The human jaw requires only a fraction of a second to clamp shut. For an elite killer of the Shadow Hall, that microscopic window of time was more than enough to crush a hollow wax molar and release a lethal dose of concentrated cyanide into the bloodstream. Jang Mu-Rak’s eyes were wide, completely consumed by the terrifying realization that he could not win. His back was pressed hard against the freezing black granite of the dead-end gorge. His thumb slid frantically along his own jawline, bracing the muscle. His teeth began to close. I was three feet away. I didn't think about the pain in my cracked rib. I didn't think about the nightshade venom that my golden Qi was barely holding back. I let the heavy, burning heat of my Foundation Establishment core flood every muscle fiber in my body, turning my flesh into coiled iron. I stepped forward. The wet gravel crunched sharply beneath my heavy le

The freezing rain felt heavier now, driving into my shoulders like tiny, icy nails. With my golden Foundation Establishment Qi completely receded back into my hollow core, the cold mountain air rushed in to claim its territory. I knelt in the thick, freezing mud of the dead-end gorge, my breath pluming in ragged white clouds. Jang Mu-Rak lay flat on his stomach a few feet away. The First Brother of the Shadow Hall was entirely immobilized. His dislocated arms were bound brutally tight behind his back with the shredded remnants of his own black silk uniform. His ankles were tied. He looked like a discarded piece of refuse left to rot on the wet granite. Every time he tried to draw a deep breath, his body shuddered violently, his ruined shoulders grinding against the torn cartilage. The cloying, sharp stench of the crushed cyanide paste still hung in the damp air around his face, mixing with the heavy

"The Orthodox Alliance hired us." The words echoed off the sheer, black granite walls of the dead-end gorge. They were not loud. Mu-Rak had barely whispered them through his split, bleeding lips. But to me, they sounded louder than the howling mountain wind, louder than the deafening crash of the freezing rain. I stared down at the broken, bound First Brother of the Shadow Hall lying in the thick mud. A sharp, violent tremor ran through my entire body. It wasn't just the cold. It was the physical shock of a collapsing worldview. I fell backward, my boots slipping on the wet stone, and hit the ground hard. I sat in a freezing puddle, my dead left arm resting uselessly in my lap. I brought my trembling right hand up, ignoring the agonizing, burning pain of the deep horizontal gash across my palm, and pressed my bloody fingers against my forehead. The rain beat against my face, wash

The storm finally broke just before dawn, leaving a heavy, bone-chilling mist clinging to the ancient pines of the southern woods. I stood at the edge of the tree line, my breath pluming in small, ragged white clouds. Behind me, fourteen Vanguard assassins and Jang Mu-Rak, the First Brother of the Shadow Hall, lay bound and helpless in the wet pine needles. I reached into my torn robes and pulled out a small, jagged piece of dark wood. Using my thumb and my teeth, I snapped it into the shape of a hollow triangle—the universal underworld marker for a captured bounty. I wedged the marker deep into the bark of the largest pine tree facing the main logging road. The local magistrate's patrols rode through this trail every morning at sunrise. They would find the marker. They would find the most wanted killers in the southern provinces tied up like pigs. The Shadow Hall’s absolute secrecy would be completely compro