The morning air was thick with the scent of dew and earth when Jiho stepped outside. The courtyard was quiet, save for the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze. Yet, something was wrong. As his eyes scanned the area, his senses tingled. His ears picked up the distant sounds of shuffling feet, followed by muffled groans.
Jiho's instincts kicked in.
Rushing towards the front gate of Mr. Wen's residence, Jiho froze in place at the sight before him.
The guards who had been stationed outside the gates were sprawled across the ground. Some were slumped against the stone walls, while others lay motionless, their faces pale with shock and their bodies marked by deep, vicious wounds. The merchant's hired help—ordinary men with no martial arts training—were no match for the brutal strength of their assailants.
In front of the gate stood three individuals, dressed in black robes that made them unmistakably part of a martial sect. Their posture exuded the air of seasoned fighters, each radiating an aura of confidence, and their eyes were cold with malice.
The leader, a man with a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward and sneered at Mr. Wen, who stood trembling behind the gate.
"Mr. Wen," the leader called, his voice heavy with demand. "We're here to collect the security fee."
Mr. Wen, his brow furrowing, stood in stunned silence, looking down at his guards. He turned his gaze back to the three strangers, visibly trying to remain calm.
"Security fee?" Mr. Wen asked, his voice almost faltering. "When I asked for someone to guard my life while I traveled to trade, your sect refused. And now, you come demanding a fee for protection?"
The leader's smirk deepened, his eyes narrowing with amusement.
"Are you refusing to pay, Mr. Wen?" he asked, his tone turning sharp. "This security fee is only for protection within Nirae City. Are you saying you'll refuse us now?"
Mr. Wen's heart sank as he glanced at his injured guards once more. These men, ordinary folk with no skills in martial arts, had been no match for these ruthless martial artists. There was no way he could refuse them, not when his guards were in such a state.
Just as he was about to speak, to reluctantly offer to pay, a familiar voice interrupted.
"What's going on here, Mr. Wen?" Jiho's voice rang out, calm yet firm.
Mr. Wen paused, surprised to see Jiho walking towards him, his expression unreadable. He hadn't wanted to involve Jiho in this mess—he'd already done enough by helping him out when bandits attacked, but now it was too late.
Jiho's sharp eyes scanned the three figures standing before him. His gaze lingered for a moment on Mr. Wen's troubled expression, before he focused on the strangers.
"Are these people causing you trouble?" Jiho asked, his voice steady, directing his attention to the three men before him. Despite his young age—barely nineteen—there was an intensity in his eyes that was unmistakable.
The three men regarded Jiho cautiously, particularly the one who seemed to be in charge. Jiho's casual posture, along with the fact that he was not wearing any sect uniform, threw them off. His unkempt hair suggested someone too focused on other matters to care about appearances, and it led them to momentarily lower their guard.
The leader of the trio gave a silent signal, and the man closest to Jiho stepped forward, eyes burning with intent.
"Young man, this doesn't concern you. Move aside, unless you want to join in," the leader sneered.
Jiho narrowed his eyes. There was a dark glint of authority in his gaze as he spoke. "You look like a sect of the righteous kind," he remarked, his voice dripping with disdain. "Shouldn't people like you be ashamed of extorting others like this?"
The leader paused, surprised at the young man's boldness. But the surprise quickly turned to irritation. This was a matter of power, not morality. They had come to collect their due, and no one would stand in their way.
He signaled his friend once more, his eyes cold and calculating. His fingers moved in a swift, decisive gesture—a slicing motion across his neck, the universal sign for death.
Without warning, the man stepped forward, intent on striking down Jiho.
Jiho's expression shifted. He stepped forward as well, his feet silent on the ground, and his hand moved to assume a battle stance.
His body was still, but his senses were heightened. The Black Qi that had become his second nature simmered under his skin, ready to strike if necessary.
The fight was inevitable.
The leader and his men thought they had the upper hand. They had taken out the guards easily enough, and this young man—though strong in spirit—was likely no match for them.
But Jiho had no intention of being anyone's easy prey.
As the assailant approached, Jiho's right hand moved swiftly to block the incoming strike, his palm meeting the blade in a clash of force. The sharp edge of the weapon scraped against his skin, but it wasn't enough to break through his hardened body.
The man's eyes widened in surprise.
"Who… who are you?" he stammered, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Jiho's expression remained cold, his focus unwavering. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, his movements swift and calculated. His fist struck with a force that left no room for defense. The blow landed squarely on him—the one who had been signaled to attack Jiho—sending him flying backward, crashing into the other two with a thud.
For a moment, the two remaining men stood frozen, staring at Jiho with wide eyes. They hadn't expected the fight to end so quickly.
Shaking off their surprise, they charged at Jiho with desperate fury. But their attacks were clumsy and weak. With ease, he dispatched them, his movements sharp and precise.
Mr. Wen stood off to the side, his mouth agape. He watched in stunned silence, his mind struggling to process what he had just witnessed. The Jiho he had seen during the bandit attack—struggling, nearly losing control of his own power—was nothing like the calm, controlled fighter standing before him now. His movements were refined, his strikes powerful yet composed.
Is this the result of his training in my house? Mr. Wen thought, his amazement growing. Just a few days of practice? This man… he has incredible potential.
Jiho, however, was far from impressed with himself. His internal frustration simmered as he looked at the three men sprawled on the ground. I wanted to test my skills, but these guys are too weak… he thought bitterly. They're nothing like the guards I faced when escaping from the Tang Sect. The guards there were far more dangerous.
The leader groaned, his body battered and bloodied. "Y-you dare to challenge our sect, the Scarred Fang Sect!" he spat, his voice weak but laced with venom. "You won't be able to live in peace in this city!"
The threat was like a spark in Jiho's chest, igniting his anger instantly. He hated being threatened, his grip tightening around the leader's throat.
But then, Jiho hesitated. He could kill this man easily, but the consequences would be far-reaching. Mr. Wen was an ordinary person, and if Jiho killed the man here, Mr. Wen would likely be implicated.
Instead, Jiho restrained his rage, but only just. He released a very small portion of Black Qi into the leader's body as he continued to choke him. The Black Qi seeped into the man's system, its presence subtle but potent. The dose was minimal, just enough to test its effect on a human.
He watched intently as the dark energy flowed into the leader's body, wondering what kind of reaction it would provoke. These scoundrels would make perfect test subjects, after all.