The sun had begun to reach its zenith, sending its golden rays when Wei Shen found the perfect moment. The three disciples from the "Fallen Leaf Sect" – the fifth-level group leader and the two fourth-level disciples – had ventured into a secluded part of the forest near a moss-covered rock outcrop and had begun gathering some "Moon Dew Herbs" that grew in the shadows of the rocks. They were engrossed in their work, talking in low voices, completely unaware of the imminent danger stalking them.
Wei Shen watched them from a natural hiding spot among the tangled roots of a giant tree, no more than twenty meters away. He had spent the last hour studying their movements, their stances, their distribution, and even the weapons hanging from their waists – long, thin swords, typical for sect disciples.
"Three targets," Wei Shen thought coldly, his ice-like eyes fixed on the fifth-level disciple who appeared the most experienced and wary among them. "The strongest is the one in front, with the clear aura of the fifth level. He must be neutralized first, and with lightning speed, before the other two can organize an effective defense or even send a distress signal. The others… will become mere scattering dust after that."
He harbored no illusions about the "honor" of combat or the "fairness" of a confrontation. These were concepts for the weak and foolish. He was a predator, and these were his prey. Efficiency in killing was the only virtue he recognized.
He waited with unyielding patience, like a crocodile lurking for its prey at the river's edge. His sixth-level "Blood Qi" circulated calmly through its pathways, like a sleeping beast ready to pounce, granting his body a strength and agility far exceeding that of any ordinary cultivator at his level, thanks to its tainted and concentrated nature. His two ivory daggers were in his hands, cold and steady.
When the fifth-level disciple bent down to examine a particularly rare herb, exposing his neck for a brief moment, and when the other two disciples were distracted, laughing at something, Wei Shen found his chance.
He shot out from his hiding place like an arrow, a black phantom emerging from nowhere.
There was no war cry, no warning. Only absolute silence, then the sound of tearing air.
Thanks to the astonishing speed granted to him by the sixth level, he covered the distance between himself and the fifth-level disciple in the blink of an eye. Before the disciple could even raise his head or sense the danger, Wei Shen's right ivory dagger, infused with cold, venomous "Blood Qi," had pierced his neck from behind, severing the spinal cord and main artery in a single, smooth, lethal motion.
The fifth-level disciple's eyes widened with indescribable shock and horror. He tried to raise his hand, to scream, but only a muffled, bloody gurgle escaped his throat. He fell to his knees, then pitched forward onto his face, a lifeless corpse, dark blood gushing profusely from the gruesome wound in his neck.
All of this happened in less than two seconds.
The other two disciples, both fourth-level, froze in place for a moment, terror paralyzing their limbs as they watched their leader fall dead before them in such a sudden and brutal manner. They didn't understand what had happened, or from where this demonic attacker had come.
"Who… who are you?!" one of them screamed, drawing his sword with a tremble, while the other tried to back away, his eyes desperately searching for any escape route.
Wei Shen didn't answer. There was no time for words. He lunged towards the disciple attempting to flee first; a fleeing rat is always the easiest prey.
The fourth-level disciple, despite his terror, still possessed some skill. He spun around quickly and tried to parry Wei Shen's attack with his sword. But the difference in strength, level, and combat experience was unimaginably vast.
Wei Shen dodged the desperate sword strike with the agility of a wildcat and, in the same motion, his left ivory dagger slid under the disciple's outstretched arm, sinking deep into his armpit, targeting a vital weak point.
The disciple shrieked a sharp cry of pain, his sword falling from his trembling hand. He looked at Wei Shen with eyes full of horror and disbelief, then collapsed to his knees, blood flowing from the fatal wound. Wei Shen gave him no further chance. With a swift, harsh blow from his other dagger, he ended his life.
Now, only the last disciple remained. He stood frozen in place, his sword trembling in his hand, his face as pale as death. He looked at Wei Shen, then at the corpses of his two companions, as if he couldn't believe what was happening.
"Why…? We… we are from the same sect…" he stammered, tears beginning to stream from his eyes.
Wei Shen approached him slowly, his ivory daggers dripping blood. There was no trace of mercy or hesitation in his cold eyes. "The Fallen Leaf Sect…" he said, his voice calm and chilling. "I have old scores to settle with this sect. And you… you are merely the first installment of that account."
The last disciple charged at him in a desperate, suicidal attack, screaming the name of his sect and his elders.
Wei Shen expended almost no effort in fending him off. With a single, swift, precise movement, he evaded his sword and, at the same time, passed one of his ivory daggers across his throat, cutting off his scream and his life in one motion.
The third disciple fell to the ground, joining his companions in death.
Wei Shen stood amidst the three corpses, breathing calmly, as if he had just completed a routine task. There was no feeling of triumph or revenge, only that cold satisfaction that accompanies an efficiently completed mission.
"Three cultivators," he thought, looking at the bodies. "One fifth-level, and two fourth-level. Their blood will be a very good offering for the 'Blood-Devouring Stone.' And the stone… will enjoy this unexpected feast."
He wasted no time. He immediately began the process of gathering the spoils. First, the blood. He took out his large leather waterskin and began to carefully collect the blood of the three disciples, trying not to waste a single drop. He noted that the fifth-level disciple's blood seemed denser and more vital than that of the others, carrying a stronger "Qi" aura. "Yes… this is what I was looking for," he thought. "Human essence, especially from cultivators who have refined Qi for years… is purer, more concentrated, and carries a spiritual echo that beasts do not possess. The stone… will definitely prefer this type of fuel."
After he finished collecting the blood, he began to search their pockets and bodies for any valuables. He found some low-grade spirit stones, a few primitive healing pills, and some simple herb-gathering tools. But most importantly, he found a small, shabby-looking storage bag with the fifth-level disciple. This was the first real storage bag Wei Shen had seen in this world, and he knew it was extremely valuable.
"Efficiency… this is the essence of power," he thought as he emptied the bag's modest contents and took the bag for himself. "And the most efficient path to power… is now clearer than ever before."
After ensuring he had taken everything useful, and after crudely hiding the three corpses under a pile of leaves and branches (not out of respect for the dead, but merely to avoid attracting swift attention), Wei Shen turned, his leather waterskin now noticeably heavier with the blood of his new offerings.
He glanced one last time in the direction where the "Fallen Leaf Sect" lay. A demonic smile, devoid of any mirth, stretched across his lips.
"Fallen Leaf Sect… this is just a taste of what's to come," he whispered to the wind. "The real harvest… has not yet begun."
Then, he disappeared among the forest shadows, a bloodthirsty phantom, heading towards his cave, towards the "Blood-Devouring Stone" that eagerly awaited its new feast.