Dragonblood Chaos Heir

Chapter 11: Whispers in the Stone Dragon Inn

Three days after the desolation of the Muddy Leaf Road, Verdant Cloud City hummed with a different kind of energy. A current of low, anxious tension threaded through the usual bustle of commerce and gossip. It was a feeling that lived in the sidelong glances between merchants, the hushed conversations in tavern corners, and the extra vigilance of the city watch.

At the heart of this unease, in the trade district's most venerable and discreet establishment, the Stone Dragon Inn, a private meeting was unfolding that would determine the city's immediate future.

The inn's finest room was sealed behind doors of aged ironwood, with silencing arrays humming faintly in the walls. The air was thick with the scent of expensive sandalwood incense and unspoken threat. Seated around a hexagonal table of polished gloomwood were three men who represented the shifting tectonic plates of power.

At the head, radiating a calm, poisonous authority, was Elder Tian. He no longer wore mourning grey. His robes were deep forest green, edged with bronze, the colors of the Deng and Lin clans intertwined. His face was a carefully composed mask, but a tic beneath his left eye betrayed the strain. The story of the "tragic, stabilizing elder" was cracking under pressure.

To his right sat Patriarch Deng Lei, a blocky man with hands like quarry stones and eyes the color of flint. His earth-attribute aura was not deep like the caravan master's had been; it was jagged, aggressive, like crushed granite. The loss of an entire ore shipment and the humiliating crippling of his veteran clansman had carved new, angry lines into his face.

To Tian's left was Master Wang, the City Lord's chief steward. A thin, precise man in embroidered silks, he represented the official power of Verdant Cloud City. He held no clan allegiance, only a fanatical devotion to order, taxes, and the City Lord's comfort. His presence meant this was no longer a clan matter; it was a civic crisis.

"It is not simply the loss of the ore, Tian," Deng Lei growled, his voice grinding like millstones. "It is the method. A single attacker. No weapons left behind. No traces of conventional battle. Just... dust. My man, crippled to the edge of death, babbling about a ghost that drinks cultivation. The guards speak of mud turning to powder and their own strength being stolen." He slammed a fist on the table, making the teacups rattle. "This is not banditry. This is an attack. A declaration of war against us."

Elder Tian steepled his fingers. "The timing is... provocative. Following so closely on the heels of our... Unification." He avoided his brother's name, the murder he'd ordered. "The description this 'ghost' gave—'tell my uncle'—is clearly meant to point to the Lin Clan's internal strife."

Master Wang sipped his tea with a delicate slurp. "The City Lord is deeply concerned. Trade on the Muddy Leaf Road has ceased. Merchants are demanding additional guards, raising costs. Fear is a toxin in the marketplace. And now, these... rumors from the lower quarters." He set his cup down with a soft click. "There is talk in the Roosting Phoenix of a beggar who broke Young Master Lin Tao's nose with a spoon and spoke of ghosts from the Abyssal Chasm."

Elder Tian's eye tic became a frantic flutter. He had heard the report from his sniveling, bandage-swathed son. He had dismissed it as the ravings of a humiliated drunkard. Now, connected to the convoy attack, it formed a terrifying pattern.

"A beggar with impossible skill," Tian murmured, more to himself than the others. "A ghost that consumes power... Could it be... some remnant? A hidden protector of my brother's line?" The theory felt weak even as he said it. The Lin Clan had no such allies.

Deng Lei leaned forward, his granite aura pressing against the silencing arrays. "I don't care if it's a ghost, a demon, or your wretched nephew's reanimated corpse. It attacked my property, my people, and an alliance shipment to you. This undermines our authority at its foundation. We look weak. And in the Azure Cloud Continent, weakness is a bleeding wound that draws every predator."

"We must respond with overwhelming, public force," Master Wang stated. "The City Lord authorizes a joint operation. Deng clan trackers. Lin clan enforcers. City guard auxiliaries. We sweep the Blackroot Woods and the river basin. We find this 'Ore-Devourer' and we put its head on a pike at the city gates. We restore calm through demonstrated strength."

"It's hiding in the woods, feeding on beasts and stupid traders," Deng Lei agreed. "A large-scale hunt will flush it out. I will lead my personal guard."

Elder Tian saw the trap. If Deng Lei led the hunt and succeeded, the credit and the reputation for strength would flow to the Deng Clan. The Lin Clan would be seen as the weak partner that needed bailing out. His position, so freshly grabbed, would erode before it solidified.

"No," Tian said, his voice firmer than he felt. "The threat invoked my name. It is a Lin Clan matter that has bled into our alliance. I will lead the hunt. My son needs to reclaim his honor. The Lin Clan will cleanse this stain itself, with the Deng Clan's generous support, of course." He offered Deng Lei a thin, sharp smile. "Your trackers are renowned. We would be grateful for their expertise."

It was a political dance, a struggle for the narrative. Deng Lei understood. He grunted, a sound of concession mixed with contempt. "Fine. My best tracker, Hou, will accompany you. But the head of this 'ghost,' when you take it, is displayed with both our clan's emblems. The alliance must be seen as unbroken."

Master Wang nodded, satisfied. "Good. Organize swiftly. The hunt begins at dawn tomorrow. The City Lord expects a resolution before the Azure Sky Sect envoys arrive next week. We cannot have specters haunting our doorstep when we are auditioning for a higher realm."

