her lower lip again, this time in worry. Wu Rong patted her shoulder.
"You care about him," he said gently. "That's fine. But maybe that's just your libido acting."
---
Kazel opened the door, finding Jin Shui casually leaning against the wall, arms crossed, gaze sharp under a fringe of dark hair.
"You have something to say?" Kazel asked, his tone neutral but alert.
"The infamous group is called The Punctured," said Jin Shui. "They're not just mercenaries. They revel in blood, assassination, manipulation—every dark art you can think of."
Kazel's eyes narrowed slightly. "Sounds like your alley… and Xie Lian's."
"So you noticed me," came Xie Lian's calm voice from behind, his presence almost a shadow trailing Kazel's back.
Kazel didn't even turn. "You breathe too evenly."
"The streets are dangerous, Kazel," said Jin Shui. "Maybe you should consider staying at my sect for a while. Just until things cool down."
"Situation dies down?" Kazel echoed, lifting a brow before chuckling. "I already know who sent the assassin."
He tapped his shoulder in a casual gesture of farewell, then stepped past them with a calm, measured pace.
"What are you going… to do?" Xie Lian asked, his voice quiet but curious.
Kazel didn't answer directly. He just smirked, descending the stairs to the second level, where the merchants and rogue cultivators had gathered. A silence fell over them—not out of fear, but respect. Many gave him a nod, subtle but firm. Kazel returned the gesture with a soft nod of his own, his presence quiet yet undeniable.
On the first floor, even the receptionist gave a slight bow of the head.
He had been banished… but not dishonored.
He stepped out into the world beyond Jade Basin, under the vast sky. The door closed behind him, but Kazel didn't look back. He wasn't the kind of man to be swallowed by consequences. He was the kind of man who stepped over them.
Kazel stepped out onto the road, eyes scanning the line of caravans waiting under the pale dawn sky. He raised a hand, and one of the sturdier-looking carriages pulled by twin black steeds rolled up to him.
The driver, a wiry man with a sun-worn face and the quiet gaze of someone who'd seen too much, tugged his reins. "Where to, young master?" he asked, his tone polite but cautious.
Kazel climbed aboard, settling into the cushioned seat with relaxed confidence. "Oh, you know," he said, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "The Land of the Wolf."
The driver blinked. "Business, or pleasure?"
"Reckoning." Kazel smiled, eyes gleaming with the cold light of intent.
The word hung in the air like a blade.
The driver stiffened. He knew the face. He knew the name. Kazel of the Immortal Sect—The Sect Slayer. The kind of man who smiled not out of amusement, but out of calculation. A man whose reputation rode faster than any horse. And when he spoke of reckoning, it wasn't metaphor—it was prophecy.
The horses stirred as the reins snapped. The wheels turned. The journey began.
But the driver's thoughts raced faster than the caravan.
(He smiles like it's casual… but there's no such thing as a casual journey with someone like him. He's heading to the Land of the Wolf… gods have mercy on whoever stands in his way.)
Kazel sat by the window, one arm resting against the sill as the landscape rolled past in a blur of trees and misty hills. His legs were crossed, relaxed but deliberate, like a man who had nothing to fear and everything to claim.
His blue eyes, sharp and unblinking, stared at the sky—piercing the pale canvas of clouds with the gaze of someone who saw further than most, deeper than most. A breeze teased the strands of his hair, but he didn't flinch. He wore a smirk, not out of amusement, but certainty.
It was the kind of expression that didn't beg for attention—it demanded it.
As if the very land ahead had been waiting, idle and complacent, for someone like him. Someone bold enough to look it in the eye. Someone cruel enough to tame it.
He chuckled faintly to himself.
Thus, with the sound of hooves striking earth, the Sect Slayer rolled onward—toward his next battlefield