Blood slowly dragged himself out from hiding and stood before his father, who regarded him with a tenderness that both steadied and unnerved him. Just behind Blood, Ballock remained with his head lowered, shoulders tight with guilt or pain—it was hard to tell which.
"How is it that your strength has grown so much? You've only been missing for some days." Salza said, measuring his height with his eyes as he patted his head lightly.
"You've changed drastically."
"I'm sorry I had to trouble you, Dad; something really rough came up," he replied in an unusual voice. He knew how worried they must have been.
"Hehe, what nonsense—who was worried? I didn't even bat an eye, and you could see how calm and collected I was on the battlefield" Salza stated as he flicked his ears.
Blood didn't refute and only looked down. The care of his parents had always been abundant and it always made him feel comforted. He would never have them worry so much over him, but reality was otherwise.
There was nothing he could do.
The cultivation world was rife with troubles and hurdles; no one could proceed unscathed. In realms of cultivation, one either endured the crucibles of hardship or would soon meet an impassable veil that barred all progress.
He had thought that the people from Bland Town would play mischief—threatening him with his son's life. He had expected that, but it seemed it was uncalled for. They could have even threaten him, saying they had him even if they didn't.
It would have been a toll placed on him.
Salza chuckled and didn't pester him further while Kamil snorted and watched the two descend from the treehouse. In their hands were a bag that shifted from time to time. When they reached the ground, they dropped the bag carelessly and it crashed heavily onto the earth.
The bag was a restrictive treasure used to bind beasts; the level of captured beast must not exceed the treasure's grade, or the creature might break free. Such treasures had a fixed capacity and were exceedingly rare in this region—the materials to forge them were scarce, and the craft demanded impossible skill.
Both commanders recognized the same rare container at once. They soon noted the absence of a soul mark before Kamil poured his energy into the seal. The bag unlatched and a man rolled out. He was one they knew all too well. He appeared almost unrecognizable; tattered garments clung to him, his eyes bulged, and his frame looked spent.
Neither Kamil nor Salza knew what force lay behind Bland Town to make them so overbearing or how vast that power truly was, but the restrictive bag already offered a clue they could begin with.
Salza entertained another thought; perhaps the bag had been left deliberately, a blunt deterrent to keep curious hands from prying into something that might devour them.
It was a warning.
If they pursued the matter, they might end up dead.
Kamil gave a cue and his men rushed forward and cleared the bag.
Salza darted a look that made the soldiers pause. He then averted his gaze and fixed them instead on the bleeding Town Head sprawled on the ground.
He didn't wait or ask about his accomplice; he cleaved the man's head without mercy, which made the soldiers erupt in cheers that rolled across the land.
It had been a long day and many of their brothers had been killed. They wouldn't pity any perpetrator so easily.
Salza looked into the distance and abruptly kicked the head as it rolled toward him. It pivoted with a sick, fast spin and pierced a jutting branch of an enormous tree. Everyone watched the head drip red liquid down the back.
It was fixed at an obvious point, a macabre standard.
People entering the town or simply passing that route could see the head plainly. It was a crude flag for the moment and a stark warning to any who might come nosing for trouble.
"We have secured the town. Prepare the tents and tend the wounded, we are staying here tonight. Also make sure the place is guarded and ensure no captives escape, or you all will face the consequences. There is no expiation for their sins." His voice thundered across the area as he left the crowd.
He looked over his shoulders and said to Galock, "Send words home, the kids have been found." He then darted his eyes on the duo, "Come with me you two, our talk isn't over." He soon disappeared into the distance.
___
A lady with perfect curves draped in silver robes paced back and forth, silver hair spilling over her provocative neck. Her expression was stern as she turned the reports over in her mind, marveling at the uncanny truth they bore. At first, she had doubted the message's authenticity, but her source wasn't one to trade in falsehoods; the more she weighed the facts, the less room there was for doubt.
Within hours; the news had spread, and she confirmed she hadn't been deceived—everything aligned with the grim dispatches.
A cold realization settled on her; she had sent out a talent in ignorance. If her parents learned of this mistake, they would be furious, especially her father.
The thought tightened her jaw. Talents weren't easily seen.
She then glanced to her left.
On a long, rock-like bench sat a woman with her eyes closed. At the touch of her gaze the woman's lids snapped open, and she looked toward her with a questioning stare, as if asking what storm had been set loose.
The silver‑robed woman halted, the weight of consequence pressing down like a winter dusk, before she went to say,
"I will be out for some days, and I think there's no need looking for me. I will be back as soon as I can." She instantly passed through the opening that had appeared at her side without waiting for a response.
"What about the message from your father? He said it's urgent!" the woman screamed the instant she saw the lady pass through.
"I said I will be back as soon as possible." She didn't look back as she stormed off.
The woman looked around and sighed, mulling over some thought.
That gaze was as if she had missed something. Tch-tch-tch, what could she have possibly missed?
She thought, debating if she should follow or not…
___
The atmosphere was calm and a heavy wind blew as the cavalry returned to base. While some soldiers rode horses and other beasts, a larger portion marched on foot in neat, measured lines toward Sand‑Scale City.
At the front, Blood rode one of the lead horses, Ballock following on foot with a steady pace, his hand on the reins. Just ahead of them rode the commanders of the Ninth and Seventh Divisions.
A horned‑horse thundered toward them at full tilt, and Blood quickly recognized the rider as Pezz, leader of the scouts who had ridden ahead with his group only moments before.
Pezz reined up with a spray of dust, he flung himself from the saddle and saluted.
"Report!" one of the commanders barked.
"Commander, there is a troop of monkeys obstructing our path, but they are being taken care of now. There's nothing to worry about."
"I was wondering why we haven't heard from your group; it seems the monkeys are giving you some trouble." Kamil said, lips curling.