"Who are you?" Kazel asked, his voice calm but edged.
"Huh? And who are you?" the man shot back, blinking in confusion.
Kazel smirked. "The name's Kazel. And apparently…" —he stretched his arms wide, presenting the shattered courtyard— "I own this place now. It's a ruin, sure—but it won't stay that way."
"W-What?! What nonsense is that?! This is the Second Moon Sect!" the man shouted, gesturing at the scorched walls—until his eyes dropped to the cracked tiles and saw the sect's insignia shattered like pottery.
Kazel casually motioned toward a head lying nearby, blood dried beneath it. "In case you're blind… that's Maldan."
The man stepped closer, eyes flicking between Kazel and the severed head. He moved carefully, like a traveler approaching a sleeping tiger. His breath caught as he leaned in.
(That… that is Maldan…)
He turned sharply toward Kazel, swallowing hard. "Young man… what happened… here…?"
But then, his words faltered.
Kazel had walked over to his halberd—its steel edge still stained. Without effort, he pulled it from the earth with one hand, the weight seemingly nonexistent to him.
"I…" Kazel turned slowly, the morning sun outlining his silhouette."I happened here."
"…What?" the man blinked rapidly, even more confused than when he first arrived. "You destroyed the Second Moon Sect?"
"I don't think anyone else wants to bear that responsibility," Kazel said with a casual shrug and a smirk.
"You…"
"Yes, me." Kazel's tone was dry, almost amused.
"And where's your army?"
"I'm not that fancy yet." Kazel rolled his neck, stretching his shoulder with a relaxed air.
The man's posture sagged for a moment before a sharp chuckle escaped him. "You did this alone?"
"I did." Kazel nodded.
"And you expect me to believe that?"
"I expect nothing from you." Kazel's voice dropped as he stepped forward, the sound of his boots tapping lightly on the broken courtyard tiles. "Now—state your business. If you don't have one... scram."
The man took a small step back, startled. "Y-You! You'll regret this!" he snapped, trying to reclaim authority. "I am an envoy from the Land of the Tiger! The Second Moon was to deliver tribute to the great sect—the Crimson Phoenix!"
Kazel smiled.
Then he patted the man on the shoulder and pointed to the decapitated head nearby. "Good luck asking that to their headless patriarch."
Kazel walked past him without a word.
"Wait a minute," the envoy said sharply, spinning on his heel. His hand reached out and clamped onto Kazel's shoulder.
Kazel stopped.
His eyes slid down to the hand gripping him—fingers firm, steady, undeniably powerful. Not just an ordinary cultivator. That grip alone told him this man stood higher than Maldan ever had.
Kazel slowly turned to face him, his brow slightly furrowed, his expression unreadable.
"What is it?" he asked, voice low. He stored his halberd into his spatial ring with a flick of his fingers, then folded his arms calmly.
"I need to report this to the Crimson Phoenix," the envoy said, more measured now.
"Then go ahead," Kazel replied.
"You need to come with me."
"And if I say no?"
A pause. Then, the envoy's smile disappeared, and his aura surged—sharp, oppressive, a roaring pressure that cracked the air around them. "Then I'm afraid… I'll have to use force."
Kazel didn't flinch. Instead, a cold grin spread across his face. His own aura burst outward—thick, suffocating, drenched in bloodlust. The courtyard trembled beneath their feet.
"Heh…" Kazel exhaled. "And here I thought my morning would be a boring walk back home."
Kazel's grin widened, his blue eyes gleaming with a sharp, untamed light. Then his aura surged — not just powerful, but laced with something far more harrowing. The air thickened like smoke in a burning forest, but it wasn't heat that filled the space.
It was madness.
Controlled, cold-blooded madness.
A killing intent so pure and primal it didn't just weigh down—it cut. Like a thousand unseen blades pressing against the envoy's skin, each whispering a different death.
The envoy's pupils shrank. His body tensed. And before he could stop himself—his right foot slid backward. A retreat. Instinctive.
He realized it only a heartbeat too late.
(What… is this presence?) he thought, throat dry. (This isn't something you earn... this is something you're forged in—by war, by slaughter.)
Kazel tilted his head slightly, his tone low and casual, "You took a step back."
The envoy's lips parted, but no words came.
"You said you'd use force," Kazel continued, slowly walking toward him now. "But right now… you're wondering if you'll survive me."
The envoy's aura stuttered. His pride screamed at him to push back—but his instincts, honed through years of survival in higher lands, were louder. And they were screaming one thing:
'Don't provoke this man.'
"I'll give you a message to deliver," Kazel said, his voice now dropping to something colder, something sovereign. "Tell your Crimson Phoenix that the Second Moon is gone."
He walked past again—this time, the envoy didn't dare raise a hand.
Only his breath remained, shallow and shaken, as he stared at the back of the man who had slaughtered a sect and now strolled like it was just another morning.
As Kazel finally disappeared beyond the treeline, the crushing pressure lifted. The air felt breathable again—yet the envoy found himself trembling, sweat clinging cold to his back.
He inhaled deeply—once, then twice. His breath no longer caught in his throat, but the trepidation remained, stitched across his brow like a scar that refused to fade.
From the distance, his horse neighed nervously, backing away into the forest's edge, spooked and restless. The envoy turned back toward the ruined courtyard. Rubble. Craters. Blood. Severed limbs. The shattered gate of what once stood as the Second Moon Sect's proud entrance.
He walked slowly, carefully, as though stepping on sacred ground—or a graveyard.
"All this bloody mess," he muttered under his breath.His eyes landed on Maldan's severed head, now buzzing with flies."All this killing…"He looked at the sign of the sect, broken and buried beneath stones."All this destruction…"
The envoy exhaled heavily, resting his hand on his belt as if to ground himself.
"From one man…" he whispered. Then his voice dropped even lower, almost a prayer. "No… one youth."
He stood there for a moment in silence, letting the weight of it all settle on his shoulders.
Then, he scratched his head with a tired groan.
"How the fuck am I going to report this now…"