Willowbrook Town buzzed under the midday sun.
Inside a cluttered weapons shop, Simon Harper, as James Ward, browsed the racks of blades. The air smelled of oil and polished steel, the shop's walls lined with swords and sabers gleaming under lantern light.
"This blade will do," Simon said, running his fingers along a steel saber's edge. It was simple but sharp, perfect for his needs.
He handed the shop assistant his last few silver coins, the remnants of James Ward's savings.
"Come back soon, sir!" the assistant called as Simon took the saber and left the shop.
In the Martial Realm, where martial artists thrived, every town sold weapons like these, catering to warriors and wanderers alike.
Simon returned to his rented house, the saber tucked under his cloak. He sat on a wooden stool, waiting for nightfall, the blade resting across his knees.
"With this, tonight's plan will go smoothly," he murmured, a faint smile crossing his lips.
The saber's quality was modest, but against the Vance family's untrained guards, it would suffice.
"I'll kill Roland Vance, eliminate his corrupt kin, and take their wealth to fund my escape," he planned. "Then, in a new town, I'll recruit followers and build my influence through martial arts."
Money and strength were the keys to power, and Simon intended to seize both.
He set the saber aside, sat cross-legged on his bed, and sank into meditation, beginning a new round of cultivation.
Night fell, silver moonlight casting a faint glow over Willowbrook Town.
Simon awoke from his trance, feeling the robust Inner Breath pulsing in his Dantian. The synergy of the Starlight Flow Art and Serpent Coil Technique had amplified his progress, making hours of practice rival months for others.
"My strength has grown again," he noted, nodding with satisfaction. The dual martial systems were a marvel, boosting his cultivation speed exponentially.
He donned a wide cloak, concealing the saber within its folds, and patted the blade. Everything was ready.
Simon stepped into the dark street, where only scattered lanterns flickered. He recalled the Vance estate's location from his inquiries in Willowbrook Town.
Before long, he stood before the estate's high wall, its stones looming two meters tall under the moonlight.
"This is it," he confirmed, taking a deep breath.
His Inner Breath surged, a warm current flooding his body. Muscles swelled slightly, straining his cloak as newfound strength coursed through him.
Simon glanced at the wall, inhaled deeply, and leaped. His body shot upward like an arrow, his hand grazing the wall for leverage. With a fluid motion, he vaulted over, landing softly inside the Vance compound.
A faint thud echoed as he touched down. The estate was shrouded in darkness, its occupants likely asleep.
"Perfect timing," Simon thought, brushing dirt from his hands. "This will be easier than expected."
The Vance estate sprawled before him, its layout familiar from James Ward's memories of the Clayton residence. Though smaller, the design followed a similar pattern.
Simon moved with purpose, his steps silent. He dodged patrolling maids and servants, his heightened senses detecting their presence well in advance.
Soon, he reached a side entrance to Roland Vance's quarters. Two guards stood watch, their postures lax in the quiet night.
Simon struck swiftly, his movements precise. Before the guards could react, he knocked them unconscious with targeted blows, their bodies slumping without a sound.
"No lights inside. They're asleep," he observed, sneering at the darkened windows.
This would simplify his task. He pushed the door open, its hinges silent, and slipped inside.
Drawing the steel saber from his cloak, Simon moved lightly across the room. On a lavish bed, a heavy-set man and a middle-aged woman slept soundly.
"That must be Roland's wife, Lydia Vance," Simon thought, recalling rumors. "She disfigured a young maid and left her to freeze in the river."
His sneer deepened. "Killing them serves justice and my needs—a perfect bargain."
In a flash, his saber arced through the air, slicing across Lydia's neck. Blood sprayed, staining the silk sheets.
"Gurgle!"
Lydia awoke, clutching her throat, eyes wide with terror. She stared at Simon, trying to speak, but only choked sounds escaped as blood filled her lungs.
"What's happening?" Roland stirred, wiping his face and feeling warm blood. His eyes locked onto Simon and the saber now pressed against his own neck.
The blade's cold edge promised death at the slightest move. Cold sweat drenched Roland's back.
