The Broken Paths

Daokan moved like a shadow, slipping into the camp's outskirts unnoticed. The first guard barely had time to register the slight shift in the wind before Daokan's fingers clamped around his mouth, yanking him backward into the darkness. A silent snap, and he was gone.

Yan Shuren, methodical as ever, dispatched his target with a single precise strike to the throat before dragging the body into the snow.

Two down. Forty-eight to go.

They worked quickly, planting fires near the supply caches and barracks. Minutes later, the first explosion roared through the camp as an oil barrel ignited, sending flames licking toward the sky.

Shouts erupted. Slavers ran for water, their formation breaking as panic took hold.

Daokan grinned. "That's our cue."

Amidst the chaos, Guan Fei moved swiftly through the holding pens, breaking locks and cutting restraints. "Listen up!" he called out, his voice sharp and commanding.

"If you can still stand, if you still have the strength to fight, there are weapons stashed behind the northern supply crates. Take them and take back your freedom!"

A few captives hesitated, but others, eyes burning with long-suppressed rage, surged forward. Shackles hit the ground as they armed themselves with whatever they could find—discarded blades, spears, even broken chains.

"For those who can't fight" Guan Fei continued, "head east to the treeline. Stay together, and move fast. You're free now. Don't waste it."

With that, the battle inside the compound shifted. No longer just an ambush, it became an uprising. The former captives, now warriors once more, turned on their oppressors with a fury that could not be contained.

The largest tent, adorned with expensive silk and fine embroidery, belonged to Wu Long. The bastard was living in luxury while the captives starved.

Daokan and Yan Shuren walked through the entrance like executioners. Inside, Wu Long sat casually, sipping wine, while his second-in-command, a towering brute of a man, cracked his knuckles.

Wu Long smirked. "So, the legend himself, Daokan finally came to play. Took you long enough."

Wu Long chuckled, setting his cup down. "You think you can kill me? I was trained in the same techniques as my ancestor, Wu Xun. Do you even know who you're dealing with?''

Daokan tilted his head, his gaze turning cold. "It's personal. You took something that wasn't yours to take. You turned children into weapons, into tools. You did it to her."

Wu Long's expression flickered, the first sign of unease creeping into his smirk.

"Who?"

Daokan's knuckles cracked as his red aura darkened. "Lianhua. The girl you tried to break. The girl who should have never survived you."

Wu Long exhaled sharply, realization dawning. Then, he chuckled. "So, that's what this is about? Some sentimental revenge? She was nothing when I found her. Weak. A tool to be reforged or discarded. You should be thanking me for—"

He never finished his sentence. Daokan thrust his palm forward.

First Strike: Sundering Summit.

A force so immense erupted from his palm that the very air cracked. The ground trembled as the shockwave blasted forward, splitting the floor of the tent and sending a deep fissure rippling through the compound. Even the distant mountains seemed to groan in response.

Wu Long's smirk vanished as he was sent hurtling through three walls, blood spraying from his mouth. His second-in-command barely had time to blink before Yan Shuren ended him in a single, effortless strike.

Wu Long gasped, staggering to his feet, only to see Daokan walking toward him, completely in rage.

Daokan's expression darkened. His fist clenched, and without warning, he struck Wu Long in the face with a force that sent him sprawling. Before Wu Long could react, Daokan moves so fast as if teleportation and grabs him by the collar and punch him again.

"Why?!" Another punch. Wu Long's nose shattered, blood spraying across the dirt.

"Why did you do it?!" A third punch. His cheekbone cracked, swelling instantly.

Wu Long coughed, spitting blood, yet somehow, he chuckled through the pain.

"Why?" he rasped. 

"Because she was nothing. Just another tool to be shaped. It was fun."

Daokan's grip tightened, fury radiating from his very being. "Say it. Say what you did."

Wu Long smirked despite the blood dripping from his lips. "I broke her. Starved her. Trained her like an animal. Every day, we pushed her to the brink—no food unless she won her fights, no rest unless she pleased her masters. And when she failed—" he grinned wider like a mad dog "—we reminded her that failure had a price."

Daokan's fist crashed into Wu Long's gut, lifting him off the ground and breaking the ground beneath before slamming him back down and cracks like spider-webs was shaped.

"You turned a child into a slave and called it training!?''

Wu Long coughed violently. "Oh, but she was special. Unlike the others, she never truly broke. Always looking for a way out. So we got creative. Isolation, beatings, forced fights... but what really crushed her spirit? We made her believe there was no escape. That even if she ran, we would always find her. And when she cried? Oh, that was the best part." ending it with a sadistic smile.

Daokan's aura flared, the air itself trembling as the ground beneath them cracked.

"You're filth." His voice was ice.

"You don't deserve a quick death."

Wu Long tried to laugh, but blood clogged his throat.

"Then take your time, Master Daokan. Show me just how righteous you think you are."

Daokan thrust his palm forward.

Second Strike: Avalanche Collapse.

He stomped his foot, and the world responded.

