Ash walked with the wind at his back and flames at his heels.
The journey down from the Scorchwind Ruins had taken two days. The sky had shifted from ash-gray to blood-orange as the sun set behind the blackened peaks. Every step away from the forge felt like walking out of a dream—and deeper into a world that was very real, very cruel, and waiting.
The serpent had grown quieter since the trial, almost contemplative. But when Ash asked if something was wrong, the only response was a typical sneer.
> "You have power now. Let's see if you have the spine to use it."
The city walls appeared by dusk of the third day.
Blackflame City.
Once a thriving mid-tier trade hub, it had decayed over the past few years—thanks in no small part to the Yin Clan's stranglehold on its markets, guards, and officials. The city had become a crucible for bribes, silent killings, and petty lords who used fear instead of law.
Ash pulled the hood over his head, keeping his face low as he approached the outer checkpoint. Two armored guards yawned at the entrance, leaning on their spears like men who hadn't known a real fight in years.
He showed them a copper token he'd found on the corpse of a bandit two days prior. They didn't even glance twice.
He was in.
---
The City Under a Silent Tyrant
Inside, Blackflame pulsed with quiet tension. Market stalls bustled, but the noise never rose above a whisper. People avoided eye contact. Children didn't laugh. Every corner had shadows that lingered too long. Every roof had watchers with dull metal eyes.
Ash recognized the signs of a city choked by one clan's dominance. He had seen it before—on Earth, in warzones controlled by black-market cartels. The language of fear was universal.
> "Where do we begin?" he murmured.
> "Burn something," the serpent offered lazily. "That usually gets attention."
Ash ignored him.
He wasn't here to make noise. Not yet.
First, he needed an anchor. Someone who could give him the lay of the land.
---
A Friend in the Shadows
He found her in the backroom of a modest tea house tucked between two abandoned warehouses—Marla Vayne, once Feng Yao's only real friend. She had been a servant girl once, but when the Yin Clan rose in power, she'd vanished into the slums.
Ash had doubted she'd still be alive.
But she was.
The moment he stepped through the door, she froze. Her sharp eyes scanned him head to toe.
> "Who are you?" she asked coldly, one hand already under the table.
Ash removed his hood. "Feng Yao."
A pause. Her face went pale. Then flushed. Then pale again.
> "No," she whispered. "That can't be… I saw your body—"
"I died," he said. "And then I didn't."
She didn't ask more. Just nodded slowly.
> "Sit."
---
The Power Structure Unveiled
Over lukewarm tea and rice bread, Marla outlined the city's web of power.
The Yin Clan had five core branches, each led by a different Elder. The current dominant figure was Lord Varrin Yin, a cunning manipulator who held the city governor's post and ran a secret information network known as The Veil. Under him were "puppet lords"—minor nobles given land, guards, and status in exchange for loyalty.
The city's cultivators were forced to register with the Yin Clan's Spirit Registry Hall. Any unregistered warrior found with unusual power? Imprisoned, executed, or "recruited."
Worse, the local Mercenary Guild had become a shadow of its former self. Most fighters took Yin contracts or starved. A few rebel cells existed on the outskirts—but they were small, disorganized, and terrified.
> "If you want revenge," Marla said, "you'll need to grow beyond yourself. That kind of power attracts attention."
Ash leaned back. "Good."
She studied him for a long moment.
> "You're not the same."
"I'm not," he said quietly.
---
Mercenary Path: A Means to an End
The next day, Ash registered with the Mercenary Guild.
He used a false name—Ash Draven—and claimed to be a wandering fire cultivator from the Burning Wind Tribe. His phoenix mark stayed dormant beneath layers of cloth, and the Soul Flame remained just low enough not to draw spiritual attention.
He was placed into the Bronze Tier, with a wooden badge and three job scrolls to choose from:
1. Escort a merchant wagon through bandit territory.
2. Investigate disappearances near the Bonehill Quarry.
3. Hunt a corrupted flame-beast in the eastern waste.
Ash took the third without hesitation.
> "Why waste time playing hero?" the serpent asked. "You should be burning down their watchtowers."
"I need resources," Ash said. "Information. Movement."
He turned the badge over in his hand, eyes glinting with hidden resolve.
> "I'll start small. Let them think I'm just another mercenary."
---
The First Whisper
That night, as Ash walked the alleyways of Blackflame with his cloak drawn tight, a hooded figure brushed past him—deliberate, slow.
Ash's hand went to his side.
But it was only a child. A beggar, maybe ten years old.
Ash started to move on when something cold pressed into his palm. A slip of silver-inked paper.
He opened it carefully.
> "The fire you carry is not yet hidden. Eyes already watch."
No signature. No symbol. Nothing.
But the serpent hissed low.
> "Clever rats already smell smoke. Move fast, Ash Lockwood… or your second death will be permanent."
Ash burned the note with a flick of his finger.
No more hiding.
The city's game had already begun.
---
End of Chapter