Chapter 80: The Shadow Blade
The Underground Ghost Market was a place where sunlight never dared to tread.
Located deep within subterranean caverns beneath Floating Spear City’s outer edges, it was a lawless sanctuary for rogue cultivators, black-market alchemists, and ruthless mercenaries. The air was perpetually thick, smelling of scorched blood, decaying demon beast carcasses, and cheap intoxicating incense that burned the lungs.
A figure wrapped in a heavy tattered gray cloak stumbled through the winding alleyways.
Deacon Wang.
Every step sent tearing agony through his damaged meridians. His Dantian, having suffered catastrophic collapse during his failed Core Formation breakthrough, leaked spiritual energy like a shattered vase. He clutched his chest, coughing violently. Black, foul-smelling blood covered his trembling palm.
“I must endure,” he muttered, his bloodshot eyes gleaming with venomous hatred. “My son is crippled. My wife has betrayed me. I have nothing left… nothing but vengeance.”
He navigated past stalls selling forbidden poison pills and vendors hawking severed demon beast limbs. The lingering chaotic aura of a half-step Core Formation expert still radiated faintly from his broken body, warning bottom-feeders to stay away. Even in his ruined state, he was not prey for the weak.
Eventually, Deacon Wang arrived at a secluded dead-end alleyway. At the end stood a heavy iron door engraved with a bleeding lotus insignia.
The Blood Lotus Pavilion. The most notorious assassination syndicate in the Underground Ghost Market.
Wang pushed the door open, stepping into a dimly lit soundproofed chamber. Behind an obsidian counter sat an old man with half his face covered by a silver mask. He didn’t look up from his spiritual ledger.
“The Blood Lotus does not ask for reasons,” the masked broker said, his voice like rusted metal grinding. “Only targets and prices. Who do you want erased?”
Deacon Wang stepped forward, breathing ragged. He reached into his robes and slammed a high-tier spatial ring onto the obsidian counter.
“A disciple of the Crimson Nimbus Outer Sect. His name is Lin Tian. He currently serves as Special Supervisor of the Resource Hall,” Wang gasped, his voice dripping with malice.
The masked broker finally looked up, his single visible eye narrowing. He picked up the spatial ring, injecting a thread of spiritual sense into it. His hand trembled slightly.
Inside the spatial ring was an absolute fortune. Three thousand high-grade spirit stones. A dozen rare Tier-2 defensive array blueprints. Several bottles of life-extending elixirs. A handwritten manuscript containing cultivation insights of a half-step Core Formation expert.
The accumulated wealth of a lifetime. Everything Deacon Wang owned.
The broker looked at the crazed, aged man before him, recognizing desperate madness.
“Guest… the target you have named is merely at Peak Qi Gathering,” the broker stated calmly. “The price you have offered is enough to hire our top assassins to eliminate an established Foundation Establishment Elder. Are you certain you wish to squander this fortune on a mere Qi Gathering ant?”
“He is no ordinary ant!” Deacon Wang roared, coughing up more black blood. He slammed his fists on the counter. “He is cunning, ruthless, and backed by the Vice-Manager of the Inner Sect Resource Hall! He must be eliminated tonight! I want your absolute best! A Foundation Establishment expert to ensure this bastard does not live to see sunrise!”
The masked broker remained silent for a moment, absorbing the suicidal vendetta radiating from the broken man.
“Understood,” the broker nodded slowly, sweeping the spatial ring off the counter. “For this price, the Blood Lotus guarantees absolute death. The target will not see tomorrow’s dawn.”
Deacon Wang let out a horrific, breathless laugh. He turned and stumbled out of the pavilion, his life’s purpose now entrusted to the shadows. He had sacrificed his entire future. But as long as Lin Tian died, it was worth it.
—
High above the dirty alleys of the Ghost Market, suspended in a cavernous vault carved into subterranean rock, was a luxurious sanctuary.
This was the personal domain of the Ghost Market’s undisputed ruler.
Unlike the filth below, this sanctuary was pristine—decorated with rare luminous pearls and carpets woven from high-tier snow-fox fur. But the atmosphere inside was terrifyingly cold.
Not a natural cold. A profound, soul-freezing absolute zero that caused thick layers of white frost to form on obsidian furniture and walls.
At the center of the room, sitting cross-legged on a bed of profound-ice jade, was a woman of breathtaking, lethal beauty.
Lady Yun.
