Eight Heads Off!
In this very moment, as the tension hung heavy in the air, it was as if time itself had frozen. Regardless of the allegiances they had sworn to, whether they had pledged loyalty to the General's House or the Mu clan, all those present were rendered utterly stupefied.
The steward's authoritative gesture, a mere wave of his hand, accompanied by the words "stop them," had prompted many to respond with a simple yet resolute "yes." The voices that rang out in agreement varied in tone and cadence, creating an eerie harmony of consent. However, what unfolded next would defy all expectations.
As the 36 blood guards braced themselves for action, their collective focus abruptly shattered by the sudden emergence of seven enigmatic figures, each seemingly materializing from a different concealed corner of the courtyard. The blood guards, caught completely off guard, could not muster a reaction in time to confront this unforeseen intrusion.
It was as if sword lights had materialized from the very ether, their radiance flashing with the swiftness of lightning. The audience, comprising participants from both sides, stood frozen in disbelief, none more so than the steward himself. The intense rage that had contorted his visage had swiftly transmuted into an expression of sheer astonishment. His lower jaw hung agape, a sight akin to a gaping maw prepared to devour a whole rabbit.
The paramount question echoing through his thoughts was: from whence had these seven men materialized? They bore no insignia of the General's House guards, nor did they carry the markings of the Palace of Hua-Yang sentinels. Yet, in brazen defiance of all logic, they had launched themselves into action the very moment the steward issued his command.
The unfolding events held everyone in a state of stupefaction, an eerie silence punctuated only by the surreal display of sword lights carving arcs in the air as the seven masked men closed in on the eight Mu clan assassins.
With a swiftness defying comprehension, blades ascended and descended in a blur of motion.
- Chop chop chop... -
Seven heads were sent spiraling into the air, cleanly severed from their bodies. The Mu clan operatives, who had entered with an air of ferocity and unyielding confidence, had their lives extinguished in the blink of an eye. The entire massacre unfolded within the span of mere seconds.
Confronted by these seven enigmatic figures with no discernible origin, even the so-called expert cultivators of the Mu clan found themselves incapable of raising their blades in defense. These seven men had moved with a grace and precision that defied human capability.
The gruesome spectacle unfolded as the seven lifeless bodies gracefully ascended into the air, only to be bifurcated with brutal efficiency. The entire ambush had transpired in less than a heartbeat.
A profound sense of petrification gripped the onlookers. The 36 blood guards, their eyes tracing the arcs of blood-sprayed patterns in the air, remained utterly clueless. It was as if they had been reduced to the state of bewildered simpletons, standing there motionless. Even the most seasoned among them, the steward, stood rooted to the ground.
Then, like a thunderclap of realization, it struck him. This revelation was far from the joyous realization of victory over their foes. Instead, it was a chilling understanding that they had been ruthlessly manipulated and framed.
These enigmatic figures, emerging from the shadows with an air of ominous intent, displayed their deadly prowess by effortlessly extinguishing the lives of seven Mu clan men with a single, devastating strike. Their arrival bore an aura of malevolence that sent shivers down the spines of all who witnessed it.
What would be indelibly etched into the collective memory of those present was a grim tableau: following the steward's fateful command, the seven masked men materialized and swiftly dispatched the Mu clan members, their actions appearing as a direct consequence of his order. The chilling implication was that these seven lives had been extinguished at the steward's behest.
In the wake of this blood-soaked encounter, a profound and irrevocable schism loomed between the Mu clan and the Cha-Eun clan, even if the cloud of suspicion hanging over Mu Cheng-Bai's death were to be dispelled from Cha-Eun Xiao's name. The die had been cast, and no power on Earth could prevent the brewing enmity between these two clans.
The steward, a cauldron of simmering rage, cast his gaze upon the assembled blood guards. To his astonishment, their eyes held a strange mixture of reverence and shock. It was as if they viewed the masked men's lethal display as something superhuman.
"Super!" someone in the ranks exclaimed, eliciting an incredulous reaction from the seething steward. He couldn't help but think, "Super? Seriously? Can things get any worse? Can't you use your brains? We've been framed!"
Standing before the seething steward was the lone survivor among the seven ill-fated Mu clan men. He stood there, stunned and overwhelmed by fear as panic seeped into his psyche. His mind raced, grappling with the surreal horror of the situation.
His voice trembled as he blurted out, "What in the world! Is this truly just the residence of a general? Are we really within the realm of mere mortals? Are you kidding me? My men should not have fallen so effortlessly, even if they had clashed with the Royal Palace guards! If they had to perish, they should have at least put up a valiant fight, shouldn't they? But they were dispatched like mere vegetables, with such ease! It's inconceivable..."
It had been an awe-inspiring display of instant extermination that defied belief.
"The Cha-Eun clan! I shall remember this!" the man vowed, his initial shock giving way to desperation. He swiftly took flight, desperate to escape the dire fate that had befallen his comrades. After witnessing the masked men's lethal efficiency, he harbored no delusions about his chances in a confrontation.
Fearing that any delay could cost him his life, he raced to put as much distance between himself and the perilous scene as possible. In his mind, survival was paramount; it was the one thing he clung to with unwavering determination.
For him, the ability to act only existed as long as he drew breath; this was the creed he held close. Yet, just as he believed himself on the cusp of escape, a searing streak of sword light erupted once more. A gleaming blade, now stained with blood, had thrust through his back and emerged from his chest, skewering him in a grotesque tableau of death and despair.
Despair etched its mark deeply into the leader of the deceased assailants' eyes as he turned to look back. To his astonishment, another masked man had silently materialized behind him, moving with a swiftness that defied comprehension. The newcomer's eyes exuded an icy, calculating coldness as he slowly withdrew his sword and addressed his fallen adversary with an eerie calmness.
