The cloaked man stood tall behind the black altar, his breath slow, deliberate. Shadows gathered at his feet like hounds awaiting command. His eyes weren't mad—they were worse. They were calm. The kind of calm that came after watching too much blood dry.
Li Fan didn't charge.
He studied the man—thin, yet steady; sickly, yet filled with power. There was a coil of spiritual pressure behind him, dense and unnatural, like something dug up from where it should've stayed buried.
"You're no village priest," Li Fan said.
The man tilted his head. "They called me 'Speaker,' once. I no longer need names."
Zhao, panting from fending off two more straw warriors, stepped beside Li Fan. "What are you? You're not a cultivator."
"I am silence," the man murmured. "And silence does not need cultivation."
Yue, at the back, placed a hand on the altar. Her face twisted. "This thing… it's not stone. It's… bone."
Jiao flinched. "What kind of bone pulses like that?"
The Speaker smiled. "You notice quickly. Impressive."
He lifted a hand—and the altar moaned.
It moaned.
A deep, aching sound that vibrated through bone and memory. Li Fan nearly lost his balance. It was a sound that made hearts forget how to beat.
From the walls, shadows peeled themselves free.
Not puppets.
These were different.
Men. Real men.
Draped in the Silent Court's robes—but their faces were blank, devoid of will. Their eyes bled faintly from the corners. Tongues missing. Bodies moving, but spirits crushed.
Zhao stepped forward. "They're alive."
"Barely," Li Fan said, jaw tight. "The Speaker's using them like flesh puppets."
"No," the Speaker whispered. "They gave up their voices. Willingly. With it, they gave me their burdens. Now they walk only when I command."
Li Fan's grip tightened.
"That's not sacrifice. That's slavery."
He moved first—fast, low, straight toward the Speaker.
But the floor shook, and from beneath the altar, something huge stirred.
A skeletal hand, black with corruption, burst upward through stone. Fingers long and unnatural clawed the ground. It wasn't a construct. It was real. It was alive.
Li Fan stumbled back, blade ready.
Yue gasped. "It's not from this realm."
The Speaker's eyes shone. "Our god stirs. You see now, little assassin, how shallow your mission is. You cut weeds. We dig into roots."
Li Fan didn't speak. Words were wasted now.
Jiao moved first, vanishing into the side as the enthralled villagers surged forward.
Zhao blocked their rush, striking with the flat of his blade—knocking them out, not killing.
Li Fan leapt, stepping off the skeletal fingers, blade cutting toward the Speaker.
But the man didn't dodge. Instead, he opened his chest robe—revealing the mark burned into his flesh. The twisted eye wasn't just a brand. It was an opening.
And from it, darkness poured.
Li Fan struck through it—barely missing the Speaker's heart as shadows clung to his arms.
The blade bit flesh, and the man hissed, staggering back. But he didn't fall.
Instead, the altar roared.
Dark qi flooded the chamber. The skeletal hand pulled more of its arm up, dragging something massive behind it. Bones. Chains. A torso of some ancient beast half-trapped in the altar itself. Its ribcage rose like mountain peaks.
Yue backed away, blood trickling from her nose. "It's an ancient corpse… a dead cultivator—maybe demonic. They've been feeding it offerings. Memories. Voices."
"Can it be killed?" Jiao shouted.
Yue's expression hardened. "It's already dead. But the Speaker… he's using it like a lantern, channeling the darkness through the bones."
Li Fan clenched his teeth. "Then we don't aim at the light. We snuff out the hand holding it."
The Speaker's breath grew ragged. He staggered, blood soaking into his robe. But his hand remained extended, channeling power from the altar.
"I offered this village peace!" he howled. "No more cries, no more questions, no more guilt!"
Zhao struck through two more of the enthralled men, disarming without killing. "You offered them silence, not peace. There's a difference!"
Li Fan kicked off a fallen pillar and drove straight into the Speaker's chest with his elbow, knocking him back toward the altar.
The skeletal hand caught the Speaker mid-fall.
But that was his mistake.
Li Fan followed—leapt forward—and this time didn't aim for the Speaker's heart.
He aimed for the mark.
The twisted eye burned as his blade plunged through it, breaking the false opening.
The scream that came wasn't human.
It came from the altar. From the bones. From beneath the world.
The hand twitched, spasmed, then collapsed into dust.
The Speaker convulsed, mouth open in a silent cry, and then—
—he was gone.
Gone like a breath in winter.
The torches dimmed. The black qi began to evaporate.
The enthralled villagers collapsed, unconscious. Their eyes blinked open one by one—dazed, bleeding, but free.
Yue knelt by the altar. Her hand hovered just above it.
"It's dead now. Really dead. And so very old."
Jiao wiped her blade clean. "What the hell was that thing?"
Zhao frowned. "A remnant. Something unearthed by a fool. The Silent Court didn't worship it—they used it."
Li Fan looked around at the fallen cultists. At the villagers slowly regaining their voices.
"It's over," he said, quiet.
Then he corrected himself.
"For this valley."