Blue moonlight flew around the camp in the eyes of both men, like a firefly over the ocean. Reflections dance madly off the scratched sword. It was well used, its user gray and wrinkled despite the longevity provided by his Cultivation, which was clear by the tingle Hao felt on his skin. He felt something similar before. This man—he was the reason they got away from some at the peak of Reclamation, like Meng Hongyu.

  Hao stared into the blue eyes of a seasoned warrior. He launched forward from his crouch, shaking his hand of the dew and thick blood that formed a cooling syrup between his fingers. Red splattered the camp and the white cloak. His hand out, a palm strike meant purely to kill, if it didn’t move with the intent to end a life, destroy a body, he would split in two the instant they met. Just months ago, he would have run away—he was still tempted now.

  “Who? What are you?” The old man’s initial fright vanished as his silver-blue eyes scanned Hao like a scout would a beast. The narrow tip of his sword pointed. Stepping out from behind the chest-high tent, he bolted to the center of the camp.

  Hao flicked his body. Seven Colored Steps gave a boost to his speed and control of the slick grass. His head went to the side. A close call, the blade glinted in his left eye, nearly touching his shoulder and neck, but his hand charged forward. The wind pushed between gaps in his fingers.

  The old man, the man who probably kept watch every night, used to surprises, went wide-eyed once again. He backed away as he raised his hand to meet Hao’s. World Energy moved in an invisible storm cloud that swirled them, an ice-cold, violent swirl. The unrefined energy inside their bodies affected the various energies of the outside world, pulling in towards them, eager to be absorbed or flee. None of it escaped their bodies of their own will.

  Their hands collided with a clap. A deeper sound of stones crashing together and grinding against each other played after the initial collision. Both hands went wide outside their bodies.

  Hao was shoved to the side before his wrist was grabbed. He knew he had lost the exchange; it was the first time the idea bothered him so much. His momentum carried him forward.

  Before Hao could act again, the Nightwatcher moved, his decision instant, and his action precise. He swung his blade with little to no momentum toward Hao, but as it came close to Hao’s face, the old man pulled his shoulder back. Initially confused by the move, Hao understood the blade was coming towards his neck. He felt like a vegetable on a cook’s table.

  The sword moved like a chef’s knife. Its wielder made a move like he sliced at a giant carrot. The sharp blade could not hack with momentum, so instead, he would slide the blade and slice.

  Hao couldn’t react in time. The best thing to do was to hit the ground and get out of the way of the blade. A duck or a simple dodge wouldn’t be enough. So he pulled on the man, then went limp, his legs collapsed under him on purpose.

  The old man was tugged forward and towards the ground with Hao, but he kept himself up and held Hao’s weight with him, changing the direction of the blade down and wide.

  Hao pushed his feet back on the ground the moment the blade came down wide. A sudden push on the ground. Hao charged his shoulder into the Nightwatcher’s stomach, got his free arm behind the man’s back, and lifted him to the ground. He tackled the man to the ground.

  The old man let Hao’s wrist go. His blade went over Hao’s head wide of his target, but he didn’t miss the chance to hit his opponent.

  Hao felt it, a sting between his shoulders. The man dropped the pommel and handle of his sword between Hao’s shoulder blades. It was the first time he was struck there, and he learned a new type of pain. The sting didn’t come only once. Not twice either. By the time Hao got the man to the ground, he had struck five times in one spot—and got a sixth sting on the back of his neck.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  A fight of pure defense started on the ground. Every time the blade was lifted, Hao hit it back to the ground. It was up in time to reach him, and he flipped the man over while getting kicked in the bladder. He didn’t land any strikes. He started to get nervous about his attempts to deliver one. Each time he tried, he would get punished, a punch to the face, a leg sweep, a wrist grab, and a bunch of leaves and dirt in his eyes.

  After about one minute of the back and forth, the Nightwatcher, with only one bruise from Hao’s shoulder to his stomach, grew bored with the stalemate. He pushed Hao away and shouted, “Get out HERE!” The shout could have woken a ghost.

