The black flames on the pillars flickered faintly when Xu Wuzhou called the council again. He sat on the cracked altar, composed and still, though every part of him remained taut with tension. Each meeting was survival by inches. He could not simply direct them forever with silence and clipped orders. Sooner or later, they would test him. Better that he test them first.
The Elders gathered as they always did—Mo straight-backed and rigid, Yan hunched and whispering to his chains, Xue smiling behind her veil, the Black Envoy unmoving and unreadable. Xu let the silence stretch until it pressed down on them like stone. Then he said, calm and level, "Each of you has reported. Now I want proposals. Not ambitions, not dreams. Proposals that can be acted upon without exposing us to Heaven's gaze. Speak."
Mo rose to one knee. "Smugglers tied to the Crimson Sabers operate on the Ashen Plains. We can cut two, leave Saber blades behind. The orthodox will see their rivals' shadows, not ours. It will confirm their suspicion and steer them further away." His words were spare, every detail efficient. That was Mo—eliminate cleanly, waste nothing.
Xu studied him without expression. The suggestion was practical, but Mo's instinct was always to kill first. If allowed unchecked, it would draw attention too quickly. Xu gave only a short nod, neither approving nor rejecting.
Yan stepped forward, chains dragging against the floor. His eyes glowed faintly, his grin stretched. "Sparrows can go further. To the Citadel walls, to their camps. They will listen, perch, remember. They can give us names, voices, numbers." He giggled softly. "No blood spilled. Only eyes."
Xu tilted his head. "Risk?"
Yan's grin widened. "Only if one is caught. Then it burns. They burn. But most return."
It was the closest thing to reason the necromancer ever spoke, and Xu found it sound. He let no approval show, only silence that invited the next to speak.
Xue's voice slid into the chamber like a blade in silk. "Magistrate Shen of Ashveil. I've confirmed he still thrives by selling silence. He meets Saber envoys, fattens himself on their coin. He betrayed once. He will betray again. Bend him now, and he becomes our blindfold on the orthodox. At a word, he could close their eyes to us."
Her smile was small, deliberate, watching his reaction. She wanted to see how he measured ambition. Xu let his gaze linger on her, cold and unreadable, before turning away without comment. The silence itself was a refusal.
The Envoy's voice came last, deep and steady. "Caution protects us, but too much caution breeds rot. You delay, Lord. A knife that never moves cannot cut."
Xu kept his voice flat. "Rot comes from striking too early. A knife that moves before the throat bends only scratches."
The Envoy gave the smallest nod, not agreement, not refusal. Observation.
Xu rose slowly from the altar. His words came clipped, precise. "To Mo: eliminate two smugglers only. Leave Saber blades. Nothing more. To Yan: send sparrows to the camps, not the Citadel itself. I want lists—numbers, names, deputies. To Xue: observe Shen. Do not speak to him. Bring me his dealings, every detail. To the Envoy: watch all of them. Watch me. If rot appears, cut it out."
He let his gaze move from one to the next. "We move in inches. Every inch must count. Every inch must survive."
Mo bowed his head, sharp as a soldier receiving orders. Yan chuckled and stroked the sparrow perched on his shoulder. Xue's smile thinned, her eyes glittering behind the veil—she had been restrained, and she would not forget it. The Envoy inclined his head once.
When they left, Xu sat alone again in the dark. The Seed whispered faintly in his chest, sly and cold. You test them, but they test you more.
His hand pressed against the altar, steadying himself. Then let them. I will pass every test, even if I invent the answers as I go.
Three nights later, reports returned.
Mo spoke first. "Two smugglers eliminated. Saber blades left. Patrols discovered the bodies and drew their own conclusion. Citadel now watches Saber routes. Not ours." His efficiency was flawless. Xu inclined his head. "Good."
Yan released his sparrows. Two fluttered noiselessly through the chamber, their glassy eyes fixed on him. "Outer camps mapped. Twelve cultivators. Five Foundation, seven Qi Refinement. They speak of orders. A purge soon. Small scale."
Xu's stomach tightened. A purge already. He forced his face calm.
Xue placed another bone tube on the altar. "Shen continues. He feeds both sides, sells silence to Sabers as once to us. A coward who thinks himself clever. His greed can be turned."
Xu's eyes narrowed. That was a blade worth sheathing until the right moment.
The Envoy's voice followed, calm and cutting. "Rot has not yet appeared. But delay cannot last forever."
Xu let silence weigh, then spoke. "Mo, continue small eliminations. Always vary the pattern. Yan, move sparrows closer. I want the names of the Watcher's deputies. Xue, keep Shen under watch. Touch nothing until I command it. Envoy, wait. You will know when silence ends."
His voice grew sharper, measured. "Our enemy is not smugglers, not Sabers, not even the Citadel. Our enemy is exposure. Exposure is death. We bleed others so that we remain invisible."
The words rang in the chamber like iron. Mo bowed deeply. Yan muttered gleefully to himself. Xue's smile returned, sharp as a knife. The Envoy gave his silent nod.
When the council was gone, Xu circled the Sanctuary alone, tracing his fingers across the Ash Numerals. Each mark was carved into stone like a tally of survival. He counted them, lips pressed thin. The Seed whispered: They all counted. None endured.
Xu's jaw clenched. "I am not them."
The whisper curled with laughter in his mind.
A few days later, Mo returned. "The Watcher's men executed two smugglers on the Plains. Burned alive with azure fire. They said the men were Saber allies."
Xue's tone was amused. "Did they speak our name?"
Mo shook his head. "No. Only Sabers."
Xu felt his pulse steady. The orthodox already suspected others. That was the path forward. "Then let them. If Heaven hunts Sabers, we breathe freer. Feed the fire when the chance arises."
Mo inclined his head.
Xu looked over them all, his voice calm but edged. "Strength will come. Not now. Now we are dust beneath Heaven's heel. Dust survives because it hides in cracks. Dust endures even when stone is broken."
The Elders bowed, taking his words as law. Xu remained on the altar, face calm, heart thundering. Another night survived. Another bluff turned to strategy.
Dormancy is a blade.