"Knight?" Emerson Holmes whispered again, his voice quivering as he backed against the wall. "This can''t be real. You died in the Hollow Mountain incident. Everyone knows it."


    I rose slowly from the sofa, enjoying the fear flickering across his face. "Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated."


    His hand trembled as he reached for a jade token hanging at his waist—an emergency signal, no doubt. I crossed the room in a blur, seizing his wrist before his fingers could close around it.


    "I wouldn''t do that if I were you," I warned, my voice dangerously soft. "We''re just having a friendly chat between old acquaintances."


    I squeezed his wrist until the bones ground together. He gasped in pain.


    "Friendly," he echoed, sweat beading on his forehead. "Of course. What brings you to my humble home at this hour, Master Knight?"


    I released his wrist and stepped back, though not far enough to give him anyfort. "I hear congrattions are in order. Military Marquis now, isn''t it? The Guild must value your services."


    Pride briefly shed across his face before fear reimed its territory. "A recent promotion. Nothing significant."


    "Don''t be modest," I said, circling him like a predator. "It''s quite an aplishment. But it makes me wonder what you did to earn such recognition."


    His eyes darted toward the door. "Simple loyalty and diligence. Nothing more."


    "Loyalty," I repeated, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. "To the same Guild that ordered my assassination? The same Guild that abducted my wife to drain her blood like somemon beast?"


    Emerson paled further. "I had nothing to do with—"


    My hand shot out, gripping his throat. "Save your denials, Holmes. I didn''te here to listen to lies."


    I pushed him into a chair and loomed over him. The fear in his eyes was intoxicating—a sharp contrast to the contempt I''d grown ustomed to seeing in the eyes of Guild members.


    "You''re going to tell me everything you know about the Guild''s structure, their leadership, and their ns," I said, releasing his throat but keeping him pinned with my gaze. "And you''re going to do it without wasting my time."


    He massaged his throat, eyes darting around the room as if searching for escape. "Why would I betray the Guild? They''d kill me."


    I smiled coldly. "And what do you think I''ll do if you don''t talk?"


    To demonstrate my point, I allowed dark energy to gather around my hand—a swirling vortex of destructive power that made the air itself seem to warp.


    His eyes widened. "You''ve advanced. Significantly."


    "Death is an excellent teacher," I replied. "Now talk."


    Emerson licked his lips nervously. "What exactly do you want to know?"


    "Everything. Start with the leadership structure." <var ss="in-imprint-b">This chapter is part of the collection on *.</var>


    He hesitated, still weighing his options. I sighed dramatically and reached toward him with my energy-wreathed hand.


    "Wait!" he cried. "I''ll tell you! The Guild is organized in tiers. The white robes with silver trim are the lowest rank—field agents, mostly. Next are the silver robes with gold trim—administrators and specialized cultivators."


    I nodded. "And above them?"


    "Gold robes with ck trim—the Council of Elders. They manage the major operations and report directly to the upper echelon."


    "Which is?"


    Emerson swallowed hard. "The ck robes with gold trim. Like Julian Radford. They''re the true power of the Guild."


    I leaned in closer. "And who leads them?"


    "That''s the thing," he said, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing his face. "I don''t know. No one does, outside the highest circle. There are rumors of figures who never appear in public—masters who operate entirely from the shadows."


    Interesting. I filed that information away forter consideration.


    "What about Martial Saints? Are there any within the Guild''s ranks?"


    His eyes widened slightly. "How did you—"


    "Answer the question," I snapped.


    "There are... whispers," he admitted. "Nothing confirmed. But the Guild possesses several Martial Saint Implements—weapons and artifacts of immense power. They wouldn''t have those without at least one Martial Saint to authorize their use."


    Before I could press further, a small voice came from the doorway.


    "Daddy?"


    We both turned to see a young girl, perhaps six or seven years old, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she clutched a stuffed toy.


    "Lily," Emerson breathed, his face contorting with fear greater than any I''d seen so far. "Go back to bed, sweetheart."


    I studied the child, then turned back to Emerson with newfound leverage. "Your daughter?"


    The look of pure terror in his eyes was answer enough.


    "Go to bed, Lily," he said again, his voice strained. "Daddy''s having a business meeting."


