Blood.
The first drop hit the polished wooden floor with a sound so quiet it should have been lost beneath the thunderous applause, beneath Lu Shin's triumphant words still echoing through the banquet hall, beneath the celebration of a future that would never come.
But Zhung heard it.
His dark eyes widened—a rare expression of genuine shock breaking through his usual cold emptiness—as he saw what he hadn't noticed, what none of them had noticed despite two weeks of careful observation and meticulous planning.
Wei Shao.
The head of security stood directly behind Bai, emerging from the crowd like a ghost materializing from shadow. He must have been tracking their movements from the moment they entered, watching with the paranoid thoroughness that had kept him alive through campaigns that killed better warriors, waiting for the exact moment when threat became action.
His sword was already drawn—not the ceremonial blade guards wore for show, but a real weapon, sharp and functional and currently buried deep in Bai's torso.
The blade had pierced through from behind, entering just below Bai's right shoulder blade and angling downward, punching through muscle and organs before emerging from his lower right abdomen in a spray of crimson that splattered across the floor in expanding patterns.
*How?* Zhung's mind raced even as his body tensed for action. *How did Wei Shao know? How did he identify Bai as a threat before the technique was even used? We were perfect. Professional. Nothing should have given us away.*
*Unless...*
*Unless Wei Shao didn't need evidence. Didn't wait for proof. Just followed his instincts and acted on suspicion, willing to risk embarrassment if he was wrong because the alternative—his employer dead—was unacceptable.*
*That's what separates good security from excellent security. The willingness to act on intuition rather than waiting for certainty.*
Bai's golden eyes went wide with shock and pain, his mouth opening in a gasp that expelled blood instead of air. His technique, halfway formed, collapsed as his concentration shattered. The compressed Will he'd been gathering dissipated harmlessly, wasted potential that would never reach its intended target.
He looked down at his own body, seeing the blade protruding from his stomach, seeing his blood—so much blood—pouring onto the floor beneath him. His face went pale, paler than usual, his corpse-like complexion becoming truly deathly as shock and blood loss began their work.
The applause was still continuing, most guests still unaware that anything had gone wrong, their attention fixed on Lu Shin on the stage, their vision blocked by the crowd from seeing the violence unfolding in their midst.
But that was about to change.
Bai's teeth gritted together with visible force, pain and fury and desperate survival instinct all combining into a single action. His left elbow snapped backward with cultivator speed and strength, striking Wei Shao directly in the center of his chest with enough force to crack ribs.
The security chief staggered backward, his grip on the sword loosening but not releasing, the blade sliding partially free from Bai's body as the distance between them increased. Blood flowed faster now, no longer dammed by the weapon, pouring from the front and back wounds in arterial pulses that painted the floor crimson.
Wei Shao recovered his balance with impressive speed, his face showing no pain despite the blow that had probably broken bones. His eyes were cold and alert, already tracking the other three assassins he knew must be present, already preparing for the next phase of combat.
On the stage, Lu Shin stood watching this unfold with an expression that transformed from triumphant celebration to something darker, something that carried genuine malice beneath its superficial pleasantness.
His smile widened.
His eyes gleamed with satisfaction that went beyond mere survival, beyond simple victory over assassination attempt.
This was planned. All of it. The banquet, the security, Wei Shao's positioning—everything designed not just to prevent assassination but to publicly expose and capture assassins in a way that would cement Lu Shin's reputation and destroy his enemies' credibility.
*A trap,* Zhung realized with cold horror. *This entire banquet was a trap. Lu Shin knew someone would try to kill him. Knew or suspected strongly enough to prepare for it. And instead of canceling or increasing visible security, he used the event as bait to catch assassins in the act.*
*That's not just intelligence. That's ruthlessness. That's the willingness to use himself as bait, to risk his own life gambling that his security would be good enough to stop threats before they succeeded.*
*No wonder Li Huang sees him as dangerous. Lu Shin isn't just a business genius—he thinks like a general. Like someone who understands that sometimes you have to accept risk to achieve decisive victory.*
Lu Shin raised both hands, calling for attention, and the musicians immediately stopped playing. The applause died away as guests turned to see what their host wanted to announce.
