By all reasonable standards, this should have escalated into sothing far more dangerous. Sunny was Mongrel, a na that carried weight, infamy, and more than enough justification for imdiate retaliation across the cosmos. The fact that neither Yanqing nor Jingliu had moved to strike him down the mont his identity — if not outright enemy — beca apparent felt... wrong.
His thoughts drifted briefly toward Jing Yuan, recalling the General’s earlier words telling the Stellaron Hunters to leave the Luofu. The phrasing had been vague enough to allow interpretation, and Sunny now found himself wondering whether that command had ever truly extended beyond imdiate jurisdiction. It was entirely possible that the warning had been more localized than absolute, a matter of staying out of his sight rather than the territory itself.
Even so, Yanqing’s restraint could not be attributed solely to obedience, because the young swordsman was not naïve enough to ignore a potential threat without reason. The most likely explanation was the simplest one, and Sunny did not find it particularly flattering.
Yanqing probably knew he would lose.
The presence of Jingliu complicated that calculation, of course, yet even that advantage had proven unreliable given her complete lack of interest in continuing the fight. Sunny could have vanished at any mont with Shadow Step, slipping away before either of them could react, and while they did not know the specifics of his abilities, the unpredictability alone would have been enough to make caution the safer option.
Still, the situation remained... peculiar.
His attention shifted subtly toward Jingliu as she turned away from him, her disinterest so complete that it bordered on dismissive, and Sunny found himself revisiting Jing Yuan’s earlier ntion of a forr ally who had taken an interest in his student. The pieces aligned easily enough. Jingliu was that person, which explained both her presence and her willingness to engage Yanqing in sothing resembling instruction rather than outright domination.
Her next words confird it.
"This will be our last lesson. It is unlikely that we et again, young man."
Yanqing blinked, the surprise evident in his expression as the weight of that statent settled in, while Sunny’s thoughts drifted in a far less sentintal direction. He tilted his head slightly, gaze lingering on the aftermath of their duel as he considered what, exactly, had been taught here.
’How to survive getting speed blitzed?’
The thought lingered for a mont before he dismissed it with a quiet ntal shrug, because in all honesty, that was not the worst lesson one could receive. Survival, especially against overwhelming force, was a skill in its own right.
Jingliu continued, her tone unchanged as she added sothing that shifted the conversation in an entirely different direction.
"I will be going to prison now. Did Destiny’s Slave order you to accompany ?"
Sunny’s mind imdiately translated the title, identifying it as a reference to Elio without needing further context, and his response ford just as quickly. His Flaw pressed against the edges of his consciousness, a constant reminder of its presence, yet the Weaver’s Mask inverted its effects, allowing him to navigate the restriction with a degree of freedom that would have been impossible otherwise.
The truth was simple.
No.
Which ant the lie could be anything that did not align with that answer.
"I do not know."
The words left his mouth smoothly, carrying just enough ambiguity to avoid contradiction while remaining safely within the boundaries of falsehood. Jingliu accepted the response without comnt, her attention already shifting away as though the matter had lost all relevance the mont it was addressed.
Her gaze returned to Yanqing, and for a brief mont, sothing about her expression shifted in a way that made Sunny’s instincts prickle. The subtle movent of her lips, the faint trace of sothing that could only be described as predatory amusent, sent a ripple of unease through him that he did not bother to suppress.
Then she pointed.
"Is that Jing Yuan over there?"
The effect was imdiate.
Yanqing paled, his composure fracturing just enough for instinct to override reason as he turned sharply, eyes scanning the indicated direction with a mixture of urgency and apprehension that spoke volus about his relationship with his master.
There was nothing there.
By the ti he realized that, it was already too late.
He turned back.
Jingliu was gone.
"Damn it! She got again!"
Sunny had turned as well, if only out of habit, but unlike Yanqing, his perception had not faltered. His shadow remained fixed on the space Jingliu had occupied, its awareness extending beyond the limitations of sight as it tracked the subtle disturbances left in her wake. There had been no teleportation, no concealnt, no trick of light or perception.
There had only been movent.
Pure, unrestrained, perfectly executed movent.
She had reinforced her body with such precision, such absolute control over her Soul Essence, that the resulting acceleration had pushed her beyond the threshold of conventional tracking. Even Sunny’s shadow sense, powerful as it was, had only barely managed to follow the initial burst before she vanished from its range entirely.
Saints were powerful.
They were overwhelming.
But this...
This was sothing else.
It was refinent taken to an extre that bordered on the absurd, a demonstration of control so precise that it elevated a simple physical action into sothing that felt almost conceptual in nature.
