Mirror Dream Tree 31. Injured

rin sits on the creaking wooden floor of an abandoned house, an old roll of bandage threaded between his fingers. He wraps it tightly around his side, linen soaking slowly with blood. The sting of the wound barely touches him. What burns inside him isn’t pain—it’s hatred.

Hatred for the ones who lit the incense.

Hatred for the Sky Sword Sect.

He pulls the knot hard enough to make the wood beneath him creak again. If he hadn’t hidden his strength during that mission, if he’d let it show even a little, he wouldn’t have walked away alive.

Two months have passed since the beast tide began.

The first two weeks, Miji Town was under siege. Dozens died. The walls cracked. Morale crumbled. Only when a Great Samurai from the Axe Gang struck down the Great Beast realm Iron Monkey did the beasts finally retreat. But the tide didn’t end—it only shifted. The horde splintered, flooding into villages and smaller towns.

rin was sent to help defend them. He saw fire devour harvests, saw children crushed beneath hooves, heard the dying whisper nas into the dirt. Every day, every night, the tide flowed.

Fifteen days ago, he returned from saving a village buried half in ash and half in blood. He walked into his room exhausted, the sll of incense already thick in the air.

Sweet. Heavy. Familiar.

His instincts scread before his thoughts did.

Swan’s Dance.

A rare aphrodisiac incense, dangerous even to high-ranking Samurai if caught unaware. He stopped breathing, crushed the stick, doused the sll, and then saw her.

Asuna lay on the bed, her clothes half off, her breath shallow, her face flushed. She whispered his na.

And for a mont, the pull of the incense nearly won.

But he was a healer. He knew how the incense worked. Knew what it did. Knew that what Asuna felt wasn’t real—it was influence, not desire. And even if her lips begged, her consent in that state ant nothing.

So he didn’t act. He helped her recover, drew out the lingering effects, and left her to rest.

Now, days later, wounded again, seated alone with only bandages and his anger for company, rin wonders—

''Who lit the incense?''

''Why was it in their room?''

He and Asuna had searched for answers after that night. They turned the room inside out, spoke to the staff, and even traced supply records from the quartermaster. Nothing. No evidence, no nas, no trail. And then duty pulled them apart. Another beast attack. Another mission.

rin joined a coalition—soldiers, Axe Gang mbers, and local militias, roaming through blood-soaked fields and charred villages. Asuna tead up with Xialing, as always, their synergy unmatched.

A week passed.

When rin returned to their quarters, there was no greeting, no quiet sword training in the courtyard. Just a letter on the table, sealed in plain wax.

He broke it open.

The Sky Sword Sect had co. They had taken Asuna.

She went with them, the letter claid, of her own will.

rin didn't feel anything wrong as Asuna is the disciple of the Sect Leader of the Sky Sword Sect. It was normal for her to go with them, but what nagged at him was that she didn't wait for him before leaving.

He wanted to confirm the truth with Xialing, but she was nowhere to be found. That very night, another assignnt ca. He was to escort a convoy coming from Higane to the city of Kisho. The convoy had been stalled in a remote village, surrounded by beasts.

They departed imdiately.

Yesterday, after a brutal siege, his team cleared the village of beasts. When rin entered the square to et the people they were ant to protect, he had recognised the crest.

Sky Sword Sect.

For a mont, relief. He approached a robed elder and asked for news of Asuna.

“She’s fine,” the elder had smiled. “Already halfway back to the sect.”

But the lie wore thin.

That night, under the cover of stars, the Sky Sword Sect struck. No warning. No words. Just blood and silence.

His comrades died in minutes.

When they surrounded him, he demanded to know why.

Laughter.

“Reputation,” one said.

“The future of our sect,” another sneered.

“No witnesses,” the old man said.

Rage exploded inside him. He unleashed ''seventy per cent'' of his strength. Killed two disciples instantly. Because he had sensed danger from the elder, and he was confident that with his strength, he could kill all of them and avenge his fallen comrades.

Then the elder acted.

High-rank samurai pressure crushed the air. rin realized his mistake. He should have run. Should never have tested fate.

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But confidence had clouded him. Fighting beasts alongside others, he had helped bring down a high-ranking creature. Just three weeks ago, he’d broken through to the ''late middle-rank'' and even ford a ''pseudo high-rank movent technique. He thought he could endure.

He couldn’t.

Two moves from the old man shattered his defences. Blood spilled. His vision blurred.

He ran.

And survived.

Now, bandages tight around torn flesh, rin listens. Footsteps echo through the broken village, crunching over ash and dirt.

Then voices.

''Find him.''

''He’s injured.''

''We must kill him today.''

rin rises from the floor.

His breath is steady.

His hatred burns brighter than ever. But he doesn't move. He remains hidden, breathing low, eyes closed.

He releases his artistic conception.

No sign of the elder. Only the presence of fifteen cultivators—'' all peak middle-rank samurai''. Each is a small realm above him. Under any circumstance, for rin, it is an easy battle. With his Artistic Conception and Natural Energy, they are lambs to be slaughtered.

But rin is no longer the sa man.

He recalls the wound that nearly killed him. The lesson it carved into his bones. No more overconfidence. No more arrogance. He is going to kill them, but today with another thod.

He starts circulating his inner energy. Consus it rapidly to ''accelerate his healing'', force blood back into the torn pathways, stitch flesh through sheer will. The pain is secondary now.

Outside, he hears them talk.

> "The Sky Sword Sect can’t do anything right. A small task—killing one man—they botch it. Now 'we' have to wipe their arse."

