After taking blow after blow to his plans—losing his soldiers, his allies, and his sources of income—Magistrate Lǐ Wěi sat alone in the cold, dark room of his office on yet another darkest night of his life. His mind drifted back through the years: the days he had given two hundred percent trying to prove himself worthy to his parents, begging to be seen. The anger he held toward the world, the burning desire to watch it all crumble.

  He hugged his sword, Jué ēn (绝恩) – "Severed Grace" – a sleek, straight jian forged from folded meteorite iron and tempered with a secret alloy learned from Jiǔ Tù. Its blade was a dull, smoky grey that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The guard was fashioned into the shape of a coiled fox, and the hilt wrapped in black shark skin. It was perfectly balanced, light yet unyielding. He spoke softly to the one partner that had never abandoned him:

  "Jué ēn, it seems we must give our all once again. A new man has arrived—protecting the weak, ruining everything I built. Let us speak with him in our own language."

  His words were cold, certain. He had nothing left to lose, and everything to gain.

  Dawn broke. Scribe Wén entered, his expression grim. "My Lord, Jiǔ Tù and Dr. Kaelen have been found dead. It was the Crimson General’s doing. The soldiers of the first army were wiped out—slain by an unknown rain of arrows."

  Magistrate Lǐ Wěi raised a hand, stopping the report. "You know where to find him, do you not? Tell him to come. I challenge him to a duel—one on one. I am done with this hide and seek."

  Scribe Wén hesitated. "My Lord, are you certain—"

  A firm, cold glare from the magistrate silenced him. The intention was clear.

  Scribe Wén went to the safehouse. Inside, the atmosphere was bright—people laughed, celebrating their first major victory. Jian Zhi stood addressing the crowd, Yù Huái at his side.

  "We have won a battle, but the war is not over. We must keep our guard high. This is Yù Huái. She will lead a new medical branch. Those willing to learn healing, raise your hands."

  Lin Wei’s hand shot up. "I will become a doctor! I will treat your wounds, brother!"

  Jian Zhi smiled softly. "Very well, Dr. Lin Wei. But first, you must learn."

  Fifteen women and two men joined that day. Hope bloomed in the room.

  When the meeting ended, Scribe Wén approached Jian Zhi. "We must speak. Alone."

  Jian Zhi followed. "Jian Zhi," Scribe Wén said, voice low. "The magistrate challenges you to a duel. He is highly skilled—not like the others. Do not underestimate him."

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Jian Zhi placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder. "Thank you, Mr. Wén. Stay here with the others. I will handle this."

  He took up the Punisher, went to Yǐnhún Zhě, and mounted the white stallion. "One last evil remains in this district," he whispered. "Let us end this."

  When he arrived at the magistrate’s courtyard, Lǐ Wěi was already waiting, Jué ēn in hand.

  "So you are the Crimson General," the magistrate said, voice like winter frost. "Young, fearless, clad in glowing armor and wielding a mythical blade. Just as they described. But you should never have made an enemy of me."

  In one fluid motion, he drew his sword and swung straight for Jian Zhi’s neck.

  Clang!

  The Punisher met Jué ēn in a shower of sparks. For the first time, the Punisher did not slice through its opponent. Jian Zhi’s eyes narrowed. What metal is this?

  Lǐ Wěi pressed forward, his attacks precise, relentless—each strike aimed to kill. Jian Zhi defended, relying on speed and reflex, but he was forced back step by step. The clashing of blades echoed through the courtyard. Sparks flew like angry spirits with every block and parry.

  Jian Zhi was struggling. He could only defend. Each of Lǐ Wěi’s strokes was too clean, too controlled. Without his reflexes, Jian Zhi would have died a dozen times over.

  Deep within his soul, a conversation began:

  [????-1]: Your justice is noble, but he needs me now. Let me take control.

  [????-2]: If he were soft like you, he would already be dead.

  [????-1]: Then let us combine. Let our energies flow together. What say you, Viper?

  [Viper]: Mmh... Very well. After fighting over this soul for nineteen years, we agree. Rabbit, are you ready?

  The war inside him ceased. The Viper's cunning sharp mind and the Rabbit's adaptive agility merged.

  Jian Zhi’s vision sharpened. He began to read Lǐ Wěi’s movements—the subtle shift of his wrist, the angle of his hip. He saw a pattern, a rhythm to the violence.

  He found an opening—struck.

  Lǐ Wěi deflected, eyes widening slightly. "Impressive. You learn quickly. You can copy me?"

  But Jian Zhi was already evolving. He used Ghost Step, creating distance, moving in unpredictable, non-linear bursts. Lǐ Wěi struggled to keep up, his breath becoming labored.

  "Stop running, coward!" the magistrate snarled. "Face your death with dignity!"

  Jian Zhi did not answer with words. He answered with motion.

  One final Ghost Step—a blur of crimson and steel—and the Punisher plunged deep into Lǐ Wěi’s abdomen.

  The magistrate gasped, blood spilling from his lips. Jian Zhi held him close, voice barely a whisper. "When a predator creates distance, it is not running. It is waiting. Hunting."

  Lǐ Wěi laughed, a wet, broken sound. "[HAHHHAHAHAA...] You... you are the one. You can do it..."

  The light faded from his cold eyes. The courtyard fell silent, empty but for the deep gashes in the earth and the scent of blood.

  Jian Zhi pulled the Punisher free and walked to Yǐnhún Zhě. "It is done."

  He rode away from the palace, his crimson armor gleaming, the Punisher glowing faintly at his hip. To those who had not seen him, he would remain a myth—a ghost story. But to the people of Liánhuā District, he was the promise kept.

  What will he do next?...