His voice rang out across the hall, clear and strong and carrying absolute authority:
"Honored guests! I apologize for interrupting our celebration, but I'm pleased to announce that we've just apprehended four assassins who infiltrated tonight's banquet with intent to murder me!"
The effect was immediate and catastrophic.
Guests screamed. Some ran toward exits. Others froze in shock. The carefully orchestrated celebration dissolved into chaos within seconds as panic spread through the crowd like wildfire through dry grass.
Guards who had been trying to remain unobtrusive during the social event suddenly moved into action, drawing weapons, forming defensive perimeters, shouting orders to secure exits and protect guests.
And the four assassins—exposed, compromised, their careful planning shattered—reacted with the violent desperation of professionals who knew their only chance of survival was immediate action.
Zhung's hand moved to his belt where he'd hidden a dagger beneath his formal robes—not his sword, which would have been too obvious to bring into a social gathering, but a blade long enough to kill if used with precision. His fingers closed around the handle and drew it in one smooth motion, the weapon appearing in his hand like an extension of his body.
His dark eyes tracked the nearest threats—two guards already moving toward him, their swords drawn, their expressions showing the focused intensity of trained warriors engaging enemy combatants.
*No time for subtlety. No time for technique or Will-based attacks. Just physical violence, fast and brutal and aimed at creating enough chaos to escape.*
Near the food tables, Hu dropped his wine cup and his entire demeanor changed in an instant. The jovial drunk vanished, replaced by a veteran fighter with decades of experience. When a guard rushed toward him with sword raised, Hu didn't retreat or try to defend—he attacked.
His fist shot forward with cultivator-enhanced strength, catching the guard in the throat with a blow that crushed the man's windpipe and sent him sprawling backward, choking and dying. Hu didn't pause to confirm the kill, already moving toward the next threat, his hands becoming weapons as he engaged multiple opponents simultaneously.
At the main entrance, the masked driver's hands moved with practiced efficiency, producing two daggers from hidden sheaths inside his robes. A guard approached from his right, and the driver pivoted smoothly, his blade flashing in the lantern light as it buried itself in the guard's back between his shoulder blades, piercing through to his heart.
The guard collapsed without a sound, dead before he hit the floor, and the driver was already moving toward the exit, trying to clear their escape route before the entire manor became a death trap.
The banquet hall had transformed from elegant celebration to battlefield in less than ten seconds. Guests continued screaming and running. Guards shouted orders and engaged the assassins. Blood splattered across expensive furnishings and polished floors. Lanterns swayed as people crashed into them in their panic, creating moving shadows that made the chaos even more disorienting.
And on the stage, Lu Shin stood watching it all with that same satisfied smile, his eyes gleaming with malice and triumph, a young man who'd just turned assassination attempt into public relations victory and personal vindication.
*He's enjoying this,* Zhung realized even as he ducked beneath a guard's sword swing and drove his dagger up under the man's ribcage, feeling the blade punch through muscle and into the heart, feeling the guard's body go rigid before collapsing. *Lu Shin isn't afraid or angry—he's pleased. This is exactly what he wanted. Public exposure of assassination attempt, dramatic capture of enemies, proof that he's dangerous enough to threaten that someone tried to kill him.*
*He's not just defending himself. He's making a statement. Showing everyone in this room, everyone in this town, everyone in this region that he's powerful enough to have enemies and capable enough to destroy them.*
*That's mastery. That's the kind of thinking that makes someone unstoppable if they live long enough to execute their plans.*
Bai had staggered away from Wei Shao, one hand pressed against his stomach wound in a futile attempt to stem the blood loss. His golden eyes were losing focus, shock and injury taking their toll, but he was still conscious, still aware enough to understand their situation had gone from carefully controlled to completely catastrophic.
