Crimson collapsed three steps after the last body fell.
Not dramatically.
Not unconscious.
His knees simply failed him.
Blood soaked the ground beneath his palms as he breathed in short, shallow bursts. His cultivation churned unevenly—too many wounds, too much refusal layered over torn flesh.
If another wave comes…
He pushed the thought aside.
Someone was already here.
Crimson felt it—not intent, not killing pressure.
Alignment.
A single point in space where every probability narrowed.
He forced himself upright.
Across the ravine, standing atop a fallen tree as if it were a throne, was a man dressed in ash-gray robes. No mask. No insignia. No visible weapon—except for a long, black bow resting loosely in his hand.
His eyes were calm.
Too calm.
"You survived longer than projected," the man said mildly. "That complicates my timeline."
Crimson spat blood. "Another Cicada?"
The man shook his head. "No. They subcontracted."
Crimson's lips curled. "Figures."
The man inclined his head politely. "I am called Gong Yeon."
The name hit harder than a blade.
Crimson felt the forest react.
Even the air stiffened.
Gong Yeon.
The assassin whose arrows had ended sect leaders mid-ceremony. The man who killed targets before they realized they were being hunted. The one rumor Murim never exaggerated.
Crimson laughed weakly. "The one who doesn't miss."
Gong Yeon smiled faintly. "An unfortunate reputation."
Crimson straightened despite the pain. "Then take your shot."
Gong Yeon studied him carefully. "I already did."
Crimson froze.
Gong Yeon lifted his hand.
An arrow—already embedded in Crimson's shadow—moved.
Pain detonated as the shaft burst upward through Crimson's calf, tearing muscle apart. He screamed and collapsed again, snarling, ripping the arrow free with shaking hands.
Gong Yeon exhaled slowly. "I don't aim at bodies," he said. "I aim at outcomes."
Crimson forced himself to stand again, legs screaming in protest.
"You waited," Crimson growled. "Watched the slaughter."
"Yes."
"Why not kill me while I was bleeding out?"
Gong Yeon shrugged. "Because you weren't done deciding who you are."
Crimson stared at him. "You think you get to judge that?"
Gong Yeon met his gaze evenly. "I think Heaven wants you erased. Murim wants you controlled. And I wanted to see if you'd break before either could claim you."
Crimson's laughter was raw. "Disappointed?"
Gong Yeon shook his head. "Concerned."
He raised his bow—not drawing it yet.
"You are becoming something that distorts probability," Gong Yeon said. "That makes my profession… difficult."
Crimson staggered forward. "Then kill me."
Gong Yeon tilted his head. "Convince me."
The arrow came without warning.
Not from Gong Yeon's bow.
From elsewhere.
Crimson twisted instinctively as an arrow screamed from a blind angle, grazing his neck and ripping flesh open. He barely had time to register the pain before another arrow struck the ground inches from his foot, exploding into binding sigils.
Gong Yeon moved.
Now.
His bow sang—soft, almost gentle.
Arrows filled the air.
Crimson moved on instinct alone—rolling, leaping, ripping sigils apart with bare hands as arrows pierced stone exactly where he would have been. Gong Yeon wasn't reacting.
He was anticipating.
Crimson reached the cliff wall and launched himself upward, fingers digging into rock.
An arrow pierced his palm.
Another shattered the ledge he aimed for.
Gong Yeon's voice carried calmly. "You're favoring your left side."
Crimson snarled and tore the arrow free, blood spraying.
"You hesitate when killing from behind," Gong Yeon continued. "You don't like wasting deaths."
Crimson felt cold fury rise.
"You watched everything," he hissed.
"Yes," Gong Yeon replied. "And you're still holding back."
Crimson roared.
He refused.
The mark Seo Rin left burned white-hot in his chest.
Not power.
Permission.
Crimson leapt—not upward, not forward—but sideways, stepping where there was no ground, carving his own path through collapsed probability.
Gong Yeon's eyes widened slightly.
"Interesting," he murmured.
Crimson landed ten meters closer.
He charged.
Arrows screamed.
Crimson was hit—shoulder, thigh, ribs—but he didn't slow. He tore one arrow from his chest mid-stride and threw it back.
Gong Yeon deflected it casually.
Too casually.
Crimson closed the distance.
Steel met flesh.
Gong Yeon twisted aside as Crimson's blade scraped his ribs, drawing first blood.
A thin line.
Gong Yeon looked down at it, surprised.
"Ah," he said softly. "So that's how close we are."
Crimson headbutted him.
Gong Yeon staggered back, bow slipping from his grip.
They crashed together—fists, elbows, knees—raw, brutal, unrefined. Crimson fought like a man who expected to die. Gong Yeon fought like a man who refused to.
Crimson slammed Gong Yeon into a tree, cracking bark.
Gong Yeon drove a dagger into Crimson's side.
Crimson grabbed his wrist and snapped it.
Gong Yeon screamed.
Then smiled.
"You are evolving," he gasped.
Crimson raised his blade.
"End it," Gong Yeon said calmly.
Crimson hesitated.
Just a fraction.
Gong Yeon used it.
A hidden arrow erupted point-blank, piercing Crimson's shoulder and pinning him to the tree.
Crimson roared in agony.
Gong Yeon stumbled back, bleeding heavily.
They stared at each other through blood and breath.
Finally, Gong Yeon lowered his remaining hand.
"I won't kill you today," he said.
Crimson snarled. "Why."
Gong Yeon turned away. "Because when I do, it won't be during someone else's hunt."
He paused.
"And because the world needs to see what you become."
He vanished into the forest.
Crimson ripped himself free from the tree and collapsed again, breath ragged, vision blurring.
He laughed weakly.
"Coward," he whispered.
But his hands shook.
Far away, messengers ran.
Murim heard the name Gong Yeon attached to Crimson's survival.
Contracts doubled.
Bounties tripled.
Fear multiplied.
And Crimson—bleeding, broken, laughing—pulled himself to his feet once more.
The hunt was no longer about killing him.
It was about who would dare try next.