The rain had grown heavier.
Water ran down the wooden gate of Zhao Hu's courtyard like thin streams of ink. The lantern above the entrance flickered in the wind, casting trembling shadows across the stone steps.
Inside, voices suddenly stopped.
Then came rough laughter.
"Who the hell knocks at this hour?" a man shouted.
Lin Yuan stood outside, motionless. Blood had already soaked through half of his sleeve. The broken sword hung loosely in his hand, its dull edge reflecting faint lantern light.
He knocked again.
Bang.
This time the door flew open.
A tall, broad-shouldered man appeared in the doorway. His hair was tied in a crude topknot, his chest half exposed beneath loose disciple robes. His eyes were sharp like a wolf's, and his aura was clearly stronger than Lin Yuan's.
Zhao Hu.
Behind him stood two other outer disciples, both grinning while holding wine bowls.
The smell of cheap spirit wine drifted out.
For a moment, Zhao Hu did not recognize Lin Yuan. The rain, the darkness, the blood — all of it blurred the youth's appearance.
Then lightning flashed.
Zhao Hu's eyes widened slightly.
"Well, well," he said slowly, a smile spreading across his face. "The little rat didn't die."
The two disciples behind him burst out laughing.
"I told you we should've finished him off."
"Maybe he crawled back to beg."
Zhao Hu leaned against the doorframe lazily.
"What, Lin Yuan? You finally realized your mistake? If you hand over that broken piece of scrap now, maybe I'll let you keep your legs."
Lin Yuan did not move.
Rain fell steadily between them.
His eyes quietly scanned the three men.
And the strange vision returned.
Lines appeared again.
Subtle cracks in Zhao Hu's stance. A weakness in the left knee. A slight delay in his breathing when he laughed.
Behind him, one disciple leaned too far forward. The other rested too much weight on his right foot.
The world seemed to slow.
Lin Yuan understood.
This was not magic.
This was perception.
The sword in his hand was showing him the fragile seams that existed in every action.
For a brief moment, his heart pounded violently.
Then it calmed.
In his past life he had once read a line in an old Chinese novel:
"When a man is pushed to the brink, even a rabbit will bite."
Lin Yuan exhaled softly.
"Zhao Hu."
His voice was hoarse but steady.
Zhao Hu raised an eyebrow.
"You still dare to speak my name?"
Lin Yuan lifted the broken sword slightly.
"You wanted the sword."
Zhao Hu grinned.
"That's right."
"I brought it."
The grin widened.
"Well then, be a good dog and bring it over."
The two disciples laughed again.
But none of them noticed something strange.
Lin Yuan had already taken one step forward.
Just one.
Rainwater splashed across the stone.
The moment his foot touched the ground, his body moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
Even Lin Yuan himself was surprised.
Perhaps it was the desperation of a dying man. Perhaps the strange perception guiding his movements.
But the result was the same.
The broken sword flashed forward like a streak of dark lightning.
One of the disciples had just raised his wine bowl.
He never finished the motion.
The blade pierced straight through his throat.
A wet, choking sound escaped his mouth as blood sprayed into the rain.
The courtyard fell silent.
The man collapsed before anyone reacted.
One sword.
One life.
Zhao Hu's eyes exploded with shock.
"YOU—"
But Lin Yuan had already pulled the sword free.
He turned.
The second disciple lunged forward with a furious shout.
"You're courting death!"
He threw a punch directly at Lin Yuan's head.
A fifth-level Qi Gathering disciple might be terrifying to ordinary people. But to Lin Yuan's strange perception, the attack was full of holes.
The man's shoulder turned too early.
His balance leaned too far.
His ribs exposed a narrow gap.
Lin Yuan moved instinctively.
The broken sword slid forward.
Slash.
The blade entered beneath the rib cage and twisted.
The disciple's shout became a gurgle.
Two lives.
Two swords.
The body dropped beside the first.
Rainwater quickly washed the blood across the courtyard stones.
For a moment, neither man spoke.
Zhao Hu stared at the corpses.
Then slowly looked back at Lin Yuan.
The lazy arrogance on his face was gone.
"You…" Zhao Hu's voice turned cold. "You were hiding your strength."
Lin Yuan said nothing.
His arms were trembling.
The wounds in his body screamed in pain. His vision blurred slightly.
But he forced himself to stand straight.
In this world, weakness invited death.
Zhao Hu's expression darkened.
"You think killing two trash disciples means anything?"
His aura surged outward.
A wave of spiritual pressure rolled across the courtyard.
Fifth level Qi Gathering.
Stronger than the other two combined.
Rain rippled in the air.
Zhao Hu stepped forward slowly.
"You should have run," he said quietly. "Now even heaven can't save you."
Lin Yuan tightened his grip on the sword.
The strange lines appeared again.
But this time they were clearer.
He saw Zhao Hu's breathing rhythm.
He saw the slight stiffness in his left knee.
He saw the instant where power gathered before each strike.
The world narrowed to a single path.
Lin Yuan suddenly remembered a proverb his grandfather once told him long ago:
"The narrow road meets the brave."
Zhao Hu attacked.
His fist shot forward like a hammer.
Wind exploded through the rain.
Lin Yuan stepped sideways.
The fist grazed his shoulder, tearing cloth and skin.
Pain flared.
But at the same moment—
The broken sword moved.
A simple movement.
No technique.
No spiritual energy.
Just a straight thrust aimed precisely at the flaw Zhao Hu never noticed.
The left knee.
CRACK.
The blade stabbed into the joint.
Zhao Hu screamed.
His body stumbled.
In that instant, the balance of the fight shattered.
Lin Yuan stepped forward again.
One more thrust.
The sword entered beneath Zhao Hu's ribs.
Deep.
Very deep.
Zhao Hu's eyes widened with disbelief.
Blood spilled from his mouth.
"H-how…"
Lin Yuan whispered quietly.
"You left the door open."
Zhao Hu collapsed onto the stone.
Three lives.
Three swords.
The courtyard became silent except for rain.
Lin Yuan stood there breathing heavily.
His arms shook uncontrollably.
For several moments he could not move.
Then suddenly—
A wave of terror rose inside him.
Not fear of Zhao Hu.
Fear of what came next.
Green Cloud Sect had rules.
Outer disciples killing each other was not unheard of, but it always required a reason.
Self-defense.
Duel.
Witnesses.
But this—
This was slaughter.
Lin Yuan forced himself to think.
The wind howled through the courtyard.
Then something caught his eye.
Near the wine table inside the room sat a small wooden token.
Herb Garden Storehouse.
Lin Yuan walked over slowly and picked it up.
His eyes darkened.
"So this is the thing meant to kill me."
He looked down at Zhao Hu's corpse.
After a long moment, he spoke softly.
"In this world, the strong write the truth."
Then he turned and dragged Zhao Hu's body toward the courtyard gate.
Rain washed the blood away behind him.
Far above the mountain, thunder rolled across the clouds.
Lin Yuan looked toward the distant lights of the sect halls.
This was only the first night.
And already three people had died.
The path of cultivation truly deserved its ancient saying:
"One step toward immortality, ten thousand bones beneath your feet."
Lin Yuan tightened his grip on the broken sword.
For the first time since arriving in this world, a strange feeling appeared in his heart.
Not fear.
Not regret.
Something colder.
Something sharper.
Like the edge of a blade slowly leaving its sheath.
And somewhere deep in his consciousness, the rusted sword trembled once more.
As if acknowledging its new master.