> "Shut it. Be careful. That middle-rank samurai understands artistic conception and has escaped a high-ranking samurai. If he wasn't injured, we wouldn't even touch his fur."

rin’s fingers tighten around the hilt of his sword.

He waits by the door. A shadow moves beyond the fra. Then—

''Bang.''

The door bursts open.

A man steps in, his gaze sweeping the room. His eyes pass over rin’s crouched form… and turn away.

In one fluid movent, rin lunges.

''Steel whispers.''

The blade pierces the back of the man's skull and exits through his mouth. A wet choke. Then silence.

rin kicks the corpse off his sword, and the body thuds across the floor. Before the blood even spreads, he’s out the back door.

He sprints across the alley and spots another scout standing in a doorway. rin doesn’t hesitate.

''He throws his sword.''

It spins once, twice, then punches through the man’s chest, straight through the heart. The body slams against the doorpost and slides down, leaving a sar of blood behind.

Two down.

''Fourteen remain.''

rin retrieves his blade. Then begins the hunt.

He moves like a shadow through the ruins. No sound. No trace.

He ambushes a man checking a well, snapping his neck from behind. Another falls after rin drops from a rooftop, driving the blade straight into his spine. Two n die within seconds in the storage house, their bodies hidden behind crates. A scream tries to rise from a woman’s throat—rin’s hand clamps over her mouth as his sword opens her throat silently.

''Nine kills.''

''Five remain.''

They finally realise.

The last five gather at the centre of the village—backs to each other, blades drawn, eyes scanning the empty streets.

rin approaches slowly, deliberately, walking out of the shadows.

They see him.

They raise their swords.

And he smiles.

The five enemies see the expression and tension, too late. rin moves.

''He vanishes.''

His pseudo-high-ranking movent technique blurs his form into the night, lting into the wind under the pale crescent moon. The starless sky offers no light, but visibility wouldn’t matter. Even if they could see him, they wouldn’t be able to react.

A flash—

''Steel hisses. Blood sprays.''

The first man’s head separates cleanly from his neck. Before the body hits the ground, rin drives his foot into the second attacker, sending him crashing into the third.

He vanishes again.

Before the two can recover, rin appears behind the fourth and slashes his back open, heart cleaved in two.

He spins and drops low, slicing both tendons in the third man’s legs. The man screams, his knees buckle, and he collapses with a thud, sword clattering beside him.

The fifth attacker lunges—blade raised overhead.

rin ets him, deflects the strike, then lifts his left arm.

''Thwip!''

A sleeve arrow shoots from beneath his sleeve, slamming into the eye of the second man, still staggering to rise.

''Dead.''

He kicks the fifth man in the gut, staggering him back, and without pause, turns to the crippled third. A swift, brutal slash—both arm tendons severed. The man shrieks, writhing helplessly.

rin turns again. The fifth man charges, sword screaming down from above.

But rin is faster.

A single upward slice.

''The fifth attacker’s throat opens like a ripped pouch.''

Blood fountains. Silence returns.

rin lowers his blade.

''Not a bead of sweat on his brow.''

This is why he was overconfident. In the sa realm, he is nearly invincible. The only ones who can challenge him now are those who—like him—understand ''artistic conception''.

He turns to the third man, collapsed on the ground, arms and legs useless, body twitching in pain. rin steps onto his chest. Energy surges from his foot, flooding into the man’s body. It rampages through organs, nerves, and ridians—deliberate, surgical tornt. As a healer, rin knows how to cause ''maximum pain'' without killing.

"Tell who sent you after ," he says coldly. "Otherwise, you’ll continue to suffer."

The man screams, a hoarse, raw sound like a pig being butchered. rin doesn’t stop. Not for another full minute. Then—silence. He withdraws his energy and waits.

"I don’t know!" the man gasps.

rin increases the pressure. Bone cracks beneath his foot.

"I truly don’t know!" the man yells. "And even if I did—I wouldn’t tell you! I’ll wait for you in the netherworld!"

He coughs. White foam spills from his lips.

rin’s eyes narrow. He steps back. "Poison capsule in the mouth."

The body twitches once. Then stills.

Without another glance, rin vanishes from the village. He reappears on a tree branch just beyond its edge. Then, slowly, his ''magnetic field rges'' with the natural pulses of the trees. His presence fades, concealed from all but those who’ve not grasped artistic conception.

Now he waits.

He wants to see who cos next.

Because now he knows—

'The Sky Sword Sect isn’t the only one hunting him.'

rin closes his eyes. His breath slows. Around him, the forest hums with quiet life. But his focus dives deep—into the magnetic field that reacted while he cultivated. The sa one he sensed before. Now, he gives it his full attention.

If he can grasp even a sliver of artistic conception from it, he will master the Life Qi technique. Then only resources—not insight—will stand between him and becoming a ''High-Ranking Samurai''.

In peaceful tis, this would be a steep wall to climb. But now, in chaos, when power shifts, alliances crumble, and the strong carve new paths, resources flow toward those who can take them.

He hasn’t yet touched the essence of the artistic conception of the Life Qi Cultivation technique. But he has gained sothing vital.

He can now erase his life signs, blending his magnetic field into any wooden form—living or dead. To those who lack awakened ntal energy or cannot sense artistic conception, he’s simply not there.

At dawn, light spills across the tree canopy. rin opens his eyes.

Riders approach the village on horseback. Silent, efficient. He can’t hear them, but he sees enough. Among them—

''The elder who injured him''.

He remains still, hidden in bark and breath.

Minutes pass. The riders leave.

rin descends the tree and trails behind them—

His presence is a whisper in the world.

He reaches the edge of Kage Town and watches from the shadows.

As they disappear into the gates.