"I said," she replied smoothly, "I've seen him do this before. Nothing new. Fall Night always goes out in the morning."
Death Sword grunted in response.
"At first, I was like you, Death Sword. When Fall Night came back an hour or so later, I questioned why he had left our team. You know what his reply was?"
"Enlighten me, Purple Night," Death Sword said coldly.
Purple Night giggled before responding.
"'No one said I couldn't leave or hunt for food.' Doesn't that sound familiar?"
Death Sword narrowed his eyes at Purple Night.
"You're telling me he found a loophole the first time he left the team and came back? He used the same logic on me when I asked for the essence container?"
"Yes, Death Sword."
"Never again will there be a time when there is a loophole in my wording."
"I see you always hate taking a loss, just like someone else we know."
"Do you want to take a loss, Purple Night?"
"Blah."
Purple Night went back to lying down and resting her mind.
Jagged simply scowled, making no attempt to hide his jealousy. Fall Night could come and go as he pleased, while Jagged was stuck under Death Sword's forever-watchful eye, like a mother hen looking after her baby chickens.
His manic pacing back and forth made Purple Night sick of watching him. He reminded her of a child throwing a small tantrum because he wasn't getting his way.
Then—
Rustle. Rustle. Rustle.
Fall Night emerged from the brush, dragging two baby Emerald King Snakes behind him.
Without a word, he began skinning them, carefully removing the scales that were still in good condition and discarding the ruined ones. His movements were precise and efficient, making hardly any noise.
In less than an hour, both snakes were cleaned and prepared.
Fall Night made a small campfire. He began grilling the meat, carefully controlling the timing, while simmering the blood essence into a thick, reddish-dark soup.
This time, Fall Night added several spirit plants and herbs to the soup—ingredients meant to bring out the essence of the blood more efficiently.
Jagged watched Fall Night roasting the meat and simmering the soup.
He felt that now was the perfect time to take advantage of Fall Night.
Jagged sauntered over, an arrogant grin twitching beneath his mask. He was ready to assert his dominance over the newer member.
"When you're done cooking," he said, his voice low and mocking, "hand it over. You can make more for yourself in the next city, little nighty-night."
Fall Night said nothing.
The smell of roasting meat filled the clearing. The lingering aroma from the soup mixed with it, creating a heavenly combination.
However, Fall Night had already come up with a plan to deal with Jagged if he tried anything.
Jagged became increasingly manic when Fall Night didn't even acknowledge his existence.
However, there was one thing Jagged was:
An impatient killer.
Jagged went on a rampage through the forest, unleashing a fury of slashes, killing small creatures and letting out all his pent-up aggression.
Yet he returned quickly.
The mist was getting thicker and making it harder to see through, making it troublesome to continue his rampage.
Both Death Sword and Purple Night simply shook their heads in shame.
An hour later, just as the food was ready—
Clinggg!
A machete flashed through the air—aimed not at the meat, but at Fall Night himself.
Fall Night reacted instantly, snatching up the pot of soup and twisting aside.
The blade split the dirt where he had been standing.
Jagged snatched the roasted meat and laughed—
right before a sudden gust of killing intent slammed into him.
That killing intent belonged to Death Sword.
It was one thing to act as though you had the bigger fist.
It was another thing entirely to do so in Death Sword's presence.
The difference between Fall Night and Jagged's situations was simple.
Jagged was acting entirely on his own behalf and not on Death Sword's orders.
Fall Night, on the other hand, had done exactly what Death Sword had asked of him.
He had simply found a loophole in their conversation and exploited it.
Jagged took his eyes off Fall Night, who was staring at him with cold intent, and looked toward Death Sword.
"Death Sword, why do you have to be so hostile toward me?" Jagged cried.
Yet even as he complained, he moved to take a bite of the roasted meat.
Then—
[Immolation Scar]!
A roaring wave of dark energy erupted from Fall Night's hand.
Jagged sensed it and immediately moved.
But that was when Fall Night made his real move.
Fall Night moved like a true predator excited by the hunt.
A palm strike—familiar, yet sharper than before—exploded from Fall Night's hand. The energy howled like a hurricane.
"Move, you idiot!" Death Sword shouted.
But it was already too late.
Jagged was caught directly in the strike, his body lifted from the ground and flung like a leaf in a storm.
Space itself groaned, distorting under the pressure.
Fall Night's stance didn't waver.
This was his first time unleashing [Heaven Cleaver] with full intent.
He wasn't merely testing out the theory or properties of the skill anymore.
The first time Fall Night had used this skill was against Death Sword. Back then, he had been probing the skill's properties and testing its limits.
Now, Fall Night was committed to using the skill with its proper intent against Jagged.
The forest trembled.
The air cracked.
Space distorted.
Death Sword's pupils contracted.
He remembered the first time Fall Night had used this palm against him.
That attack had been a test.
This one wasn't.
There was no probing.
No hesitation.
No restraint.
He actually intends to hurt him.
Death Sword's expression turned grim.
Witnessing the way Jagged soared through the air, colliding with tree after tree, was something to behold.
Death Sword simply shook his head.
Disappointment weighed heavier than concern.
Jagged wasn't dying—far from it—but seeing one of his men tossed around like a leaf still stung his pride.
Jagged finally rose, dust swirling around him.
He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, syncing his breath to the rhythm of the forest.
The air grew sharp and restless.
"You're good," Jagged said finally, his voice cutting through the silence like a serrated blade.
"Exceptional, for someone from a small clan. But you're still three minor realms below me. Your battle power's barely touching the Initial Stage of Refinement—while I'm already close to stepping into the Late Stage of the Human Realm."
He jabbed a finger toward Fall Night, his tone dripping with cruel pride.
"Of the three of us, Death Sword's the strongest—in both cultivation and battle prowess. Purple Night's second in cultivation. I'm second in battle prowess. You? You're just playing soldier."
"Gigigig hahah giggiigigi!"
Fall Night said nothing.
His stare remained cold, steady, and unflinching.
Slowly, he took up his fighting stance.