Sunny exhaled slowly, filing the observation away even as the silence between him and Yanqing began to stretch into sothing increasingly awkward.
Eventually, they both turned.
Their gazes t.
Neither of them spoke imdiately, the tension lingering just long enough to beco noticeable before Yanqing cleared his throat, his expression shifting into sothing that attempted — and failed — to appear casual.
"So, uh... you co here often?"
Sunny tilted his head, the motion slow and deliberate as his masked gaze remained fixed on the young swordsman.
"I am always here."
The response carried an unintended weight, the distortion of his voice through the Weaver’s Mask amplifying the eeriness of the statent to a degree that made Yanqing visibly shiver.
He forced a smile, though it lacked conviction.
"Right... so, how does a person-demon guy learn to fight like that? I an, not like you have to tell or anything..."
Sunny crossed his arms, posture shifting into sothing that carried a faint trace of theatricality, because if Yanqing was going to ask questions like that, then he might as well have so fun with it.
"I am not a person. Nor a demon. I am all that has been, all that will be, and all that exists between those two points. The first step is to slay the self. Only then can enlightennt be obtained."
The words were, without exaggeration, complete nonsense.
Sunny knew it.
Yanqing did not.
The young swordsman’s expression shifted into one of genuine contemplation, his brows furrowing slightly as he processed the statent with a level of seriousness that Sunny had not anticipated.
"Miss Jingliu said sothing similar. That only by disregarding the ego can one reach the pinnacle. To focus solely on the blade and nothing else."
He hesitated briefly before continuing, his tone softening just enough to reveal a hint of uncertainty.
"I do not really understand it, though. What is the point of using a sword if you do not have a reason to?"
Sunny rolled his eyes behind the mask, the gesture hidden but no less real.
For all his talent, for all his potential, Yanqing still lacked sothing fundantal.
Combat was not rely the exchange of techniques or the refinent of skill. Before any blade was drawn, before any movent was made, there was a decision — a purpose — that defined the conflict. Everyone had their own answer, their own reason for fighting, and while it was not sothing that could be universally imposed, there was always a core principle that guided it.
For Jingliu, that principle was likely swordsmanship itself.
For Yanqing...
It remained undefined.
Sunny’s thoughts turned inward briefly, examining his own answer with a level of scrutiny that he rarely applied, because while the imdiate response that surfaced was simple, it was not entirely accurate.
’Murder.’
The word lingered, heavy and unrefined.
It fit.
But not always.
He did not seek to kill in every encounter, nor did every fight revolve around survival or elimination. There were monts, like this one, where the act of combat existed for its own sake, detached from the finality that murder implied.
He frowned slightly, the expression hidden behind the mask as he set the thought aside.
That was a problem for another ti.
Yanqing, anwhile, froze.
Then his expression shifted abruptly, realization crashing into him with enough force to override everything else.
"Wait... what am I even doing?!"
His posture straightened, his gaze snapping back into focus as instinct finally caught up with logic.
"Hey, put your hands where I can see them—"
He stopped.
Because there was no one there.
Sunny was gone.
The shadows where he had stood remained undisturbed, their stillness betraying nothing of the presence that had occupied them only monts before.
Yanqing stared at the empty space, his expression flattening as the realization settled in.
"...Nice one, Yanqing."
Far from the island, in the quiet obscurity of a shaded alleyway, Sunny reerged from the darkness, his form solidifying as Weaver’s Mask and the Marble Shell dissolved into nothingness. In their place, the Silent Mist settled over him, its appearance blending seamlessly with the environnt as though he had never been anything more than an ordinary passerby.
A slow grin spread across his face, satisfaction evident in the subtle curve of his lips as he allowed himself a brief mont of indulgence.
That had gone well.
Reaching a corner with a crystalline artifact that couldn’t be seen by most, he activated the Space Anchor without hesitation, the familiar sensation of displacent washing over him as the world shifted once more, carrying him away from the Luofu and back to the Astral Express in an instant.
He stepped through.
And imdiately froze.
Because standing before him, in all his unwilling glory, was Dan Heng.
Dressed in an outfit that could only be described as a cri against dignity.
Layers of fabric draped over him in a manner that was both elaborate and entirely unnecessary, the colors far too vibrant for his usual aesthetic, the accessories excessive to the point of absurdity. His expression remained as stoic as ever, yet there was a distinct tension in his posture that suggested he was enduring sothing far worse than any battle.
March stood nearby, her excitent barely contained as she snapped picture after picture with relentless enthusiasm, each flash capturing another mont of what would undoubtedly beco permanent blackmail material.
Sunny stared.
Then his grin widened.
’This day just keeps getting better.’
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