The Green-Eyed Blademaster

Chapter 4: A Flicker of White

Huang Lianxue hit the ground hard, the impact jarring her bones, but there was no time for pain. The black-clad assassin was on her again in an instant, a silent shadow moving with lethal grace.

"Form up! Protect Lady Lianxue!" one of the Huang disciples roared.

With a sharp cry, Huang Lianxue slammed her palms onto the tavern floor. A wave of frigid Qi exploded outwards. Intricate patterns of frost spread from her hands in a circle, a breathtakingly complex formation materializing in seconds. A wall of solid, semi-transparent ice, sharp as glass, erupted between her and the attacker.

CRACK!

The assassin’s dagger, glowing with a faint, dark energy, shattered the wall with a single strike. He did not slow, his momentum carrying him through the glittering shards of ice.

Her fellow disciples engaged him. Two moved in with their swords, their techniques precise and coordinated. But it was like children fighting a seasoned soldier. The assassin weaved between their strikes effortlessly. A swift kick to one disciple's chest was answered with a sickening crack of bone. A precise chop to another's sword arm sent the weapon clattering away as the man crumpled, clutching a shattered ribcage.

The arrogant junior brother, Zhang Jie, saw the futility of a direct assault. His face, once a mask of haughty pride, was now pale with terror and desperation. "Get out! Everyone, run!" he screamed at the cowering mortals, using his own body to shield a path to the exit while parrying the strikes of another black-clad figure who had appeared from the shadows.

It was then they saw it. From the doors, the windows, the broken rafters—more figures in black dropped into the room. Five. Ten. Fifteen of them. They moved with a chilling synchronicity, sealing off every escape route.

This was not an assassination. It was an extermination.

Despair, cold and absolute, dawned on the faces of the remaining Huang Clan disciples. They were hopelessly outnumbered and outmatched. This tavern had become their tomb.

The primary assassin, seeing his comrades had the others occupied, renewed his assault on Huang Lianxue. He pressed her relentlessly, his dark blade forcing her to conjure one ice shield after another. She was skilled, a prodigy even, but she was purely on the defensive. Her energy was draining fast.

Sensing her faltering, five of the newly arrived assassins broke from the pack. They bypassed the other desperate fights and converged on her location, their movements like a pack of wolves isolating their prey. Their target was singular. Their intent was death.

They lunged as one. Five daggers, their blades coated in a sickly green poison that shimmered in the lantern light, aimed for her heart.

Huang Lianxue’s eyes widened. She was trapped. She could not block them all. She braced for the piercing agony of poisoned steel.

At his corner table, Li Qingyan slowly lowered his wine cup, placing it silently on the wood.

Then, the world seemed to ripple.

One moment, he was sitting down. The next, a flicker of white blurred across the room.

There was no grand explosion of Qi, no brilliant technique name shouted to the heavens. Just impossible, absolute speed.

For Huang Lianxue, time seemed to slow. She saw the five poisoned daggers inching closer, the leering eyes of her would-be killers behind their masks. Then, a white shadow materialized before her, as sudden and silent as a phantom.

THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD.

A series of five dull, heavy impacts, so fast they sounded like a single beat.

The five assassins who had been lunging for her heart stopped dead. Their momentum reversed instantly. They were thrown backwards as if struck by a battering ram, their bodies flying through the air like broken dolls. They crashed into the far wall of the tavern with enough force to splinter the thick wooden planks, before slumping to the floor in a broken, groaning heap.

The entire tavern fell into a sudden, shocked silence.

The primary assassin froze mid-strike. Zhang Jie stared, his jaw hanging open. Every fighter, both Huang Clan and assassin, stopped what they were doing.

Huang Lianxue stared, her heart hammering against her ribs. The five poisoned daggers lay scattered on the floor a mere foot from her.

She looked up.

She stared at the back of the man in white robes, who stood before her as silent and immovable as a mountain that had appeared from nowhere to shield her from the storm. The mysterious wanderer, Li Qingyan.