  Hao’s ears rang, but he was away from the conflict stalemate, no longer bound in the battle of hands and feet. He looked back, and a shuffle started in most of the tents. One or two were still. The rest all shuddered in the moonlight of the early morning. He thought for a moment about why he was here and looked down at the Nightwatcher sitting up. The man was too strong and skilled; he knew his way around a fight too well for Hao to kill him without a long, exhausting game of stalling.

  Hao gulped down the air, and three voices all asked the same question, “Senior! Is the camp…” Their voices trailed off to Hao’s ears as the sound of silky tent flaps caught the wind and whistled.

  He didn’t enjoy killing those two; however, they had to die for many reasons. Revenge the least of them. Though partially avenging Grandpa He lightened his heart a little. He could stifle the growing influence and power of Mo Bangcai and the First Elder. Hao could tell this old man, their Nightwatcher and Bangcai’s guardian, was a big contributor to that influence in the lower peaks. If he could right now, he would get him out of the way.

  He could take their Amethysts while at it, it was two birds with one stone. There was no pleasure in the action, but it was necessary if he wanted to live to get stronger. It’s either them or me. Hao felt the battered spot between his shoulders; the pain lingered like a bee sting. Voices deep and rough or high and sharp, people woke and shouted, and feet and hands hit the ground.

  “An animal, there is a Demonic Beast in the camp?!”

  “Are we being raided? Ambushed?!”

  “Senior,” “Senior,” “Senior.”

  The Nightwatcher got one foot under himself, and he started to stand. Shuffling behind him, other people woke. Nine, two dead, Seven, there are still Seven here… Hao knew he had never held the upper hand in the fight with the old hunter.

  Hao stepped forward towards the Nightwatcher, and the man raised his sword to block as Hao began to run at him. He stepped wide around the man. He looked back as he leaped over a small bush with tightly folded orange leaves, sticks struck his side, and bark rubbed his skin. The old man’s sword was still pointed. Other swords already drawn led their wielders out of their tents.

  “Where did he GO?” The old voice croaked.

  “Senior, Who?” The question came no more than five times, but five was enough to agitate the old man to no end, it seemed.

  Hao slipped into a nearby shadow, the place where he had watched them before he entered the camp. He froze his upper body and turned. His feet moved back in a slow tap on the ground. He was careful where he stepped, silent in his movement again. The beating of his heart was out of control. Hao was quick to wrangle it, crushing the pounding in his chest, and it slowed to a steady, calm roll, a cold, steady beat. He assessed the situation despite the extra danger of lingering. He needed to know if his plan had worked at all.

  “Who else your ass?! He had on a damned white cloak, who have you dimwits provoked hmm?” His voice was bold, Hao would say it bordered on heroic until it didn’t go somewhere clearly mocking. “Who are you scared of? GO! Find them…” He finished, changing from mocking to barking.

  The camp stood still. The Nightwatcher, being the only one who looked around, turned his head fast when one of them asked a question.

  “In the dark, was there more than one…”

  A shouting match preceded stomping feet. Pointed swords, a dozen excuses, were exhausted until Mo Bangcai woke. The dynamic between Bangcai and the old Nightwatcher was strange. In Hao’s eyes, they took turns playing Servant. The Nightwatcher scolded Mo Bangcai and the rest of the group. “Fuck… He could be gone, you useless…” He did everything hurriedly, looking around, eager to move and search. Then gave a recounting of the event. “It had a white cloak, yes, but it moved fast, almost inhuman. An evil ghost with a nasty-looking face. If it were Sun-Touched, he could have fought me fairly. I don’t know anyone else… No one else I know of is Ninth Rank, besides Sun-Touch and me. This person was too short, weaker.”

  Hao nearly sneezed at the words. Short, ugly, and weak… he reached up and touched the jam on his face, that part worked at least. But short and weak, only compared to Sun-Touched Meng Hongyu, and Hongyu was uglier than him now… Hao rubbed the back of his neck where the pommel had battered him.