Pain. Blinding, all-consuming pain.


    I crashed through dense foliage, branches tearing at my already mangled flesh as I plummeted toward the ground. The impact knocked what little breath remained from my lungs, my body bouncing once before settling into the dirt.


    For several moments, I couldn''t move—couldn''t think beyond the white-hot agony radiating from my back. When I finally managed to roll onto my side, a strangled scream escaped my throat.


    Something was terribly wrong with my body. I reached behind me with trembling fingers and felt exposed bone where flesh should be. The Prajna Ruler''s strike had carved away the skin, muscle, and sinew across my entire back, leaving a catastrophic wound that would kill most men instantly.


    I vomited blood, watching it pool beneath my face, dark and thick.


    "Move," Imanded myself, though my voice emerged as little more than a rasp. "You have to move."


    Bancroft would send his men to confirm my death. I couldn''t be here when they arrived.


    Drawing on thest dregs of my cultivation, I activated Shrinking Ground Into An Inch once more. The technique carried me several hundred feet through the forest, but the effort sent fresh waves of agony through my body. I copsed against a tree trunk, consciousness wavering.


    From my hidden position, I could still see the Academy in the distance. ck and gold-robed figures poured from its gates, spreading out in search patterns. Even from here, I could tell most of them were injured—casualties from our earlier battle.


    Good. Let them taste some of the pain they''d inflicted on others.


    I forced myself up, each movement threatening to tear what remained of my back wide open. My mind shed to Isabelle, strapped to that altar, her life force being slowly drained away. The image gave me strength I shouldn''t have possessed.


    "I wille back for you," I whispered, repeating my promise like a mantra.


    Using Shrinking Ground Into An Inch in short bursts, I made my way deeper into the forest, away from the searching Guild members. Each use of the technique drained more of my remaining energy, but I had no choice. Normal movement was impossible with my injuries.


    After what felt like an eternity, I reached the outskirts of Veridia City. Dawn was breaking, painting the sky in shades of crimson that reminded me too much of blood. My blood, Isabelle''s blood—both spilled by the same hands.


    I needed somewhere safe to recover, somewhere the Guild wouldn''t think to look. My house was too obvious, but I had nowhere else to go. With no better options, I decided to risk it—at least long enough to treat my wounds.


    Another burst of Shrinking Ground Into An Inch brought me to my doorstep. I copsed against the door, fumbling with the lock before tumbling inside.


    The house was exactly as I''d left it, untouched by the chaos that had consumed my life. It felt wrong somehow, this pocket of normalcy in a world that had been turned upside down.


    I dragged myself to my medicine room, leaving a trail of blood across the floor. My mind was growing foggy, consciousness slipping away in waves that were bing harder to fight.


    Focus. Stay awake.


    I pulled two corpses from my spatial ring, positioning them near the windows. They were myst line of defense—the mysterious guardians that had somehow withstood Bancroft''s Martial Saint Weapon.


    Looking at them more closely now, I noticed strange markings on their skin that I hadn''t seen before. Ancient symbols, simr to those on Isabelle''s holding tube, pulsed with faint light beneath their gray flesh.


    What were these corpses? Where had they trulye from?


    Questions for another time. Right now, I needed to focus on survival.


    I mixed a potent healing elixir with trembling hands, spilling half the ingredients in the process. The concoction wouldn''t heal a wound this severe, but it might buy me enough time to figure out something better.


    As I swallowed the bitter liquid, my thoughts turned to the wider implications of the night''s events. My identity was exposed now. Everyone knew that Liam Knight, the disgraced son-inw they''d all mocked, was the mysterious ck-robed figure who had terrorized Veridia City''s elite.


    Dominic Ashworth would be livid. ise Rostova would feel vindicated in his hatred. And the Veridia City Martial Guild...they wouldn''t stop until I was dead. <i ss="in-imprint-b">The full series is hosted on My Virtual Library Empire, known as *.</i>


    The elixir began to work, dulling the pain enough for me to examine my wound properly. Using abination of mirrors, I assessed the damage.


