Heir of the Sacred Dragon Sword

4. No Time to Cry!

In the depths of night, a young boy stood frozen, his body trembling violently. His gaze refused to leave the lifeless corpse before him, its back drenched in blood from a blade that had pierced through.

“I-I… I killed him,” he whispered, his knees giving way as he collapsed to the ground.

Shock also gripped the young man pinned beneath the corpse. His eyes widened at the sight of his own sword, once taken by the enemy, now lodged in the bald man’s back.

“Zhangjian… you—”

Before he could finish, the boy cut him off with a hoarse voice, “I-I killed him, Brother.” Xiu Zhangjian stared intently at his upturned palms. Crimson stains dotted his skin from when Li Min’s sword tore into the man’s body.

Li Min shoved the corpse of the bald man off him. The sword embedded in the man’s back thrust further through his abdomen as the hilt struck the ground. Rising swiftly, Li Min rushed to Xiu Zhangjian, who slammed his palms against the earth, his head bowed, shoulders quivering with faint sobs.

Li Min immediately pulled Zhangjian upright and embraced him tightly. His blood-stained fingers, muddied with soil, stroked the boy’s hair with surprising gentleness.

“It’s all right. Everything will be fine.”

He wiped Zhangjian’s tears away. “We must get to Boushan, quickly.”

Xiu Zhangjian nodded faintly. He retrieved the sack he had left hidden in the bushes before killing the bald man.

Meanwhile, Li Min turned the corpse over with his foot. Gripping the sword, he pulled it free from the body, whispering to himself.

“Wait until the Heir of the Sacred Dragon Sword appears. They will all die the same way.”

***

“Insufferable!” bellowed a man with a booming, heavy voice. His eyes bulged, dark irises radiating intimidation that made the others in the room lower their heads, faces pale.

“How could you let Xiu Jian’s head fall into the hands of such brainless weaklings?”

“Forgive me, Leader Huang, but they were elite disciples of my sect, trained in martial—”

“Elites?” Huang Fu interrupted, a twitch running along his temple. A mocking smile curved his lips.

“If your so-called elites were slaughtered so easily, I must question the strength of your sect, Leader Tong.”

Tong Mu, leader of the Blood Skull Sect, clenched his hands tightly beneath the table as he struggled to maintain a neutral expression. Though fury burned inside him at Huang Fu’s scorn, he could only swallow his pride, smothered by shame.

“My coronation as Emperor of Quzhou is near. I will not allow this humiliation to spread. Go clean up this mess at once!” Huang Fu’s command sent the black-sect leaders of the Gongliao Alliance hastily out of his chambers.

Yet Huang Fu’s own heart beat faster as he contemplated the one who had stolen Xiu Jian’s head.

“Which righteous sect dares defy me? Or… could it be, a surviving disciple of the Sacred Dragon Sect?”

***

Amid the charred remains of scorched earth, a young man sat beside a boy near a small mound of freshly packed soil. Both patted the dirt down before the youth set a block of black stone atop the grave.

“Let us pray for your father’s peace.”

The boy gave no reply. His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he whispered,

“I killed that bald man, Brother…”

A crystal drop traced down his cheek.

Li Min shifted to face Xiu Zhangjian, who hid his face in his hands, his shoulders rising and falling with muffled sobs. The youth pulled him close, his strong arms rubbing the boy’s back.

“It’s all right. I understand.”

He then gripped Zhangjian’s shoulders firmly, forcing the boy to meet his eyes. His gentle gaze hardened into something cold, intimidating.

“You must understand, killing villains is no sin. Some men deserve death for what they’ve done. You cannot be weak! Do not waste tears on the unworthy. Do you understand?”

Zhangjian nodded, quickly wiping away his tears. He turned to his father’s grave, unable to hold Li Min’s piercing stare that had never before been so severe.

The boy remained silent for a time, brows furrowed. The guilt and fear binding him slowly unraveled. Heat surged through his veins, his blood racing as though set aflame. Without realizing it, his fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms.

“Brother Li Min is right. They turned Father into this,” he thought fiercely.

Li Min noticed the shift in the boy’s eyes. Within himself, he whispered, “Forgive me. But you have no time to cry. A heavy burden awaits you, and tears will change nothing.”

The two surviving disciples of the Sacred Dragon Sect closed their eyes for a brief prayer over Xiu Jian. But Li Min’s eyes suddenly snapped open. He heard the whistle of wind, the rhythm of footsteps approaching fast.

He gripped his sword hilt, standing sharply, body coiled with tension.

“Who’s there?!”