She appeared to be in her mid-forties, possessing a mature, voluptuous figure that exuded the rich charm of a fully ripened peach. She wore a dark, form-fitting purple cheongsam that hugged her generous curves flawlessly, high slits revealing her long, perfectly sculpted legs.
But her stunning jade-like face was pale, devoid of all blood. Her full breasts heaved rapidly as she gasped for air, exhaling thick clouds of white mist.
She was suffering.
Lady Yun possessed a rare constitution that made her unparalleled in the art of assassination. Her body naturally absorbed shadow energy, allowing her to meld perfectly with darkness, masking her heartbeat and aura completely. It had propelled her to Foundation Establishment and allowed her to conquer the entire Ghost Market.
But this gift came with a curse.
Her body generated an overwhelming amount of extreme Yin energy. Without a pure Yang source to balance it, the energy periodically rebelled, freezing her meridians from the inside out. The pain felt like millions of icy needles piercing her heart and spreading through her veins like frozen poison.
“Ugh…” Lady Yun groaned, her slender hands clutching her chest. Her long fingernails dug into the purple silk, leaving faint marks.
A soft knock echoed from the heavy mahogany doors.
“Enter,” Lady Yun commanded, her voice weak but carrying chilling authority.
The masked broker walked in, bowing deeply, keeping his gaze glued to the frost-covered floor.
“Mistress Yun,” the broker spoke reverently. “We have just received an unprecedented contract. A client has liquidated his entire life savings to target a mere Peak Qi Gathering disciple in the Crimson Nimbus Outer Sect.”
Lady Yun slowly opened her alluring eyes. The freezing pain in her chest still lingered, making her irritable.
“A Qi Gathering ant?” Lady Yun sneered. “Pass it to a silver-rank assassin. Why bother me with such trivial matters when my backlash is acting up?”
“Because of the political implications, Mistress,” the broker replied cautiously, stepping forward to hand her the contract scroll. “The client was Deacon Wang of the Inner Sect. And the target is Lin Tian—the publicly recognized proxy of Madam Shen, newly promoted Vice-Manager of the Inner Sect Resource Hall. Taking this contract means provoking a rising star in the Inner Sect.”
Lady Yun’s pale hand took the scroll. She unrolled it, scanning the intelligence gathered on Lin Tian.
“Interesting,” she murmured. “A trash disciple who suddenly rose to power. Cunning. Ruthless. Destroyed the former deacon’s faction. Pushed Madam Shen to the Inner Sect.”
A spark of genuine curiosity ignited within her freezing heart. “To possess such strategic depth at Qi Gathering… this boy is no ordinary prey.”
She looked at the payment. Three thousand high-grade spirit stones.
Her body flared up again, sending a violent shiver down her spine.
“I need those spirit stones,” she said. “The pills required to suppress my backlash are becoming expensive. This wealth will buy me enough to survive the next two years.”
She paused. “Furthermore, sending a silver-rank assassin might fail. That would drag the Blood Lotus’s reputation through the mud.”
Lady Yun slowly stood up. Her tall, curvaceous figure cast a long shadow across the frost-covered room.
“Mistress?” the broker asked, sensing the shift.
“I will take this contract,” Lady Yun declared, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper.
The masked broker’s eyes widened. “Mistress! You are a Foundation Establishment master! To personally assassinate a Qi Gathering junior… it is beneath your status!”
“A lion uses its full strength even when hunting a rabbit,” Lady Yun smiled—breathtaking yet terrifying. “Besides, my energy is rebelling fiercely tonight. Slaying a cunning prey will provide an excellent distraction. Prepare my gear.”
—
Ten minutes later, the alluring queen was gone.
In her place stood the Shadow Blade.
Lady Yun had changed into a skin-tight, pitch-black assassin’s suit crafted from Tier-2 Shadow Panther hide. It clung to her curves flawlessly for absolute aerodynamic perfection. Her silver-white hair was tied back tightly. A dark silken veil concealed the lower half of her face.
Strapped to her slender thighs were two curved daggers that had claimed countless lives.
She stood at the high window, looking toward the distant peaks of Crimson Nimbus Sect. The night sky was pitch black, with no moon or stars to illuminate her path.
Because of her unique constitution, she possessed no detectable aura whatsoever. She was a ghost waiting to reap a soul.
“Lin Tian,” she whispered, her eyes flashing cold. “Let us see if you are truly as brilliant as your reputation claims… or if you will simply be another ghost under my daggers.”
With a silent, graceful leap, the Foundation Establishment assassin dissolved into darkness, speeding toward the Outer Sect to claim her prize.