SSS-Rank 10x Reward System: Accepting Disciples to Live Forever Chapter 29: Master will take care of everything

Wang Chen was still buried in the afterglow of the tower’s gifts — fingers tracing the rune of that transcendent blade-skill in his mind — when the air around the dojo changed. Not gradually, but like soone had pinched the world and held it: sound thinned, the sll of steam and old tea dulled, everything folding into a tight, eerie void.

His gaze snapped to the bodhi tree. Empty. No Lin Huang sprawled in ditation beneath the leaves. No Li i humming so anxious tune while sweeping. The small signs of life he’d grown used to were gone.

A cold, animal dread slid down his spine. Trouble. It tasted tallic in his mouth.

His mind raced—Blood Fang, Sharp Tooth, so cowardly thug who’d finally found a nerve. Before he could thread the possibilities together, a wet, sickening sound rang from outside, followed by an explosion that shook the courtyard and sent dust motes spinning like fleeing spirits.

Wang Chen moved before thought finished arguing with itself. He stepped outside and took in the scene in a single breath — and the breath that returned to him carried burning anger, like the spark hitting gasoline.

The outer wall of the Phoenix and Dragon Dojo gaped like cracked earth. Stone fragnts lay scattered; a sar of dark crimson stained the threshold. Further down the street, a carriage with blood-red trim had been abandoned, n in tattered banners fleeing or collapsing in the mud. The air itself slled of iron and urgency.

A dozen ragged silhouettes — Blood Fang n — were still milling about, but their brutality had an edge of too-late panic. One of them spat and spat again; another cursed as he hauled a limp body by the collar. Boots scuffed, tal clanked. The city beyond the imdiate chaos looked hollow, as if the whole district had held its breath and then fled.

Wang Chen’s jaw were tightly until a tiny pop threatened his teeth. He understood with a calm that felt worse than panic: the second floor’s clock had been different than the first. Unliek before, the ti outside the tower had not stopped.

His absence seed to have put his disciples, his only hope to break the curse in danger.

Anger rose like lava. It was hot and sharp and imdiate: his disciples—his only thread to a future—were being butchered by naless vermin while he fiddled with godlike toys. He wanted nothing more than to tear the courtyard apart, to summon the Sword Saint avatar-strength, a godmade blade to cleave and burn until every last Blood Fang mber was dust.

He felt that pull — a roaring, primordial itch — tempting and terrifying. Use the avatar. End it. Paint the street crimson, how dare these good for nothing bastrd, thinking about laying their hands on his precious disciples.

He swallowed the anger only with his sheer will. The avatar’s power was limited, a leverage he could not squander on a single gang’s cruelty. That strength was a ladder out of the cruel loop, the only sure way to pry free the chains the world had clamped on him across dozens of lives. Waste it now and what then?

So he breathed. A slow, slow inhale that tasted of old smoke and drying blood. The shock of the scene sharpened his mind instead of breaking it. He catalogued like a surgeon: exits, numbers, wounded, the angle of the carriage, the scent of a particular talisman that clung to the n — a Blood Fang ward, cheap and bitter. Not many could plant that signature without leaving more trace. Soone was amateur here; soone else was orchestrating.

Wang Chen flexed his fingers. The rune for Doomclock still burned faintly at the edge of his vision, a cold reminder that choices had costs and that so battles demanded patience rather than fury. He felt the old, predatory pleasure of the stalker — the knowledge that the prey could still be studied, baited, unmasked.

He had to buy ti. He had to know. He had to keep his avatar whole for a fight that actually mattered.

....

Li i, who had already lost all hope, suddenly froze.

That voice just a mont ago—calm yet colder than winter steel—cut through the chaos like a divine decree. Her heart skipped a beat. For a mont, she thought she had imagined it. But when she turned, her eyes widened, tears welling up uncontrollably.

Wang Chen stood at the shattered entrance of the dojo. The faint breeze stirred his black robes, carrying an aura that made the air itself heavy. The stillness that followed was deafening; even the Blood Fang Gang mbers, who monts ago laughed like hyenas, now stiffened like statues.

"Master... You finally woke up." Her voice trembled, filled with disbelief and relief in equal asure. "Senior brother, he..."

The rest of her words broke into a sob. Her throat closed up, emotions choking her into silence.

Wang Chen’s gaze softened for the briefest mont as he looked at her. He had seen that expression countless tis across centuries — the look of a disciple who had stared into despair and sohow still clung to hope. Without a word, he stepped closer and gently placed his hand on her trembling shoulder.

"Don’t worry, my little disciple," he said softly, each word carrying a quiet, unshakable confidence that seed to pierce through the surrounding dread. "Now that your Master is here... everything will be fine."

The mont he spoke, the air itself seed to shift.

Vice Head Zhang and the surrounding gang mbers instinctively tensed, their instincts screaming danger. None dared to make a move. Even those attempting to enter the dojo faltered mid-step, frozen under the crushing weight of Wang Chen’s spiritual pressure.

It wasn’t visible, yet it felt as though the heavens themselves were watching through his eyes.

"Go," Wang Chen said, still in that calm tone that left no room for refusal. "Take care of your senior brother. He needs you right now. Leave the rest to your Master."

Li i stared up at him, her lips trembling. There was sothing ancient in his gaze — sothing that carried the quiet confidence of one who had already seen the end of all things.

For the first ti in what felt like lifetis, her fear lted away. The crushing despair in her heart eased, replaced by a fragile, almost childlike sense of security.

She nodded silently. "Yes, Master."

Then she turned and ran toward Lin Huang’s broken form, her steps desperate yet filled with purpose. Each heartbeat echoed like thunder in her chest as she reached the bloodied man who had once stood as her protector.

Wang Chen watched her go, a faint sigh escaping his lips.

Thankfully, his hunch had been right — Li i’s regression must have left her with certain healing skills from her past life. If anyone could stabilize Lin Huang’s condition, it was her.

This situation was of a grim reminder of his situation, he needed a heling skill.

His eyes, however, darkened again as he turned back toward the intruders.

The temperature seed to drop. Even the faintest whisper of wind vanished.

The Blood Fang Gang could not understand what kind of existence they had just provoked.