The old man stood his ground, his weathered frame unmoved by the chill of the night. His robe fluttered faintly as if brushed by an unseen current, yet his posture remained relaxed—almost casual. His eyes were calm, but the air around him tightened, compressing as though the world itself were holding its breath.

  From the shadows, two figures emerged.

  One stepped forward openly, boots grinding against the dirt as he planted his feet. A saber gleamed in his hand, its curved edge reflecting the cold moonlight. His killing intent was sharp and disciplined—condensed like a blade already mid-swing, honed for execution rather than intimidation.

  The second remained behind him, half-hidden in darkness. His movements were light, fluid, predatory. He circled slowly, steps barely disturbing the earth, waiting for the perfect moment to strike from behind—silent, patient, merciless.

  Uncle Dan exhaled slowly through his nose.

  “Hmmm… dogs of the Dark Palace,” he muttered under his breath.

  “This is bad.”

  His gaze flicked briefly toward the doorway behind him.

  The children.

  They were quiet now—too quiet. He could feel their fear pressing against his back like a weight. His shoulders relaxed slightly, as if easing them into a false sense of safety.

  “I must protect them.”

  In a swift, practiced motion, Uncle Dan reached into his sleeve and drew out a golden paper talisman. Its surface was etched with intricate runes that glowed faintly, humming with restrained power. He slapped it against the doorway just as the saber wielder dashed forward.

  Too fast.

  The Dark Palace warrior lunged, his saber thrusting straight toward Uncle Dan’s chest, the blade screaming through the air. At the same instant, the second attacker moved.

  Like a shadow peeled from the night, the hidden man shot forward, his body lifting off the ground. He used the first warrior as cover, slipping past him mid-charge, aiming directly for the opening behind Uncle Dan.

  “Tch.”

  Uncle Dan twisted at the last second.

  His foot slid half a step back—not retreating, but angling. His leg snapped out in a sharp counter-kick, the heel striking the flat of the saber with pinpoint precision. The force knocked the blade off its line just enough to save his life.

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  At the same time, his other hand shot backward.

  His fingers clamped around the flying man’s ankle.

  “Got you.”

  With a grunt, Uncle Dan pivoted on the ball of his foot, his stance sinking low as his waist twisted. He borrowed the attacker’s momentum, spinning once before hurling him skyward like a sack of grain.

  The man exploded into dark smoke mid-air, his form dispersing before he could hit the ground.

  Uncle Dan’s eyes widened slightly.

  “So they can phase…”

  The smoke twisted, reforming as it rushed straight toward the doorway.

  Realizing their true target, Uncle Dan acted instantly.

  He tore the golden talisman from the air and hurled it forward. It slammed into the doorway and flared with blinding light. Runes ignited one after another, forming a solid, translucent barrier that sealed the entrance completely.

  BAM!

  The dark smoke crashed into the barrier and rebounded violently, scattering like mist against glass. A shrill hiss echoed through the room as the barrier held firm.

  Uncle Dan straightened, breath steady now, eyes cold.

  “So,” he said quietly, turning back toward them,

  “you’ll have to go through me.”

  The golden talisman trembled violently. Its runes dimmed and flared as cracks of light rippled across its surface. The impact it had taken was far beyond what it was meant to endure.

  It clung on—barely.

  The Dark Palace warriors hesitated.

  Their gazes shifted, calculating. They exchanged a brief glance and nodded—silent understanding passing between them.

  If the village elders sensed this disturbance, everything would collapse.

  In a sudden burst of speed, the shadowed one darted away, slipping through another doorway without hesitation, vanishing deeper into the house.

  Uncle Dan felt his chest loosen.

  Good… they didn’t pursue the kids.

  “Phewww…” He let out a long breath, the tension finally rolling off his shoulders. His knees creaked as he straightened fully.

  “Thank goodness.”

  His eyes narrowed as he glanced back at the sealed entrance.

  “So it is the treasure buried here.”

  He cracked his neck, then stretched his arms slowly. Bones popped as if awakening from a long sleep.

  “Good timing,” he muttered.

  “I needed something to punch to release my frustration.”

  He turned his attention to the remaining warrior and grinned—wide and fearless.

  “Hey, boy.”

  Uncle Dan beckoned with two fingers.

  “Come on.”

  The saber wielder roared and charged.

  The blade came down in a brutal overhead strike, splitting the air—

  Uncle Dan slid sideways, his foot tracing a curved line across the ground.

  Slash from the left—

  He stepped forward instead of back, the blade passing behind his shoulder.

  Slash from the right—

  His heel pivoted, body twisting just enough for the saber to graze empty air.

  Then a sudden thrust, straight for his heart.

  Fast.

  Ruthless.

  Precise.

  But Uncle Dan was already gone.

  His footwork flowed like calligraphy written into the earth—deep, grounded steps forming strange, deliberate patterns. Each movement placed him exactly where the saber could not reach. Always close.

  Always just outside death’s grasp.

  For a fleeting instant, when his foot struck the ground—

  A faint glimmer appeared beneath it.

  A shining star.

  The Dark Palace warrior’s eyes widened.

  The saber passed through nothing.

  Uncle Dan was already inside his range.

  Too close.

  Before the warrior could retreat, Uncle Dan’s fist snapped forward—his knuckles aligned, his stance rooted like a mountain.

  The punch was not fast.

  It was inevitable.

  CRACK!

  The impact landed squarely on the warrior’s chest. A shockwave rippled outward as ribs shattered. The man was sent flying backward, his body slamming into the stone wall with a deafening crash.

  The saber slipped from his hand and embedded itself deep into the stone.

  The warrior hung there, limp.

  Lifeless.

  Silence filled the room.

  Uncle Dan straightened, rolling his shoulders as he exhaled slowly.

  “…Done?”

  Then—

  The air changed.

  A cold, oppressive pressure leaked from the warrior’s chest. Dark energy seeped out like tar, thick and heavy, carrying the stench of graves and rotting earth.

  The saber trembled.

  Black veins crawled across the wall.

  The warrior’s fingers twitched.

  Uncle Dan’s expression hardened.

  “That energy…” he muttered.

  The corpse-like figure lifted its head. Its eyes glowed faintly as a deathly aura surged outward—unstable, crude, yet unmistakable.

  A cultivator.

  Early stage—but real.

  Uncle Dan took a half-step back, worry flashing across his face.

  “…This is bad.”