Decaying World Chapter 280

Among Mistborn City Lords, the strength glimpsed in occasional skirmishes was only ever a fraction of what each truly held in reserve. Without an all-out clash, no one could know the full depth of another's power.

After all, with lifespans asured in millennia and the resources of an entire region at their command, there was no telling what trump cards they might have cultivated.

The precedent was infamous: an unremarkable Mistborn City Lord who had spent over two thousand years in quiet, dutiful obscurity had, when finally cornered, unleashed a fury that felled thirteen invading Mist Gods in succession—a power that surpassed even Xie Chang'an's.

"What's your read on this?" Liu Xiao asked, glancing at Lin Hui.

"No need to worry. Lin Xiaoliu has a special Relic the old man gifted her, and I've arranged protection around her at all tis. It's nothing we can't handle," Lin Hui said with a smile. "More to the point, this is good tempering for her. She's ten—it's past ti she started facing certain things on her own."

"Yeah... you're right," Liu Xiao nodded. "The Mingxin Society is keeping very quiet lately. Until we understand their intentions, it wouldn't be wise to get rashly involved."

"Agreed," Lin Hui nodded.

The two drifted into idle talk about recent shifts in the political landscape. Liu Xiao had always been unusually career-minded, more given to strategy and ambition than to the softer concerns that occupied most won of her station. Lin Hui had secured her a well-paid, undemanding post, yet she still spent her free ti turning over larger questions of power and circumstance.

As the conversation wandered toward the current external war, the two were speaking openly—no sound-sealing technique to mask their words—and soon drew the notice of a man and a woman sharing the nearby deck, also bound for the earth-fire hot springs.

"Brother, I'd push back on that. The Federation's current trouble runs deeper—foreign pressure and dostic fractures at once. Purgatory, taken alone, isn't the true danger. The real threat is King Jing in the north and King Hong in the west. Both great Mistborn factions have rebelled simultaneously and declared secession from the Inner Court—that is what most imperils the Royal City." The man who spoke was short-haired, square-shouldered, and strikingly handso; he walked over with his hands clasped behind his back.

"King Jing of the north? King Hong of the west? When did this co out? I haven't heard a word of it." Lin Hui paused, turned to the man, and clasped his hands in greeting. "Would you mind telling us more, brother?"

The man appeared to be in his thirties, with a trim black mustache and a carefully kept face. His eyes held a particular brightness—not haughty, but quick and full of vitality.

"No need for formality—we're just passengers passing ti. The slow news out of Black Cloud isn't your fault, brother; the three City Lords are likely suppressing it to keep the city calm." He paused, then continued, "Even so, I doubt they can keep the lid on much longer. Two cities have already taken heavy casualties in the fighting between King Jing, King Hong, and the Inner Court. Refugees are scattering in every direction, so traveling under the protection of Called Ones—they should be reaching Black Cloud soon."

"Situated at the border as it is, Black Cloud was always going to be the last to hear," Lin Hui said with a nod.

"And yet, with the Federation in this much chaos, Purgatory hasn't moved at all—neither advancing nor pulling back. Strange, but perhaps fortunate. If fighting breaks out again, it's always the common people who bear the cost," the man said, sighing.

"Very true. Peace and stability—there's nothing greater," Lin Hui said earnestly.

His own strength was more than enough to shield his family—but only to a point. No one lived in isolation. If war ca to their doorstep, sheer force could only go so far; even if he drove off every threat, the fabric of daily life, the supply of resources, all of it would unravel.

"Speaking of which, my family lives near the Royal City. In a recent letter, they ntioned a rumor—the Twelfth Prince had been kidnapped. The Royal City investigated and laid the bla on King Hong's forces. His denials went unheard; the sworn brother he had left behind in the Royal City was executed. So he rebelled..." said the woman beside the man, adding her voice to the conversation.

"A rumor with that much detail behind it rarely cos from nothing. There's likely so truth in it," Liu Xiao said.

"I've heard a different version," the man said, lowering his voice. "The story goes that King Hong was frad and the Twelfth Prince slipped away of his own accord—word reached him that his older siblings were plotting against him, so he fled before they could act."

"Is the Royal City truly that far gone?" Lin Hui was left speechless.

He couldn't make sense of it. Even packed with imperial offspring, the Royal City held few who possessed Emperor Blood—and without it, none of them could legitimately contend for the throne. Under the Federation's current structure, what did the throne even offer?

Even the Mistborn Emperor spent his days imrsed in Night Mist cultivation, removed from the business of governance.

"It all cos back to the Emperor preparing to abdicate. The throne itself is said to carry a profound secret—a hidden thod that dramatically improves one's odds of successfully fusing with Evil Weapons or Insect Canons. Master it, and you could cultivate Emperor Blood to match His Majesty's own. Rumor, of course, and none of it confird," the man added with a laugh.

"Put that way, it does seem worth fighting for..." Lin Hui took quiet note that these two were no ordinary travelers.

In truth, virtually every passenger aboard could afford this voyage to the hot-spring island—which ant virtually none of them were ordinary. Ordinary people lacked both the coin and the nerve. This was not the tranquil world of his previous life. The seas were thick with monsters, and subordinates of the Mist Gods surfaced often enough to keep the cautious on shore. Without real ability, setting out to sea was courting death.

The four continued trading information. Most of it was hearsay, but the exchange was lively and genuinely useful. Through the two strangers, Lin Hui pieced together a far clearer picture of the Royal City and the Federation at large.

