The woman looked at me with those unnervingly perceptive eyes and slid a business card across the bar counter.


    "My name is rissa Johnson. I know more than you think about what''s happening in this city," she whispered. "Call me when you realize you need allies."


    I nced down at the elegantly embossed card, then back at her face. Trust was a luxury I couldn''t afford—not anymore, not with Isabelle''s life hanging in the bnce. Without hesitation, I picked up the card and held it between my fingers.


    "I work alone," I said coldly, channeling a small spark of spiritual energy into my fingertips.


    The business card burst into me, crumbling to ash that scattered across the polished bar top. rissa''s eyes widened slightly—the only indication she was surprised by my dismissal.


    "Your choice," she murmured, sliding off her stool. "But remember this moment when you''re in over your head."


    I watched her glide away through the crowd, her ck dress with its crimson embroidery making her look like a living shadow. Something about her didn''t sit right with me. Too convenient. Too knowing. In this world of deception and betrayal, coincidences were usually traps.


    I turned my attention back to surveying the lounge. The front door swung open, and a ripple of tension passed through the establishment. Three men entered, dressed in identical charcoal gray robes with crimson insignias—the Veridia City Martial Guild''s elite enforcers. Even without Emerson''s description, I would have recognized them immediately as the Yates brothers, notorious for their cruelty and efficiency.


    Conversations hushed. sses paused midway to lips. Even the musicians faltered for a beat before resuming their melody.


    The tallest one, Brecken, had a face like chiseled granite and moved with the casual confidence of someone ustomed to being feared. His brothers, Braydon and Brock, nked him like well-trained hounds—alert and dangerous.


    They settled at a corner table where servers immediately rushed to attend them. I remained at the bar, sipping my untouched drink, extending my spiritual sense to catch fragments of their conversation.


    "test batch responded well to the treatment," Brecken was saying. "ckthorne is pleased."


    "How many resources did we use this time?" asked Brock, the youngest.


    "Just the one," Brecken replied. "The Ashworth girl''s blood yield is exceptional. One extraction session produced enough for five warriors."


    My grip tightened around my ss. Resources. They were talking about Isabelle as if she were a mine to be harvested, not a living, breathing woman they were torturing. The rage I''d been carefully containing threatened to explode outward.


    "How long can she sustain this pace?" Braydon asked, his voice lower.


    "Long enough," Brecken shrugged. "And if not, we''ll find another resource. There must be others with simr bloodlines out there."


    I felt my spiritual energy churn violently within my meridians. These men weren''t just Guild enforcers—they were directly involved in Isabelle''s captivity and torture. Every word they spoke confirmed it, carved it into stone.


    They had to die.


    I must have been projecting killing intent unconsciously because Brecken suddenly stiffened, his head turning slowly until his eyes locked with mine across the room. Recognition flickered in his gaze—not of my face, but of the threat I represented.


    "We havepany," he murmured to his brothers, who subtly shifted their postures.


    I didn''t bother hiding my intentions anymore. I stood from the bar, leaving coins for my untouched drink, and walked directly toward their table. The crowd parted before me, sensing theing storm. <samp ss="story-note-vis">Nоtе: Chесk М_VLЕМРY_R fоr аny соrrесtiоns.</samp>


    "Gentlemen of the Guild," I said, my voice carrying just enough to be heard by nearby tables. "I couldn''t help but overhear your fascinating conversation about resources."


    Brecken''s eyes narrowed. "This is private business, friend. Move along."


    "Is that what you call kidnapping and bleeding innocent people?" I asked, letting my disgust show inly. "Private business?"


    The lounge fell silent. Even the musicians stopped ying.


    "Watch your mouth," Braydon hissed, half-rising from his seat. "Do you know who you''re speaking to?"


    "I know exactly who I''m speaking to," I replied, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Three dogs of the Veridia City Martial Guild, who think they can harvest people like crops."


    Brecken stood slowly, towering over me by several inches. I felt his spiritual energy surge, the mark of a Third-rank Martial Marquis. Once, that would have intimidated me. Now, having reached the Fourth-rank myself, it was merely an indication of how quickly I could end him.


    "You''ve made a fatal mistake," he said. "Identify yourself before I tear that tongue from your mouth."


    I smiled, cold and deadly. "My name is Liam Knight. And I''m here to collect a debt of blood."


    The color drained from Brecken''s face. Whispers erupted around us as patrons recognized my name—the man who had publicly humiliated the Guild, the hunted fugitive they''d proimed dead.


    "Impossible," Brock whispered. "Knight is dead."


    "Reports of my death were..." I paused, dropping my disguise with a pulse of spiritual energy, revealing my true features, "...greatly exaggerated."


