The hunter's massive axe was already raised high, poised to split the Iron River disciple's skull cleanly in two.
At that critical moment, Yan Kesh finished his calculations.
Physical intervention: Suicide.
Psychological intervention: 30% success rate.
Stake value: His own life.
Potential profit: A guide—and a political puppet.
"Accept the transaction," Yan Kesh decided.
His hand moved swiftly. He didn't throw a weapon—he had none. He threw the only thing in his pocket: an ordinary pebble he had picked up earlier by the river.
But before throwing it, he activated The Balance.
Borrow the muscle strength of the right arm.
Payment: Three days of extreme exhaustion.
The thin muscles of his arm suddenly tensed, flooded with borrowed strength far beyond what his body should possess.
Whoosh!
The pebble shot forth like an arrow, piercing through the gaps in the leaves.
Clang!
It struck the flat side of the hunter's axe at the exact moment the weapon was descending. The impact wasn't enough to stop the attack—but it was enough to shift the angle of the swing by a few inches.
Braaak!
The axe missed, slamming into the hard ground right beside He Qiu's ear. Shards of stone and dirt exploded into the young man's face, forcing a strangled scream from his throat.
"Who did that?!" the hunter roared, spinning around, his face flushed red with fury.
Yan Kesh leapt down from the tree branch. He landed with bent knees—clumsy by martial standards, but enough to muffle the sound.
He rose slowly from the bushes, letting the shadows cover half his filthy face. His posture was relaxed, both hands clasped behind his back—mostly because they were shaking violently from the backlash of excessive force.
"This forest is terribly noisy," Yan Kesh said. His voice was flat, low, and completely devoid of fear. "Do you have no manners… making such a ruckus in front of someone's home?"
The two hunters narrowed their eyes.
They saw Yan Kesh's appearance: a clan disciple robe reduced to a filthy rag, a withered body, and a corpse-pale face.
"Tch!" The second hunter spat. "I thought an elder had arrived. Turns out it's just discarded Yan Clan trash that somehow didn't die."
They weren't fools. They knew the Black Mist Forest was a dumping ground. One look at Yan Kesh, and they understood he was no threat.
"Kill him too," ordered the axe-wielding hunter. "Leave no witnesses."
The second hunter, holding a long dagger, grinned. "With pleasure."
He lunged forward.
His movement was fast. Body Tempering Stage 7 allowed him to move twice as fast as an ordinary human. In the blink of an eye, he was already in front of Yan Kesh, the dagger thrusting straight toward his heart.
Yan Kesh did not move.
Not because he was confident—but because his eyes couldn't follow the speed.
He was too slow.
He was going to die.
Audit activated.
Emergency transaction mode engaged.
In the fraction of a second before the dagger pierced his chest, Yan Kesh made the greatest gamble of his life.
[Transaction: Delay Physical Consequences]
[Target: Chest Area]
[Duration: 10 Seconds]
Stab!
The dagger plunged in.
Yan Kesh felt the cold metal pierce his skin, tear through his chest muscles, and possibly graze his lung.
By the laws of nature, his body should have convulsed. His lungs should have failed. The pain should have overwhelmed his mind.
But Yan Kesh had postponed the "consequences."
To the hunter, the sight was horrifying.
He had stabbed this man straight through the heart—yet the man didn't scream. Didn't retreat. Didn't even blink.
Yan Kesh stood upright, as if the dagger embedded in his chest were nothing more than a small twig.
He stared directly into the hunter's eyes—an empty, inhuman gaze.
"That's… all?" Yan Kesh whispered.
Blood flowed from his chest, yet his face was as cold as stone.
The hunter's eyes went wide. An irrational terror crept up his spine.
What was this thing?
Why wasn't it dead?
Why wasn't it in pain?
Seizing that moment of hesitation, Yan Kesh pulled out his right hand, which he had kept hidden all this time.
In it was a sharpened wooden splinter.
He did not aim for the enemy's neck or heart—he lacked the strength to pierce the muscles of a Stage 7 cultivator.
He aimed for the only soft part that could not be trained.
The eye.
Crunch!
Yan Kesh drove the splinter with all his strength into the hunter's right eye.
"AAAAARGHHH!"
The hunter screamed hysterically, releasing his grip on the dagger and stumbling backward while clutching his now blood-soaked face.
"You're insane! You're a demon!" he shrieked.
Yan Kesh still stood there.
The dagger remained lodged in his chest.
His blood poured freely onto the ground, forming a crimson pool around his feet.
But he did not fall. He didn't even touch his wound.
He simply turned his gaze toward the other hunter—the one holding the axe—and looked at him provocatively.
"Your turn?" Yan Kesh asked softly.
The axe-wielding hunter trembled.
He saw his companion rolling on the ground, blinded in one eye. He saw the "walking corpse" before him, immune to pain.
His courage collapsed.
They were brave enough to fight humans—but they feared things they could not understand.
"Retreat! We're leaving!" he shouted, dragging his injured companion away as they fled frantically into the bushes.
Silence returned.
Yan Kesh stood motionless for five seconds, ensuring the enemies were truly gone.
Then he lowered his gaze to the dagger in his chest.
"Ten seconds… are up," he murmured.
Boom.
The delay ended.
The universe came to collect its debt.
The pain did not arrive gradually.
It arrived all at once—multiplied, with interest.
It felt as if his chest had exploded from the inside.
"Ugh…"
Yan Kesh collapsed. His knees slammed into the ground. His eyes rolled back, his mouth gaping soundlessly as his scream died in his throat. His body convulsed violently, nerves burning like fire.
With trembling hands, he pulled the dagger out.
Blood sprayed.
His consciousness began to fade.
He was dying—for real this time.
From a distance, He Qiu—the young man who had nearly been killed—crawled over, his face deathly pale. He stared at his mysterious savior now lying in a pool of blood.
"S-sir! Sir!" He Qiu cried in panic, rummaging through his robe. "Hold on! I have medicine! I have a Blood-Freezing Pill!"
He Qiu shoved a red pill into Yan Kesh's mouth.
Yan Kesh swallowed it reflexively.
A cold sensation spread through his body, freezing the wound in his chest and stopping the fatal bleeding.
Yan Kesh's breathing was ragged—short and heavy.
He wasn't dead.
His debt had just been paid by a third party.
He cracked his eyes open slightly and looked at He Qiu's anxious face hovering above him.
In The Audit within his mind, a new line of text appeared beside the young man's image:
[HE QIU]
[Status: Owes a Life]
[Value: High]
Yan Kesh smiled faintly—a terrifying smile, teeth stained with blood.
The investment had succeeded.
"Y-you…" Yan Kesh whispered with the last of his strength before losing consciousness.
"…you owe me."
Darkness.
---