The entire left side of the compound exploded outward. Trees bent and shattered like twigs, rocks splintered, and tents were sent flying as if caught in a hurricane. Wu Long's body twisted mid-air, his left arm severed instantly from the sheer force of the impact.

Yan Shuren observed from the wreckage, shaking his head. "You're overdoing it."

Yet, to their surprise, Wu Long still stood. Barely, but he stood.

Wu Long coughed blood, but his eyes still burned with defiance. "You… bastard…"

Yan Shuren stepped forward, his usual composed expression unreadable. He looked down at Wu Long, then exhaled through his nose.

"Tell me, Wu Long. What was the point of all this? The suffering, the cruelty—did you ever think it would end well for you?"

Wu Long spat blood onto the scorched earth, laughing hoarsely. "Power. Survival. I did what needed to be done. And you? You think you're righteous? That this makes you better than me?"

Yan Shuren's gaze sharpened. "No. It makes me responsible."

Without another word, he thrust his palm forward, his Qi coiling like a gathering storm.

Third step: Judgment of the Summit.

A shockwave rippled outward, erasing the last remnants of Wu Long, leaving behind only dust and silence.

Yet his final words lingered in the air— "That this makes you better than me?"

For a moment, neither Daokan nor Yan Shuren spoke. The weight of those words settled in their minds like an uncomfortable truth.

Daokan exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders. "Sooner or later, we will face the emperor himself. The world is changing, and we can't just burn away its rot—we have to replace it. Reform it."

Yan Shuren glanced at him. "And if the emperor resists?"

Daokan's gaze burned with quiet certainty. "Then we do what we must."

Yan Shuren was silent for a moment before asking, "Do you even think Jinhai is as strong as Lin Wuye? If it comes down to it, can he even fight us?"

Daokan smirked. "Jinhai is not weak, but he's no Lin Wuye. Lin fights because he must. Jinhai fights only when he has no other choice. And that is why, if the time comes, he will lose."

Before Yan Shuren could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps interrupted them.

Guan Fei approached, his face grim, but he was not alone. Beside him stood a woman, her body battered and bruised from years of suffering. Her clothes were torn, her face hollow, and yet, despite everything, her eyes held no fear—only emptiness.

"Master Daokan" Guan Fei spoke hesitantly.

"The captives have been freed. Every slaver is dead. But... she insisted on speaking to you personally."

The woman took a step forward, her voice barely above a whisper. "I have nothing left. Kill me."

Daokan frowned, studying her. "Why? You're free now. Why throw it away?"

The woman lifted her gaze, eyes distant. "Because there is nothing to return to. My child was slaughtered before my eyes. My family no longer exists. My purpose was stolen from me long ago. What reason is there to keep going?"

Daokan's expression, usually unwavering, darkened. His fists clenched as he stared at the woman, his heart weighed down by the sheer emptiness in her voice.

"What happened to you?" he asked, his tone softer than before.

The woman inhaled sharply, as if gathering the strength to recount her pain. "I had a son" she whispered.

"Barely old enough to walk. They took him from me, right in front of my eyes. I screamed, I begged, but they only laughed. They... they made me watch as they killed him. Slowly. To break me."

Her voice trembled, but she did not cry. It was as if there were no tears left in her. "After that, they told me I had no family, no past. They beat it out of me. I forgot my own name. I became what they wanted—a body that moved when ordered, but nothing more. Now, even with my chains gone, there's nothing left."

Daokan's grip tightened, his nails digging into his palm. His throat felt dry. "You were never nothing" he said, voice rough with emotion.

"They tried to strip you of everything, but they failed. You're still here."

The woman shook her head, her hollow gaze searching his face.

"For what? There is no vengeance to take, no home to return to. There is nothing. Kill me, Master. Let me rest."

For the first time in a long while, Daokan felt at a loss. The battlefield had never been this complicated. Slaying an enemy was easy—but how do you fight despair itself?

Yan Shuren, who had been silent until now, took a step forward. His gaze was steady as he studied the woman, then he spoke. "What if you had another purpose? Someone just like you—someone who has lost everything. What would you do then?"

The woman blinked, her hollow stare shifting slightly as if a long-dead ember in her soul had been disturbed. "Someone like me?"

Yan Shuren nodded. "A girl. Young. Scarred by the same people who hurt you. Someone who needs guidance, who needs someone that understands that pain. If such a person existed, would you still ask for death?"

A flicker of something—doubt, hesitation—crossed the woman's face. For the first time, her absolute resignation wavered.

The woman frowned, her voice barely a whisper. "Who is she? And how is she like me?"

Daokan's gaze softened slightly. "Her name is Lianhua. She was a slave, just like you. She was beaten, trained to fight, stripped of everything that made her a person. It took weeks for her to even speak a single word."

He exhaled, crossing his arms. "But she did speak. She held on. And now, she's starting to heal. You both suffered at the hands of monsters, but she is still here, still fighting. If you can't find a reason to keep going for yourself, then maybe you can find one in her."

He let out a slow breath before meeting her gaze again. "And if, after all this, you still can't find a reason—if nothing I say can change that—then I will bear that sin. I will not force you to suffer any longer. I will kill you myself."