LUO FAN
For three days, they had tortured me, forcing me to cooperate with them. Each day was an endless cycle of pain, mockery, and despair, but I held firm. Despite everything—the betrayal, the injustices, and even Ruan Yanjun's reprehensible behavior toward me—I refused to betray anyone. My principles were all I had left, a fragile but unyielding anchor. My dignity was my final shield, and if I had to die defending it, so be it.
In the quiet moments between the torment, a desperate hope took root within me. If my death could prove to Ruan Yanjun that there was still goodness in this world, perhaps it would change him. Perhaps it would soften his hardened heart, pushing him to care for others, to fight for the weak rather than finding amusement in their suffering. He was an immortal—a god-like being who could change the course of this continent if only he chose to. If my death could be the spark that shifted his perspective, then I could face it with pride. My sacrifice would not be in vain.
When the leader of my captors—the one called Purple Rogue—finally gave up on coercing me, he returned to the original plan: my execution. Though they hadn't explicitly named the person behind the order, I knew in my heart that it came from the crown prince of Kan. His obsession with eradicating me left no room for doubt.
The man with the whip came to retrieve me from my cell. "Get up," he barked, tossing a clean set of clothes at me. "Change. The leader wants you presentable for your execution."
Even though my body was riddled with bruises and cuts, and my qi still roiled within me from the strain of the dark core inside me, I complied. The fresh clothes felt wrong against my battered body, a mockery of the dignity I was supposed to retain. As I struggled to pull on the garments, the man uncapped a jar of ointment and began applying it to the wounds on my face. His touch was surprisingly gentle.
"Is this part of your leader's orders?" I asked, my voice raspy.
He shook his head. "No. You don't deserve to look like a corpse when you're executed," he muttered, though his tone carried a hint of pity.
"What's your name?" I asked after a moment.
"Crow," he replied curtly as he screwed the lid back onto the ointment.
"A mercenary name," I said, nodding in understanding. He didn't confirm or deny it, but the flicker of his gaze told me I was right.
"Let's go," he said, his voice gruff as he gestured for me to follow him.
I staggered behind him, my legs weak and my balance reliant on the bamboo stick they allowed me to carry—more as a mockery of my past strength than an actual weapon. They knew I couldn't fight in my current state.
Crow led me out of the dim corridors into the open courtyard, where Purple Rogue and his men were waiting.
Purple Rogue's laughter echoed in the air as his eyes fell on me. "So, Priest Wei Fan still has some fight left in him, I see," he sneered. "It would be a waste to simply behead you. No, that would lack the satisfaction of watching you struggle. As recognition of your achievements as the so-called Divine Mage, I'll grant you a warrior's death. You will fight until your last breath."
He gestured to one of his men—the one with the twin knives—who stepped forward eagerly, his blades gleaming in the sunlight.
Before I could steady myself, the man with the knives lunged at me. His speed was blinding, but I had fought him once before and remembered his tactics. His initial charge was always a feint. Anticipating his real move, I turned sharply to my left just as he veered in that direction, thrusting my stick into his stomach with all the strength I could muster.
He grunted in pain and stumbled back, clutching his abdomen. My arms trembled from the effort, and my legs felt like they might give way at any moment. I could only stand my ground, unable to follow through on the advantage I had gained.
The man took a deep breath, his expression darkening as he prepared for another attack. This time, he leapt high into the air. I braced myself, guessing he would land behind me. My instincts were right again. I turned swiftly and swung upward, striking him under the chin as he descended. The blow was solid, and he choked on blood, momentarily incapacitated.
Seizing the moment, I delivered another strike to his side, causing him to stagger. Despite his disorientation, his wild slashes with the knives forced me to remain cautious. I waited for an opening, my body screaming in protest with every movement. When the opportunity came, I struck hard beneath his ribcage, the impact driving the air out of him. He collapsed to the ground, blood pooling around him.
I stood over him, panting heavily. My vision blurred, and I swayed on my feet. I knew I couldn't survive another fight, but the battle wasn't over yet. Purple Rogue's men stared at me in stunned silence, their confidence shaken.
"Finish him," Purple Rogue ordered coldly, motioning for the man with the spear to step forward.
Before the fight could begin, my knees buckled, and I fell to the ground, coughing up blood. I could hear the sound of footsteps, but my focus wavered until a familiar voice pierced the haze.
"Sir, please stop!" A woman's cry echoed across the courtyard.
My head shot up. "Jinjing?"