"Hero, spare me!" he pleaded, his voice trembling. "Please, spare my life!"
Roland Vance's eyes brimmed with terror as he stared at Simon Harper, cloaked in the shadows of the darkened room. His body trembled, the air thick with the coppery scent of blood.
The sight of his wife, Lydia, lifeless beside him intensified his fear, his shaking uncontrollable.
"Please, sir, spare me! I don't know how I've wronged you. Have mercy!" Roland's voice was a hoarse whisper, wary of provoking Simon further.
The steel blade hovered inches from his neck, its cold edge gleaming in the faint moonlight.
"Mercy?" Simon sneered. "That's possible, but only if you hand over all your silver notes."
"Silver notes?" Roland's face twisted, but the blade's proximity forced him to swallow his reluctance. "If that's what you want, they're yours."
Simon eased the blade back slightly, watching Roland closely.
Relieved, Roland exhaled shakily, reaching under the bedside to retrieve a wooden box. He opened it, revealing stacks of silver notes, his expression as pained as if he'd lost everything.
Gritting his teeth, he offered the box to Simon with trembling hands. "This is all we have."
Despite the dim moonlight, Simon caught the anguish in Roland's eyes. He took the notes with a faint smile. "I could spare you, but the servants you beat to death cannot."
Roland's face paled, his mouth opening to scream.
A swift slash silenced him. Blood sprayed from his neck, but Simon dodged with practiced ease.
Glancing at Roland's body, Simon turned and slipped out of the room.
He navigated the Vance estate, avoiding servants with his heightened senses, and vaulted over the wall, disappearing into the night.
Back at his rented house in Willowbrook Town, Simon lay on his bed. "Dawn's still hours away. I'll rest, then leave at first light."
The Vance family posed no threat. By the time they reported the deaths, he'd be long gone.
Simon drifted into sleep, untroubled by the night's violence.
Roosters crowed as dawn broke, rousing Simon. He glanced at the silver notes in his satchel and stepped into the street.
Willowbrook Town bustled as usual, with no sign of alarm. "They haven't found Roland yet, or they haven't reported it," Simon noted, blending into the morning crowd.
He headed for the town's outskirts, disappointed by the lack of a horse market. "A horse would've sped this up," he thought, dismissing the idea of a donkey.
Simon quickened his pace, bound for Yewell City, his next destination.
"In Yewell, I'll recruit followers and build my own force," he planned. "I also need to strengthen myself and learn more about this world."
As James Ward, a stable boy, his knowledge was limited, requiring him to learn anew.
"Medical skills and poisons are essential for my organization and personal safety," he mused, ideas solidifying as he traveled through fields and forests.
Two days later, after passing villages and hills, Simon reached Yewell City. Its towering walls, moss-covered and ancient, loomed before him, the name "Yewell City" carved above the gate.
Crowds flowed in and out, their chatter filling the air.
"I'm here," Simon said, nodding as he joined the throng entering the city.
He sought out a brokerage house to secure a permanent base. A mansion would aid his martial training and organization-building.
A clerk led him to several properties. Simon settled on one by a quiet river, its spacious rooms ideal for his needs. "This will do," he said, signing the contract.
The cost was high, but Simon, funded by his "no-capital" ventures, didn't care. "Being a righteous hero pays well and serves justice," he thought, smiling at his new home.
With the mansion secured, Simon stowed his steel blade and satchel, then headed to a tavern to gather information.
After some inquiries, he learned of a suitable teacher. "Marcus Grey, a skilled physician, lost his practice after offending a powerful figure. Now he teaches disciples to survive."
Simon nodded. Marcus fit his needs perfectly, known for sharing genuine knowledge despite his strict standards for students.
He arrived at Marcus's modest residence and knocked.
"Knock, knock, knock."
"Coming," an aged voice called. The door opened, revealing a grey-haired man with sharp eyes.
"Who are you?" Marcus Grey asked, studying Simon.
"I'm here to learn medicine," Simon said, bowing slightly.
Marcus shook his head. "You're too old to start. Go back."
As Marcus moved to close the door, Simon produced three silver notes, each worth one hundred taels, and held them out.