    It was worse than I''d feared. The Prajna Ruler had carved away a massive section of my back, exposing ribs and spine. The edges of the wound were ck and necrotic—corrupted by the Martial Saint Weapon''s energy. Normal healing methods wouldn''t work on this.


    I needed specialized treatment, advanced techniques beyond my current capabilities.


    As night fell, I felt cold seeping into my bones—not just from blood loss, but from the realization that I was truly alone. My allies were scattered, my love imprisoned, and my body broken perhaps beyond repair.


    I leaned against the wall, conserving what little strength remained. The corpses stood silent vigil by the windows, their presence somehow reassuring despite their macabre nature.


    "I need to leave," I whispered to the empty room. "I can''t stay here."


    The sound of footsteps outside froze the blood in my veins. Had they found me already? I reached for my sword, knowing it would do little good against Guild members but determined to go down fighting.


    The door creaked open, and I tensed, ready for battle.


    But instead of ck and gold robes, I saw a familiar mustache and nervous eyes peering around the doorframe.


    "Knight? Are you in here? Please don''t be dead. I''m not good with dead people. Well, I mean, I am good with dead people technically speaking, but not freshly dead people who were just recently alive people that I knew..."


    Relief washed over me so intensely that I nearly passed out. "I''m here," I called weakly.


    The Man with the Mustache scurried inside, closing the door quietly behind him. His eyes widenedically when he saw my condition.


    "By all the ancient gods," he whispered, approaching cautiously. "What happened to you?"


    "Martial Saint Weapon," I managed, each word an effort. "Bancroft."


    "A direct hit?" He circled me, examining the wound with a schr''s detachment that somehow made the situation less terrifying. "And you''re still alive? That''s...improbable. Actually, no, it''s impossible."


    "Apparently not," I replied dryly.


    His gaze shifted to the corpses by the windows, and he froze. "Where did you get those?"


    "Found them. In a tomb. Months ago." Speaking was bing harder, my thoughts fragmented.


    The Man with the Mustache approached one corpse cautiously, studying the markings on its skin. "These are Void Walkers," he whispered, his voice filled with awe and fear. "Knight, do you have any idea what you''ve stumbled upon? These corpses are over five thousand years old. Theye from the Era of Endless Night."


    Under normal circumstances, I would have bombarded him with questions. Now, I could only focus on what mattered most.


    "Have you prepared everything?" I asked urgently.


    His nervous expression returned, and he tugged at his mustache—a habit when he was anxious. "Yes, but Knight, you''re in no condition to travel. The n was for you to be, you know, not mostly dead when we executed it."


    "No choice," I said, struggling to my feet. My legs threatened to buckle, but I forced them to hold. "They know who I am now. They''lle for me here."


    "The entire city is in an uproar," he confirmed. "The Guild executives have given Bancroft carte nche to eliminate you by any means necessary. There are search parties everywhere."


    I nodded, having expected as much. "Then we need to move. Now."


    "To where? In your condition, you won''t make it across the street, let alone to another city."


    I met his gaze directly, silencing his protests. "You know where. We discussed it."


    His face paled. "The Withered Lands? Knight, that''s suicide! Even healthy cultivators rarely survive there. With your injuries—"


    "It''s the only ce they won''t follow," I interrupted. "The only ce I can recover without worrying about assassins every moment."


    The Man with the Mustache sighed deeply. "There''s a reason they won''t follow, you know. Because it''s certain death!"


    "Not for me," I said with more confidence than I felt. "Not with what you''ve prepared."


    He hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "The supplies are ready. Transportation is arranged. But Knight..."


    "What?"


    "The Withered Lands will change you. No onees back the same."


    I thought of Isabelle, trapped and suffering at the hands of the Guild. I thought of the promise I''d made her.


    "Good," I replied coldly. "Because this version of me wasn''t strong enough to save her."