His voice cut through the chaos—weaker than usual, strained with pain, but carrying enough authority that his team heard it clearly:
"RETREAT!"
The word was accompanied by a spray of blood from his mouth, his lungs probably punctured by Wei Shao's blade, making speech difficult and breathing agonizing.
But the command was clear.
Abandon the mission. Abandon everything. Get out alive if possible, die trying if necessary, but don't stay here where they were outnumbered and outmaneuvered and completely compromised.
Hu heard and immediately changed tactics, stopping his aggressive engagement with guards and instead focusing on creating chaos and blocking pursuit. He grabbed a table laden with food and hurled it at a group of approaching guards, scattering them, buying seconds of time.
The driver heard and intensified his efforts to clear the main entrance, his daggers flashing as he cut down another guard who tried to block the exit.
And Zhung heard, his cold analytical mind immediately calculating distances, threats, obstacles between his current position and the door.
*Twenty feet to the entrance. At least six guards between here and there. More rushing in from other parts of the manor. Bai is critically wounded, probably dying, may not survive the escape attempt. Hu is engaged with multiple opponents. Driver is fighting at the exit.*
*Survival probability: low.*
*But not zero.*
His hand formed the Stone Bullet technique almost unconsciously, muscle memory built over two weeks of constant practice. His Aperture opened, demonic blood flowing into the formation, Will gathering at his fingertip in compressed density that would punch through flesh and bone like a projectile weapon.
A guard rushed toward him from the left, sword raised for a killing blow.
Zhung's finger flicked forward, and the stone bullet shot out with lethal velocity.
It struck the guard in the center of his forehead with a wet *thunk*, the compressed stone punching through skull and into brain before shattering from the impact. The guard dropped instantly, his sword clattering to the floor, his body following a heartbeat later.
*One technique used. Blood depleting. Need to conserve for the escape.*
Zhung moved toward the entrance, his movements economical and precise, wasting no energy on unnecessary actions. He dodged another guard's attack rather than engaging, rolled beneath a sword swing that would have taken his head off, came up running toward where the driver was fighting desperately to keep the exit clear.
Behind him, he heard Bai's labored breathing, heard the wet sounds of blood filling lungs, heard Wei Shao shouting orders to guards to capture rather than kill—wanting prisoners for interrogation, wanting to extract information about who sent them, wanting living trophies rather than corpses.
*They won't take us alive,* Zhung thought with absolute certainty. *Death before capture. That's not bravery—it's pragmatism. Torture and interrogation would be worse than dying in combat. And captured assassins reveal information about their employers, which means Li Huang would have us killed anyway to prevent that exposure.*
*So fight until we escape or die. No third option.*
The banquet hall continued dissolving into pandemonium. More guards were arriving from other parts of the manor, responding to the alarm Wei Shao must have triggered. The exits were becoming choke points as guests tried to flee while guards tried to seal off escape routes.
Lu Shin remained on his stage, still smiling, still watching with satisfaction as his security forces overwhelmed the assassins who'd thought they could kill him in his own home during his own celebration.
And somewhere in all that chaos, four men who'd come here to commit murder were now fighting desperately just to survive the next sixty seconds.
Bai stumbled, his legs giving out as blood loss and shock finally overwhelmed cultivator endurance. He went down on one knee, then both, his hands pressed against his wounds but unable to stop the arterial bleeding that was draining his life onto the expensive floors.
His golden eyes found Zhung across the chaos, and something passed between them—not friendship or loyalty, but professional recognition. The acknowledgment that Bai was dying, that his leadership was ending, that command had just transferred to whoever survived the next few minutes.
His mouth moved, forming words that couldn't be heard over the screaming and fighting, but Zhung understood them anyway:
*Complete the mission.*
Then Bai's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed face-first onto the floor, unconscious or dead, his blood pooling around his body in expanding crimson.