    The girl hesitated, eyeing me suspiciously. "You said no more meetings at night."


    "This is a special exception," I interjected smoothly, forcing my voice into a gentler tone. "Your daddy won''t be long. He just needs to answer a few questions for me."


    She frowned but nodded slowly. "Okay. But you promised to read me a story tomorrow, Daddy."


    "I will," Emerson assured her, his voice nearly breaking. "I promise."


    After she retreated down the hallway, Emerson turned to me with desperate eyes. "Please, Knight. She has nothing to do with this."


    "That depends entirely on you," I replied coldly. "Continue being helpful, and she''ll never know I was here."


    The threat hung in the air between us, unspoken but unmistakable. I felt a twinge of disgust at myself for using a child as leverage, but I crushed it ruthlessly. The Guild had taken everything from me—my home, my research, my wife. I couldn''t afford morality or mercy now.


    "The Guild''s headquarters," I prompted. "Tell me about their defenses."


    Emerson''s shoulders sagged in defeat. "Multipleyers of formations—detection, protection, attack. The outeryers can sense spiritual energy fluctuations. The middleyers can repel attacks up to the early Marquis level. The inneryers..." He paused, swallowing hard. "The inneryers can kill instantly."


    "Weaknesses?"


    "None that I know of," he admitted. "But the formations draw power from an array beneath the headquarters. Disrupt that, and the whole system falters."


    I nodded. "What about manpower? How many cultivators does the Guild employ?"


    "In Veridia City alone? Over a thousand. Throughout the northern territories, maybe five times that number."


    The numbers were staggering but not unexpected. The Guild''s influence had always been vast.


    "And their current projects? What are they using Isabelle''s blood for?"


    At this, Emerson hesitated again, genuine fear flickering across his face. "I don''t have direct knowledge of those experiments. They''re restricted to the highest levels."


    I leaned in close, letting dark energy swirl around my fingers again. "Think harder."


    He flinched. "There''s a special research facility beneath the Guild headquarters. Heavily guarded. They call it the Crimson Chamber. That''s where they conduct the bloodline experiments."


    "To what end?"


    "Enhancement," he said. "They''re trying to create cultivators who can break through bottlenecks that have existed for millennia. Isabelle Ashworth''s blood has unique properties—it can stabilize vtile energybinations that would normally destroy the cultivator."


    My jaw tightened. They were using her like a resource, draining her life to fuel their ambitions. The rage building inside me threatened to explode.


    "Onest topic," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. "There are rumors of three particrly powerful cultivators who recently joined the Guild''s ranks. What do you know about them?"


    Emerson''s face changed subtly—a flicker of even deeper fear crossed his features. "Where did you hear about them?"


    "Answer the question."


    He nced toward the hallway where his daughter had disappeared, then back at me. "If I tell you about them, will you leave us in peace? My daughter and me?"


    I considered his request. "Depends on the quality of your information."


    "These aren''t just rumors," he said, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "They arrived six months ago. No one knows where they came from, but their power..." He shuddered visibly. "Even Radford seems wary of them."


    Now we were getting somewhere. "Names? Descriptions?"


    "They rarely appear in public. They wear identical silver masks that cover their entire faces. No one''s heard them speak directly—theymunicate through written orders or intermediaries."


    "Their cultivation base?"


    "Unknown," he admitted. "But I witnessed one of them kill a Military Marquis with a single gesture. No movement, no visible energy, just..." He made a crushing motion with his hand.


    That level of power was concerning, to say the least. If these masked cultivators were now aligned with the Guild, my ns would need adjustment.


    "What else?" I pressed. "There must be something more you know about them."


    Emerson looked at me, genuine terror in his eyes. "They''re not here for the Guild''s usual business. They''re searching for something specific. Something ancient and powerful."


    "What?"


    He hesitated, ncing toward the hallway again. "If I tell you everything I know about them, do I have your word you won''t vent your anger on me or my daughter? That you''ll leave us unharmed?"


    I studied him carefully, weighing his fear against the potential value of his information. These mysterious cultivators clearly represented a significant threat—one I hadn''t anticipated.


    "I''m listening," I said, neither confirming nor denying his request. "Tell me about these three, and what they''re searching for."