The meeting dissolved into logistical details—numbers of men, sections of the woods to comb, signals. But the undercurrent remained: fear of the unknown, and a ruthless calculation of how to turn that fear into unified power.

As Elder Tian left the Stone Dragon Inn, the weight of the mask felt unbearable. He retreated to his newly claimed study in the Lin compound, a room that still faintly smelled of his brother's herb. He poured a glass of strong, spirit-infused wine with a trembling hand.

A beggar with a spoon. A ghost that devours. A nephew he had thrown into a godsforsaken chasm.

'The ghost he threw into the abyss sends its regards. And it's hungry.'

The words, reported by his broken son, now echoed with a literal, monstrous meaning.

"It can't be him," Tian whispered to the empty room. "The chasm is death. The mists consume soul and bone alike." He drank deeply, the fire of the liquor doing nothing to warm the cold dread in his gut. "It's a rival. The Lei Clan, perhaps, playing a deeper game. Or a wandering demonic cultivator seeing opportunity in our turmoil."

He had to believe that. The alternative, that the boy he'd considered worthless trash had not only survived but returned with a power that could cripple a 7th Layer Qi Condensation expert, was a thought so terrifying it threatened to unravel his mind.

He looked at the reports on his desk. The drained ore. The descriptions of the attacker: young, male, moving with unnatural silence, eyes that sometimes seemed to glow with a chaotic light.

Young.

Tian's fist clenched. He would lead this hunt himself. He would find this ghost. And whether it was his nephew or some other horror, he would annihilate it with every resource at his command. He would pour the entire might of the Lin and Deng clans onto it until nothing remained but a story of how Elder Tian crushed a threat to the city.

He called for his steward. "Ready my armor and my weapon. Assemble the elite guard. And bring my son to me. He will be at my side tomorrow. He will learn what it means to wield power, or he will die as a lesson to others."

Deep in the heart of the Blackroot Woods, in a hidden cave behind a waterfall that roared with chaotic, untamed water energy, Lin Feng felt the shift in the world's currents.

He sat cross-legged on a flat stone, the fifty Mid-Grade Spirit Stones arranged in a circle around him. One by one, their glowing light was being drawn into his body, not in a rush, but in a steady, devouring stream. Each stone turned to dull grey dust as he finished with it. The energy was profound, catapulting him through the early stages of the 2nd Layer of Body Tempering, solidifying his foundation with terrifying speed.

Frost Desire lay across his knees, the black blade seeming to absorb the shadows of the cave, the silver vein pulsing in time with his dantian's rhythm.

He had been listening. Not with ears, but with his expanded spiritual sense, feeling the vibrations of intent and fear emanating from the city. He felt the gathering of dense, earthy auras at the Lin and Deng compounds. The sharp, metallic muster of the city guard. The formation of a net, its weave aimed at the woods.

He opened his eyes. In the dark, they swirled with captured starlight and the deep crimson of dragon's blood.

They're coming, he thought. Not just guards. The masters themselves. They're afraid. And they're bringing their strength to bury their fear.

A slow, cold smile touched his lips. He had spent days feeding, growing, adapting. He had consumed the essence of ironwood trees for resilience, the venom of a dozen spine-toads for potency, the swift energy of river falcons for agility. The Chaos Dantian was a simmering cauldron of stolen attributes.

He had also practiced. The Chaos-Stealing Palm was now more refined; he could choose to drain an enemy slowly, weakening them over time, or in one devastating pull. The Chaos Shuffle Step had evolved into the Nine Phantom Steps, allowing for short-range, illusory afterimages.

But he needed more. A true combat technique. As the last Spirit Stone crumbled to dust, he reached for the final, most dangerous resource in his cave.

In a small, naturally formed stone basin, collected from the waterfall's spray, was a pool of Blackroot Sap. The lifeblood of the ancient, malevolent trees, it was a corrosive, soul-attacking poison to most cultivators. A single drop could cripple a meridian.

Lin Feng dipped a finger into the sticky, ink-black liquid. It burned with a cold, invasive agony that sought to numb his spirit.

He willed the Chaos Dantian to consume it.

The vortex hesitated, then seized the foreign, toxic energy with a kind of savage glee. The process was violent, internal. Lin Feng’s body shuddered as the sap's corrosive essence was broken down, its poisonous nature stripped away, leaving only a core of incredibly potent, dark, and binding wood-attribute energy. It merged with the other stolen powers in the vortex.

And from that synthesis, guided by instinct and the Dragon Emperor's foundational principles, a new form combined. Not a palm strike, not a step. A projection.

Lin Feng raised his hand, fingers clawed. He focused, drawing not just on his own chaotic qi, but specifically on the synthesized, binding, corrosive power of the converted Blackroot Sap.

From his fingertips, five thin, whip-like twigs of darkness shot forth. They were not solid, but composed of devouring chaos shaped by intent. They crackled with silent energy, and where they passed through the air, a faint, greying decay seemed to linger.

Technique Created: Gasp of the Withering Root.

It could lash out to entangle and drain from a distance. It could poison with chaotic decay. It was the perfect tool for the hunt that was coming—a hunt where he would be the predator, and the hunters would become the prey.

He stood, sheathing Frost Desire. He looked toward the waterfall, toward the direction of the city.

They were bringing their net to catch a ghost.

He would teach them what happens when a ghost decides to become a typhoon.

The whispers in the Stone Dragon Inn had set the board.

The storm in the Blackroot Woods was now ready to play.