The early morning sun cast long shadows as a simple, unassuming carriage rumbled out of the city’s southern gate. It was a sturdy but plain vehicle, the kind used by countless independent rchants for low-priority cargo. It was pulled by two strong but unremarkable horned horses, and its only protection appeared to be three hired guards and the rchant himself.
The rchant, a portly man with a cheerful but slightly nervous expression, was none other than Fat Pig, playing his role to perfection. The guards were Jian Xuan and Xylia, their fine spiritual weapons hidden, their powerful auras suppressed, dressed in the simple, functional leather armor of common rcenaries. Inside the carriage, appearing to be the rchant’s young, unassuming son, was Li Yu.
Their plan was simple: they would be the bait. They loaded the carriage with several sacks of mid-grade iron ore—a prize tempting enough to attract attention, but not so valuable as to arouse suspicion. They set off down the Old Southern Road, the very stretch of trade route that had beco a hunting ground for the mysterious, hooded assailants.
The morning passed in a state of tense, expectant silence. The carriage rattled along the dusty road, every rustle of leaves in the wind, every shadow stretching across the path, drawing their keen senses. But nothing happened. The road was quiet, almost unnaturally so. Other caravans, larger and better-guarded, passed them heading in the opposite direction, their occupants giving the small, seemingly vulnerable group a wide, cautious berth.
By midday, they had traveled a significant distance from the city, and the initial tension had begun to curdle into a strange sense of frustration.
“Are you sure this is the right road?” Xylia asked from her position riding alongside the carriage, her voice a low, bored grumble. “It’s as quiet as a tomb out here.”
“This is the place,” Fat Pig said from the driver’s seat, his brow furrowed. “The attacks have all happened within a twenty-mile stretch of this road. Maybe our disguise is too good? Or not good enough? Perhaps they’ve been scared off after the sect’s caravan was hit.”
“It is also possible that their attack patterns are irregular,” Jian Xuan, who rode on the other side, offered, his gaze constantly scanning the surrounding hills and forests. “A smart hunter does not visit the sa watering hole every single day. It makes the prey too cautious.”
They continued on, the afternoon sun beating down on them. The silence stretched. The trap was set, the bait was laid out, but the prey refused to bite. As dusk began to approach, they found a small, defensible clearing a short distance from the road to set up camp for the night. The continued lack of activity was beginning to feel suspicious.
As Fat Pig started a small, smokeless cooking fire and the others set up a simple periter, they continued to wonder why their plan had failed. Had the attackers been warned? Had they simply chosen a different target today?
It was Xylia, with her beast-like senses, who noticed it first. Her head snapped up, her gaze fixed on a distant, forested ridge several miles to the east. “Light,” she said, her voice sharp.
The others followed her gaze. At this distance, it was almost imperceptible against the darkening sky, but it was there: a faint, intermittent flashing, the distinct, tell-tale shimr of spiritual energy being unleashed in a fierce battle.
“It seems our hunters found a different prey tonight,” Li Yu said, his voice calm as he erged from the carriage. “Let’s go.”
Li Yu’s body was enveloped in a soft, opalescent layer of Koi Qi, and he lifted off the ground, hovering silently for a mont before shooting towards the disturbance like a cot. Jian Xuan summoned his new longsword, Daybreak, and leaped onto it.
Xylia crouched low, and with a powerful burst of Qi from her legs that cracked the earth beneath her, she launched herself into the sky, her flight powerful and agile. Fat Pig, with less grace but no less speed, was surrounded by a thick, earthen-yellow aura as he propelled himself through the air. The four of them beca streaks of light, crossing the miles.
They covered the distance in a matter of monts. As they neared the ridge, the sounds of battle reached them—the clash of steel, the roar of techniques, and the desperate cries of n. Below them, a small rchant caravan, consisting of two wagons, was circled up in a desperate defensive posture at the edge of the forest.
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They were under attack by a group of about fifteen hooded n, the sa type that had been plaguing the region. The caravan’s half-dozen guards were bloodied and outnumbered, their defensive line on the verge of collapsing.
The attackers were all in the Foundation Establishnt realm, a respectable force for common bandits. But to Li Yu’s group, they were nothing.
Xylia’s eyes glowed with a predatory fire. This was her elent. “I’ll handle this,” she growled.
