The Red Lantern Brothel was quieter than usual that night. Alex melted into the shadows, his footsteps silent against the cobblestone alley. Lanterns flickered, painting long, wavering shadows, but none betrayed his presence. He had studied this moment for days: the timing of the guards' patrols, the schedules of the clan elders, and the blind spots of the brothel's defenses. Every detail mattered.
Two guards stood by the entrance, oblivious to the spatial distortion rolling silently beneath their feet. With a subtle extension of his mana, Alex activated a talisman pre-set by the squad, and the guards froze mid-step, their muscles locked as if petrified by invisible hands. He didn't pause. Moving like liquid, he scaled the side of the building, landing gracefully on the balcony above.
Inside, Guardian Two was counting coins, hunched over a table, unaware of the predator above. Alex's eyes glimmered with icy blue focus. He drew a blade from the shadows—imbued with spatial magic—and in a flick of his wrist, it sliced through the air. The room distorted for a heartbeat, time elongating, and Guardian Two felt a sudden chill that ran down his spine.
Before he could react, Alex dropped silently behind him, the blade at his neck. A hiss escaped the guardian's lips, a sound of fear and disbelief. With a soft, calculated pressure, Alex severed the guardian's resistance, immobilizing him entirely. A second later, Guardian Two was silent, lifeless, collapsed onto the floor.
But the quiet was deceptive. Footsteps. Voices. The clan's senses were sharper than anticipated. Alex pivoted, leaping through the window into the alley, narrowly avoiding the patrol that had come for a routine check. He pressed against the wall, blending into the shadows as their torches swung dangerously close.
"Just as planned," he muttered, activating another talisman that sent a pulse of mana to distract the remaining guards. The patrol rushed forward, following the false signal, giving him the chance to slip into the city streets.
From his vantage, Alex could see the next target: a clan elder meditating in the study hall. His steps were measured. He could feel the pulse of his mana—the ice, the spatial distortion, and the healing energies ready at a moment's notice. He drew closer, every breath synchronized with the rhythm of the city, every shadow his ally.
The elder's aura was palpable even from a distance: Origin Realm at its peak, disciplined, focused. Alex allowed a small grin to form. This was going to be a challenge, but one he was prepared for.
Inside the study hall, he summoned a blade of pure spatial energy. The moment the elder shifted his posture, sensing an anomaly, Alex struck—not a single strike, but a series of fleeting, precise cuts, appearing from multiple directions thanks to the spatial magic. The elder countered with bursts of Qi, creating walls of energy, but Alex was faster, predicting his movements through careful observation and intuition.
A misstep—the elder lunged to the left, sweeping a hand across the room to shatter the spatial distortions—but Alex vanished in a blur, leaving only the whisper of mana in the air. In seconds, he was behind him, pressure on his chest, a frozen grip keeping the elder's Qi suppressed. The elder struggled, a fierce battle of wills and power, but Alex's control over his elements—the ice magic to slow movement, the spatial magic to bend distance—gave him the advantage.
The struggle was brief, violent, and elegant. When it ended, the elder's body crumpled silently to the floor. Alex exhaled slowly, the first beads of sweat tracing his temple. He had been close to discovery, had danced on the edge of failure multiple times, but precision and control had carried him through.
He didn't linger. The remaining three elders were dispersed across the city—one in the northern courtyard, one near the river, and one overseeing training from the eastern hall. Each movement was calculated, relying on shadows, talismans, and carefully timed distractions sent from the squad.
In the courtyard, Alex leapt from roof to roof, his staff drawn and glowing faintly with spatial mana. He engaged the third elder with a rapid sequence of attacks, each strike reinforced with spatial warps that made him appear to be in multiple places at once. The elder's sword collided with his in a thunderous clash, sparks of Qi exploding outward. Alex's ice magic slowed the elder's reflexes just enough to land critical strikes that left him incapacitated without drawing attention.
By the time the fourth elder realized what was happening, it was already too late. Alex moved like a ghost, precise and untouchable, eliminating the target swiftly before slipping into the shadowed streets once more.
The last of the guardians and elders fell silently that night, their deaths barely noticed by anyone outside the city. Talismans had immobilized minor guards, distractions had drawn the attention of the rest, and Alex's mastery of his spatial and ice magics ensured he remained unseen.
He paused on the rooftops, surveying the training grounds below. The thirty nominal elders would be Alaric's responsibility, and he knew the chaos of that fight would buy enough time for his brother to act. For now, his task was complete.
The streets were silent again, the city breathing in its deceptive calm. Alex allowed himself a rare smile, though his body tensed for any sudden attack. Shadows hid him, but his mind was already racing ahead—calculating exits, contingencies, and the next phase of the operation. The Jin Clan had underestimated the Qin Empire's strike team, and they had no idea that a ghost had just walked through their midst, leaving death in his wake.
And soon, they would feel the full force of our vengeance.