In an era of fractured communications, that kind of broad, coherent picture was impossible to assemble unless you had traveled widely and seen much of the world firsthand.

It stirred in Lin Hui a faint impulse to keep in touch. He and Liu Xiao had given nothing away of their identities aboard the ship, presenting themselves as unremarkable passengers like any others. Even so, the two strangers showed no condescension, exchanging nas and contact details without hesitation.

Both sides offered false nas without comnt—a mutual, unspoken understanding—and it did nothing to diminish the easy rapport that continued over the following two days.

On the third day after Lin Hui temporarily left Black Cloud...

Another incident had unfolded on Lin Xiaoliu's end.

…

In the northern reaches of Black Cloud, near a desolate bay, stood a run-down Daoist temple marked by a weathered plaque reading "Futian Temple."

The Temple Master's face was ancient, like dried and weathered wood, and white eyebrows hung all the way to his knees. He stood motionless in the shadows, eyes fixed on a silver sphere hovering before a headless divine statue. On the sphere's face, a clear image played out—a scene from sowhere near the Taisu Martial Academy, far away.

Two other figures stood in opposite corners of the temple. One was a dignified middle-aged man wearing a purple-gold crown. The other was a tall woman in a blue cloak, her face concealed by a black veil. All three were watching the image in silence.

It captured Song Yunhui's every movent and daily routine—Lin Xiaoliu's classmate.

"We can now say with reasonable confidence that the Twelfth Prince left behind in the Royal City is a decoy. This Song Yunhui is the real one—smuggled to Black Cloud long ago and left to live as a commoner," the long-eyebrowed Temple Master said flatly. "What are your thoughts on how we proceed?"

"The old Emperor let it be known he intended to pass the throne to the Twelfth Prince—he would have foreseen exactly this. There are bound to be hidden forces watching over the boy," the blue-cloaked woman replied, her tone just as flat.

"We all serve who we serve. Our superiors' motives are none of our concern—we do the work we're given. What's there to debate?" the purple-gold crowned man said, sounding bored.

"Last ti, our thod seed airtight, and still an outsider managed to stop us. Another attempt will be far more complicated. We should expect a real fight," the long-eyebrowed Temple Master said, his voice low.

"The boy's wised up. He keeps that girl from before at his side at all tis now. Getting to him again won't be easy," the blue-cloaked woman said, frowning.

"True enough. That girl's perception is uncannily sharp—we attempted over ten different approaches, and she detected every single one in advance. According to my subordinates, her actual cultivation is nothing special; she sits in the lower-middle tier of the martial academy. It's purely that perception of hers," the long-eyebrowed Temple Master said with a nod.

"Why overcomplicate things? Just send people to grab them both. If there's trouble, we'll end it with a quick battle," the purple-gold crowned man said impatiently.

"Go and grab them yourself if it's so simple. I want no part of it." Without warning, a figure slowly materialized in the fourth corner of the room.

She had silver-gray eyes, long jet-black hair, and a face that was cold and strikingly beautiful, her build slender and precise. Her upper body was covered only by a narrow grayish-white silk wrap bound tightly across her chest; below, she wore loose gray trousers. A pitch-black rapier hung diagonally at her hip, its hilt bearing a faint, almost illegible carving of the character "Wind."

"Xia Si—what is this? You accepted paynt. You signed the contract. The work has co due, and you don't get to walk away." The long-eyebrowed Temple Master fixed her with an icy glare.

"The paynt did improve my strength—I'll grant you that. But it doesn't obligate to march to my death," Xia Si said, her lip curling.

"I've already had n look into the Clear Wind Dao's sect master you ntioned. When the ti cos—even if he moves against us—the three guest elders sent by the Lord will intercept and deal with him," the long-eyebrowed Temple Master said coldly.

"All right, all right. If she won't go, we'll handle it ourselves," the blue-cloaked woman said quietly, smoothing over the tension.

"It seems Miss Xia has been left frightened by her own Dao Master. What a waste of such extraordinary talent..." the purple-gold crowned man laughed.

"Then it's settled. The three of us—"

"I said no. Is that not plain enough?" Before the long-eyebrowed Temple Master could finish, Xia Si cut him off without ceremony.

"What exactly are you saying?" The long-eyebrowed man's eyes went cold, a flicker of killing intent passing through them as he stared her down.

The expressions of the other two also turned hostile, their gazes locking onto Xia Si.

"The mont you lay hands on Lin Xiaoliu, my master will know. And then every last one of you will die." Xia Si drew her sword slowly, and a dazzling golden mist blood and rose behind her.

"Better I cut you all down now than let you drag into the grave with you..."

"Xia Si, you—!" The long-eyebrowed man tried to speak, but in the next instant a blaze of golden light burst before his eyes. A wild wind tore through the temple, scattered golden motes swirling and swelling until the entire hall was swallowed in their glow.

"Secret Kill: Wild Wind Extinction Dao!"

A mont later, the temple looked exactly as it had before. From the outside, not a single brick or tile was out of place.

The main doors swung gently outward, and Xia Si walked out slowly, looking up at the twilight sky as night ca on.

A thin line of blood seeped from the corner of her mouth and traced down her chin—then, in the next instant, it dissolved into gray Ash and scattered on the wind.

"The Ash of life from these three isn't enough to push through to the next layer... I need more. Much more... Just you wait, Master... The sect master's seat will be mine, sooner or later."

Swish. A wild wind rushed through, and she was gone.