She dove. She was a silver-haired cannonball, plumting from the sky. She landed in the center of the battlefield with a ground-shaking impact that sent a shockwave outwards, montarily stunning both the attackers and the defenders. Before the hooded n could even register this new, terrifying arrival, she was upon them.
It was not a battle; it was a culling. Xylia, a mid-Core Formation expert, moved among the Foundation Establishnt attackers like a wolf in a sheep pen. She was a blur of motion and devastating force. She flowed through their ranks, her movents a perfect blend of feral grace and brutal efficiency.
Her gauntlets were a nightmare of steel. She would evade a sword thrust with an impossible, animalistic contortion of her body, and her counterattack would be a single, precise palm-strike to the chest that would send an attacker flying, bones shattered and unconscious. She would duck under the swing of an axe and deliver a disabling blow to the man’s knee with her steel-shod boot, then pivot to drive her gauntlet into the side of another’s head.
The fight was swift and brutally one-sided. Li Yu, Jian Xuan, and Fat Pig simply hovered in the sky above, their combined presence a suffocating pressure that ensured none of the hooded n even thought of trying to escape. In less than a minute, a dozen of the attackers were left broken and unconscious on the ground.
The last three, a man and two won, seeing the impossible tide of the battle, turned to flee. Xylia was on them in an instant, her form a silver streak. A single, precise chop to the back of each of their necks, and they crumpled to the ground, alive but incapacitated for questioning.
The clearing fell silent, the only sound the ragged breathing of the wounded caravan guards. The leader of the caravan, a stout, middle-aged man with a bloody bandage wrapped around his head, stared at Xylia with a look of pure, unadulterated awe. He then looked up and saw the three other powerful figures descending from the sky, and his awe turned to fearful reverence.
He quickly stumbled forward and dropped into a deep, formal bow. “This humble one is Bao, of the Stone River rchants! We are eternally grateful to you Seniors for saving our lives! Our small company has nothing of great value, but we owe you a debt!”
He fumbled in his robes and produced a simple, stone token, carved with the image of a flowing river. “Please, take this. If you are ever in Stone River City, show this token. Anything our company can do for you, we will do!”
Li Yu took the token. “You were brave,” he said simply, before turning his attention to the three conscious prisoners Xylia was now dragging before him.
The interrogation was short and fruitless. The man and won, their faces now revealed beneath their hoods, were young, their expressions a mixture of pain, fear, and a fanatic, defiant hatred.
“Who sent you?” Li Yu asked, his voice cold.
The man spat a wad of bloody saliva at Li Yu’s feet. “You’ll get nothing from us, dog.”
Xylia’s response was a swift kick to his ribs that elicited a sickening crack and a scream of agony. “Talk,” she growled.
The won glared at them, their eyes burning with a cold fire. “You can kill us. It doesn’t matter. Our mission is greater than our lives. You will learn nothing.”
Jian Xuan stepped forward, his spiritual sense sweeping over them. “It is useless,” he said quietly to Li Yu. “There is a minor seal inscribed in the ridians of their throats. If they try to speak of their masters, the seal will rupture, destroying their heads. It is a common technique for disposable pawns.”
It was a dead end.
Li Yu looked at the defiant prisoners, then gave a simple, almost imperceptible nod to Xylia. He had no need to leave people who attacked others alive, especially when they were so clearly unwilling to cooperate.
Xylia understood the command. Her expression was cold and pragmatic. With three swift, brutal motions, the interrogation was permanently concluded.
The Stone River rchants, who had witnessed the ruthless efficiency, wisely said nothing, their expressions a mixture of fear and gratitude.
With the imdiate threat eliminated, Fat Pig walked among the fallen attackers. He held up their storage rings one by one, his spiritual sense sweeping through them in an instant. After checking all fifteen, he shook his head in frustration.
“Nothing,” he announced. “Just so spirit stones, a few low-grade healing pills, and mundane supplies. No identifying tokens, no letters, no clues whatsoever. Clean as a whistle.” He absorbed the contents of the rings into his own. The funds were a welco, if minor, addition to the company’s treasury.
They left the Stone River rchants to tend to their wounded and make their own report to the sect authorities. As Li Yu’s group flew back to their own campsite, a sense of frustration settled over them. Their plan to act as bait had failed, but their intervention had confird the attackers were still active and highly disciplined. And now they knew that getting information from them was going to be far more difficult than they had anticipated.
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