    Brecken recovered quickly, his hand moving to the sword at his hip. "Then we''ll correct that oversight right now."


    He lunged forward with blinding speed, his fist engulfed in crimson energy aimed straight at my heart. Three months ago, that attack might havended. But I was no longer the same man who had first challenged the Guild.


    I shifted slightly, letting his fist pass within a hair''s breadth of my chest. In the same motion, I grabbed his extended arm and channeled spiritual energy through my palm. The impact shattered his elbow, sending him staggering backward with a howl of pain.


    "Is this the best the Guild has to offer?" I taunted.


    Patrons scrambled away from our confrontation, overturning tables and chairs in their haste to escape. The remaining two brothers circled me warily.


    "You''ve improved," Braydon acknowledged grimly. "But you''re still outnumbered."


    "Am I?" I reached into my spatial ring, summoning my weapon—a long crimson sword that gleamed with an otherworldly light. The de hummed with anticipation, thirsting for blood.


    "That sword," Brock gasped. "It''s—"


    "A relic from the ancient tombs," I confirmed. "Found during my... resurrection."


    The truth was moreplex, involving ancient burial grounds, desperate battles, and knowledge bestowed by my mysterious mentor. But they didn''t deserve exnations. They deserved only judgment.


    "I''m going to kill all three of you," I stated calmly. "Not quickly. Not mercifully. You will feel a fraction of what Isabelle has suffered."


    Brecken, cradling his shattered arm, spat at my feet. "Big words from a dead man walking."


    They attacked simultaneously—a coordinated assault designed to overwhelm. Braydon from the front, Brock circling to my blind spot, Brecken hanging back to channel a distance attack.


    I didn''t move until thest possible second. Then I activated one of my newly mastered techniques—Phantom Step. My body blurred, appearing to remain in ce while I actually shifted three paces to the left. Their attacks collided with empty air.


    In their moment of confusion, I struck. My crimson sword shed once, opening a deep gash across Braydon''s chest. He stumbled back, clutching the wound as blood poured between his fingers.


    "One," I counted coldly.


    Brock recovered quickly, unleashing a barrage of energy strikes that shattered the remaining furniture around us. I deflected each blow with precise movements of my sword, the de drinking in his spiritual energy with each contact.


    "You''re holding back," I observed. "Afraid to damage your precious ''resource''?"


    His eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"


    "Isabelle," I snarled. "You''re afraid I know where she is. That''s why you haven''t called for Guild reinforcements yet."


    It was a bluff, but it worked. Confusion shed across his face, giving me the opening I needed. My free hand shot out, palm strike directly to his sternum. The impact sent him flying into the wall, cracking the ornate paneling.


    "Two," I counted.


    Only Brecken remainedbat-ready, though his shattered arm hung uselessly at his side. His eyes darted toward the exit, calcting his chances of escape.


    "Don''t," I warned. "It will only make things worse for you."


    "You''re insane," he hissed. "Do you think killing us will change anything? The Guild is too powerful. They''ll hunt you to the ends of the earth."


    "Let them try."


    I raised my crimson sword, channeling my spiritual energy into the de until it glowed with blinding intensity. The ancient runes etched along its length illuminated one by one, and the air around us grew heavy with power.


    Brecken made his decision. With a desperate cry, he lunged forward, sacrificing defense for a killing blow. His remaining hand formed a w, crimson energy condensing around his fingers into razor-sharp points.


    Time seemed to slow. I saw every detail of his attack—the strain in his muscles, the fear behind his rage, the path his energy would take. And I simply... stepped aside.


    As he passed, overextended and off-bnce, my sword swept through the air in a perfect arc. There was a moment of resistance, then none at all.


    Brecken''s head separated cleanly from his shoulders, a look of shocked disbelief frozen on his features. His body continued forward another step before copsing, blood fountaining across the polished floor.


    "Three," I whispered.


    Screams erupted throughout the lounge as patrons who had been too terrified to flee now panicked at the bloody execution. The remaining brothers stared in horror at their fallen sibling.


    I turned to face them, blood dripping from my crimson de. "Your brother died quickly. You won''t be so fortunate."


    Braydon, still clutching his wounded chest, tried to form a defensive stance. Brock pulled himself from the shattered wall, eyes wide with fear.


    I knew I needed to finish this quickly. Themotion would attract attention, and soon the entire Guild would descend upon this ce. I had toplete my judgment and vanish before then.


    Gripping my sword with both hands, I channeled my spiritual energy through the ancient de, activating one of its deadliest techniques—the Nine shes. The crimson glow intensified as I raised the weapon above my head, preparing to bring it down with devastating force upon the remaining Yates brothers.