"You've come this far. Why depart so hastily?" he inquired, his tone almost conversational.
The Mu clan leader, his strength fading rapidly, could only stare back, blood seeping from his mouth as his body slumped helplessly onto the roof. Before he even touched the ground, the masked man's sword slashed down in a swift, brutal motion, severing the head from the still-warm corpse.
With a gruesome finality, he raised his foot, kicking the lifeless body off the roof, and remarked chillingly, "One strike; two pieces."
In the next instant, all eight masked figures leaped effortlessly onto the boundary wall, preparing to depart as swiftly as they had arrived.
The steward, now awakening from his shocked stupor, dashed forward, shouting, "Who are you? Why have you framed us?"
However, the eight masked men offered no response. Instead, they vanished into the night without a word, leaving the steward's queries hanging unanswered in the cold air.
The realization struck the steward with force, like a hammer blow to his senses. They were undeniably framed this time, and there seemed to be no escape. No opportunity for explanation remained; they were left to grapple with the consequences of their dire circumstances.
Emerging from the shadows, the 36 blood guards converged around the steward, their faces lit with enthusiasm.
"Boss, you're incredible! So cool! So overwhelming! Eight heads rolled just because of one command..."
"Absolutely, boss!"
"Hey, boss..."
"Shut up, all of you!" the steward snapped, his frustration boiling over. "We've been framed, you foolish simpletons! There's more to your heads than just muscles, you imbeciles... What's there to celebrate? Good grief..."
Turning on his heel, he marched off in search of Cha-Eun Xiao. The steward begrudgingly acknowledged that the only person he could confide in at this chaotic moment was his seemingly frivolous young master, the very individual who had unwittingly precipitated this mess.
However, upon reaching Cha-Eun Xiao's room, he found it devoid of its occupant. He had noticed some time ago that the young master's distinctive snoring had ceased, leading him to believe that Cha-Eun Xiao was simply enjoying a peaceful slumber. Had Cha-Eun Xiao slipped away during that time?
The steward was initially skeptical, but a thorough search of the entire house yielded no trace of his young master. There were no signs of struggle, ruling out the possibility of a kidnapping. Yet, where could Cha-Eun Xiao have vanished to without leaving a single clue behind?
The steward couldn't help but wonder, "How could a seemingly frivolous young lord disappear without a trace?" However, he quickly brushed aside such contemplations, realizing that there was no time for such ponderings in the midst of this crisis.
"Oh, my dear lord," he lamented, "Why are you still playing around at a time like this? Don't you realize that your life is in imminent danger? Why would you..."
It was utterly absurd! The General's House was embroiled in turmoil, framed for a grave crime, and faced with impending peril. Why would Cha-Eun Xiao choose this precarious moment to venture out?
However, the steward was about to discover that he had fundamentally misunderstood Cha-Eun Xiao's intentions. In truth, Cha-Eun Xiao had been within the house all along, a silent observer to the unfolding chaos. As the Mu clan operatives arrived, he had been preparing to take action.
He was acutely aware of the perilous tightrope he was treading. Striking out might expose him, but the alternative was the gruesome demise of everyone within the confines of the Cha-Eun clan's abode. Well, everyone except the enigmatic steward, whose motives remained shrouded in a mysterious haze.
As the masked assailants materialized with deadly precision, reducing seven of the Mu clan's battle-hardened warriors to lifeless husks in a single stroke, Cha-Eun Xiao hesitated and chose silence over action. His mind raced with questions, curiosity ignited by the brutal display before him.
What drove these masked figures to such ruthless extremes? The answer was clear to him; there was no need to vocalize the unspoken truth. The motive behind this grim spectacle was crystal clear.
Yet, amidst the chaos and uncertainty, one question consumed Cha-Eun Xiao's thoughts—just who were these men? With that enigma gnawing at his consciousness, he carefully maneuvered out of his room, slipping through the window into the moonlit night. Hidden within the shroud of shadows in the courtyard, he remained still and watchful.
An intuition, as sharp as a dagger's edge, told him that these masked men would eventually return to their lair. Thus, he resolved to lie in wait, prepared to covertly tail them when they made their exit.
Curiosity tugged at him as he mused, "I wonder who else in the capital dares to challenge me."
His foresight proved correct. The eight masked men wasted no time, swiftly departing after successfully casting the shadow of suspicion over the Cha-Eun clan. With a swish, swish, swish, they soared overhead, their presence an ominous echo in the night.
Cha-Eun Xiao, concealed in the shadows, held his breath, letting moments trickle away. He understood the imprudence of hasty pursuit, cognizant of the myriad hidden observers lurking in the vicinity. To reveal himself recklessly would be a grave error.
His patience paid off as dozens of figures emerged from the cover of darkness, taking flight in various directions. These were individuals aligned with different factions, drawn to the unfolding turmoil within the Cha-Eun clan's domain.
"Some approach directly, while others prefer to watch us battle each other," Cha-Eun Xiao mused, a wistful sigh escaping his lips.
After a calculated interval, a figure burst forth from the obscurity within the house, soaring into the night sky with remarkable speed. In a mere blink, the figure vanished from sight.
Cha-Eun Xiao's discerning eyes had not missed this mysterious figure, and he decided to pursue. Cloaked in shadows, he altered his appearance, taking on the likeness of Feng Zhi-Ling, the guise he had adopted when selling supreme dan beads in the salesroom. It was a transformation that offered him anonymity and allowed him to blend seamlessly into the thrumming night.
With the grace of a phantom, he streaked through the night sky, his velocity rivaling that of a raging typhoon. Yet, his form remained unruffled by the howling winds—a testament to his mastery of an exclusive art.
It was the Lunisolar Shadow technique in motion—a dance between stealth and swiftness, as elusive as a vanishing comet's tail.