*Team leader down,* Zhung noted without emotion, his mind already adapting to the changed situation. *Hu still fighting. Driver still clearing the exit. Me still mobile.*
*New priority: escape. Survival. Get out before the manor becomes completely locked down and escape becomes impossible.*
*Secondary priority: if opportunity presents itself during the chaos, kill Lu Shin anyway. Complete the mission despite everything going catastrophically wrong. Because that's what Li Huang paid for, and failure means we can't go back anyway.*
Another guard rushed toward him, and Zhung's dagger found the man's throat, opening arteries in a spray of hot blood that painted Zhung's formal robes crimson.
The elegant merchant disguise was ruined now, soaked in blood—some his own from minor cuts, most from guards he'd killed or wounded. He looked exactly like what he was: an assassin covered in the evidence of violence, fighting desperately for survival.
The driver had finally cleared the main entrance, his daggers dripping red, three dead guards littering the floor around him. He turned back toward the banquet hall, searching for his teammates, and his masked face locked onto Zhung's position.
Their eyes met across the chaos, and understanding passed between them without words.
*Move. Now. While we still can.*
Zhung began fighting his way toward the exit, his dagger finding flesh with mechanical efficiency, his Stone Bullet technique held in reserve for emergencies but ready to deploy if absolutely necessary.
Hu saw them moving and immediately disengaged from his current fight, using a guard's body as a shield to block sword strikes while retreating toward the door.
The three surviving assassins converged on the exit, fighting through guards, dodging panicked guests, moving with desperate speed toward the only hope of survival.
Behind them, Wei Shao's voice rang out with commanding authority:
"SEAL THE EXITS! NO ONE LEAVES UNTIL WE HAVE ALL OF THEM!"
Guards rushed to obey, moving to block the entrance, to trap the assassins inside where numbers and position would inevitably overwhelm them.
*Ten feet to the door. Five guards between us and freedom. More coming from every direction.*
*This is going to be close.*
*Too close.*
Zhung's hand tightened on his bloody dagger, his Aperture pulsing with remaining demonic blood, his mind calculating trajectories and timing and probabilities with cold precision.
On the stage, Lu Shin watched the three assassins fighting toward escape, and his smile never faltered.
He'd won this round. Completely. Decisively.
His enemy was exposed. His security was vindicated. His reputation was enhanced. And the assassins—if they escaped—would be hunted across the region, their lives forfeit, their employer eventually identified through investigation and intelligence work.
Everything had gone exactly as he'd planned.
*Genius,* Zhung acknowledged even as he prepared for what might be his final fight. *Absolute genius. Lu Shin didn't just survive assassination—he transformed it into victory. That's the difference between people who merely endure and those who truly dominate.*
*And in two minutes, when we're dead or captured, his victory will be complete.*
*Unless...*
But there was no "unless." No clever trick or hidden advantage. Just three assassins fighting toward a door that was rapidly being sealed by guards who outnumbered them and held every tactical advantage.
Just violence and chaos and the desperate mathematics of survival against impossible odds.
Hu reached the entrance first, his fists and feet becoming weapons as he engaged the guards blocking their escape. His martial skill was impressive—decades of experience translating into efficient brutality—but he was one man against many, and the numbers were overwhelming.
The driver joined him, daggers flashing, creating openings where Hu's attacks couldn't reach.
And Zhung arrived last, his Stone Bullet technique finally deploying again, the compressed stone punching through a guard's chest and creating space for them to push through.
They were at the door.
They were so close to escape.
But Wei Shao was there suddenly, appearing with the same ghost-like movement that had allowed him to stab Bai without warning. His sword was clean now—he must have wiped Bai's blood from the blade—and his eyes showed the cold focus of a professional warrior engaging enemies who'd already proven dangerous.
"You're not leaving," Wei Shao said quietly, his voice carrying absolute certainty. "You came here to kill my lord. You failed. Now you pay the price."
His sword moved with speeds that blurred in Zhung's vision, cultivator technique enhancing already impressive skill, and the blade carved through the air toward Hu's neck in an arc that would decapitate if it connected—
---
**End of Chapter 25**