The Walker Clan Hall did not feel restless. It felt contained. Light filtered through the high lattice windows in pale strips, catching dust in the air. Incense burned low at the edges of the chamber, its smoke rising in thin, disciplined lines. No one spoke loudly. No one dared.
Zilton Walker sat at the head of the hall, one hand resting on the carved arm of his chair. His posture was relaxed, almost casual. That was what unsettled the elders most. When he raged, there was direction. When he was quiet, calculations were being made.
It had been a full day. Ten cultivators had entered the forbidden forest. Two at Spirit Root Level 7, low stage. Eight at Level 5. Experienced cultivator and disciplined. Used to working without leaving traces.
There had been no signal. No communication. No ergency pulse. Nothing. An elder finally cleared his throat, the sound small in the wide chamber.
Perhaps the forest interfered with the signal. The qi fluctuations in that region are known to— Zilton lifted a single finger. The elder fell silent.
If the signal was disturbed, Zilton said evenly, we would receive distortion. Not silence.
His gaze drifted toward the centre of the hall. The communication stone rested there on a low table. Untouched. Another elder shifted. The Osborn youths are inexperienced in the battle. Although they were prepared, they could not defeat two Level 7 cultivators head-on in the battle.
Zilton did not respond. Because he was no longer thinking about head-on battles. He was thinking about terrain. Far from the hall, in a modest roadside inn near Magical City's outer district, a man leaned back in his wooden chair and exhaled in satisfaction.
The informant had chosen the inn carefully. Not too crowded. Not too isolated. He had changed clothes twice since leaving the forest's edge. A simple traveller now. Harmless. Forgettable.
He poured himself another cup of weak tea. Ten against five. The odds were more than enough. Two Level 7 cultivators to anchor the assault. It would have been quick. Efficient.
He imagined the reward already. Spirit stones. Perhaps a mid-grade weapon. At the very least, recognition within the Walker Clan. For soone at Spirit Root Level 5, advancent required favour as much as talent.
He leaned back, satisfied. Then the storage ring at his waist vibrated. Once. Twice. His spine straightened instantly. He withdrew the communication stone. It pulsed faintly in his palm. He activated it. An elder's voice ca through, controlled and cold. Report.
The informant swallowed but kept his tone respectful and greeted the elder. I have not received confirmation yet from the group. The team entered the outer zone yesterday. I assud— Assumptions are expensive, the elder interrupted. The informant lowered his gaze instinctively, though no one could see him.
I will verify imdiately. Do so elder said. Before nightfall. The connection severed. The room felt smaller. The informant stood, abandoning the tea. He left the inn without finishing it.
He did not head toward the forest. He was not unwise. The Forbidden Forest outer zone was manageable during daylight for soone at Level 5. At night, even experienced hunters avoided it. And blood in the air attracted more than beasts.
He chose another path. Information travelled differently in cities. He walked past the city gates casually, greeting the guard he had spoken to before. Not about assassins. About trade routes. Supply caravans. He listened more than he asked.
Then he drifted toward the Osborn Clan compound. Not close enough to be noticed. Just enough to observe. Dusk settled by the ti he saw them. Five figures entered the Osborn compound gates. Walking.
Injured, yes. Their movents were slower. One favoured his leg. Another held a wrapped forearm close to the body. But alive. All of them. The informant did not move for several breaths.
He counted again. Five. He waited longer, as if expecting a sixth to appear. None did. The gates closed. Lanterns were lit inside the compound.
The informant felt sothing hollow open in his chest. If the Osborn youths returned safely, then the ten Walker cultivators had not.
Beast attacked, he tried to reason.
Possible. The forest was unpredictable. But are two Level 7 cultivators falling without a single signal? Without one of them activating a communication stone?
No. That ant they were prevented. Or overwheld too quickly to respond. Or tricked. The last thought lingered. He retreated quietly from the street.
By the ti he reactivated the communication stone, his palms were damp. Elder. Speak. The Osborn youths have returned safely to their compound. Silence. How many? Five. Another silence. Longer.
Were they pursued? I observed no visible escort. No external support with them. The elder's voice grew quieter. And our n? No sign of them.
The connection did not end imdiately this ti. The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate. Return to your post. Continue observation. Yes, Elder.
The stone dimd. Back in the Walker Clan Hall, the elder lowered the communication stone slowly. All eyes turned toward Zilton. They have returned, the elder said. Zilton did not move.
How many? All five. The word settled into the hall like ash. An elder muttered under his breath. Impossible.
Zilton finally leaned forward. Not impossible. He tapped the armrest once. Explain. The elder relayed the report carefully and said no bodies were found yet. No signals. No survivors.
Zilton's eyes narrowed slightly. He was not angry. He was thinking. Ten n. Two Level 7 are dead now. He replayed the scenario in his mind.
If it had been a direct confrontation, the Osborn youths would not have survived intact. Not against that number.
Which ant it was not direct. He uses the forest, Zilton said softly.
The elders exchanged glances. He does not fight where he is weakest. He shifts the ground first. One elder frowned. You believe the boy arranged the environnt against our n?
Zilton's gaze sharpened. He lured them. The hall grew colder. The forest is full of predators. Spirit beasts are territorial by nature. If our n revealed even a fraction of killing intent or bloodshed…
He did not finish the thought. He did not need to. He manipulates pressure, Zilton continued. He avoids head-on engagent unless forced by your people or beast. He divides strength. Uses confusion.
An elder's voice was cautious. That suggests strategic awareness beyond his years. Zilton's expression hardened slightly. It suggests he is not reckless. He leaned back slowly and said we misjudged him by his age. The elder did not feel relaxed.
Another elder shifted uneasily. Then our next move— it is not imdiate retaliation; Zilton cut in. Shock flickered across a few faces. If we strike openly now, suspicion turns toward us. Ten cultivators vanish. The Osborn youths return alive.
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