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墨書 Inktalez
In the bustling streets, chaos surged like a tide as Yan Kong bent low, skillfully weaving through the crowd. His gaze was fixed on the thick smoke rising in the distance, a cold smile creeping onto his lips as he silently rejoiced, "This time, I won't miss it. The power of the strong is waiting for me over there."
Behind him, the small recycling robot struggled to keep up, emitting a series of urgent beeps that sounded both like complaints and pleas for help. Its tracks were nearly out of control as it tried to maneuver around a pair of large feet, only to be forced into a spin by another pair of shoes, turning its journey into a perilous survival challenge.
"These rude humans!" the little robot grumbled in binary tones, its mechanical arms flailing helplessly as it sought a path through the gaps in the crowd. Watching Yan Kong's figure grow more distant, it emitted a frantic alert: "Wait for me! Wait for me! You can't leave me behind!"
However, Yan Kong paid no mind. Like a wolf focused on its prey, his eyes burned with excitement as he completely ignored the plight of the little robot behind him. He pushed past obstructive pedestrians with force, indifferent to their angry glares. His hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his sword at his waist, as if ready to draw it at any moment and plunge into an exhilarating battle.
"Come on!" the recycling robot raised its volume in desperation, trying to catch Yan Kong's attention, but the din of the crowd drowned out its voice. It shrank its body and desperately squeezed through the gaps in the throng, dodging large feet that could come crashing down at any moment as it struggled to catch up with Yan Kong's retreating figure.
The smoke became clearer, and the scent of battle wafted toward him. Yan Kong's heart raced, his gaze growing more fervent. The corners of his mouth lifted again: "This is where I belong."
With great effort, Yan Kong pushed through the last few obstacles and finally burst into a slightly more open street. Breathing heavily, he looked toward the direction from which the smoke billowed, a surge of wild anticipation swelling within him. Yet before he could take another step, an overwhelming and suffocating Killing Intent crashed over him like a tidal wave, leaving him nearly breathless.
Years of combat instinct kicked in as Yan Kong's muscles reacted instantly. His arm shot out like lightning to draw his blade from his waist; its edge glinted faintly in response to the Killing Intent that surrounded him. He stood firm, leaning slightly forward, his eyes sharp as an eagle’s, ready to face whatever life-and-death confrontation awaited him. However, cold sweat uncontrollably dripped from his forehead onto the ground below, kicking up small clouds of dust.
"It’s him..." Yan Kong murmured softly to himself, his eyes reflecting a mix of exhilaration and unease. He knew all too well that this deep-sea-like Killing Intent could only come from the person he had been searching for—Bing Lie. That aura pierced through every nerve in Yan Kong’s body like a blade, making him tremble with both fear and excitement.
Yet just as this Killing Intent peaked, everything came to an abrupt halt. It was as if the once surging tide had suddenly receded, leaving behind an eerie silence that sent chills down his spine. Yan Kong paused slightly, confusion gradually replacing his fervor. He slowed his breathing as cold sweat continued to trickle down.
"It’s over..." Yan Kong whispered softly. His grip on the hilt relaxed slightly; the blade emitted a soft hum before he slowly sheathed it again. He lifted his head to gaze toward the smoke and allowed a self-mocking smile to appear on his lips.
"Indeed, he has gotten there before me..." Yan Kong shook out his arms and began walking forward at a measured pace. He understood that Bing Lie's battle had already concluded, but he didn’t mind. This chase had only just begun.
Yan Kong ran forward, his feet kicking up mud and gravel with each step, raising clouds of dust around him. His heart pounded like a war drum, a strong intuition urging him that ahead lay the answer he sought. As he burst through the last remnants of ruins shrouded in thick smoke, a shocking scene unfolded before his eyes.
It was a scorched earth, consumed by flames; the ground was littered with charred remnants, black smoke still rising sporadically from the ground. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burnt flesh and blood. Yan Kong halted, his gaze sweeping across the devastation—a complete annihilation. A few figures stood nearby, all disheveled and battered. His attention quickly focused on two leaders facing each other at either side of the battlefield, each representing different factions.
One was a man clad in Fog Capital Traditional Attire, his face shadowed with a grim expression as he lightly tapped his fingers against the hilt of his sword. Opposite him stood a woman in Yangchuan Military Uniform, her collar slightly torn, revealing shallow wounds beneath. Yet she stood tall, her eyes filled with anger and defiance. The ground between them was strewn with charred bodies, soldiers scattered at the edges of the battlefield, each gripping their weapons tightly, seemingly ready to engage again at any moment, though their eyes betrayed exhaustion and fear.
However, Yan Kong's attention was soon drawn to a figure on the ground. Squinting for a better look, he saw a tall woman lying on the scorched earth, her armor twisted and deformed from the searing flames, her exposed skin marred by vivid burn scars. Beside her lay a familiar weapon—the Flame Blade.
“Mako Nakagawa…” Yan Kong murmured softly. A smirk crept onto his lips as he realized that the last master of Flame Blade Style had appeared before him in such a pitiful state. Undoubtedly, this chaotic farce had begun because of her.
“What has this woman done…” Yan Kong pondered inwardly, his gaze sharpening. He gently grasped the hilt at his waist and took a deep breath, absorbing the lingering scent of blood and killing intent that permeated the battlefield. He sensed that the strife here was far from over, and he had come precisely for this reason.
Before Yan Kong could approach further, he heard the low and impatient voice of the man in Fog Capital Traditional Attire breaking the silence of the scorched earth. His tone was laced with evident anger as he declared loudly, “This matter will not end here; I will report every detail to the Fog Capital Council. I hope you Yangchuan… know your place.”
As his words fell, he coldly waved his hand. Several disheveled guards rushed out from behind him, their hurried steps chaotic as if they feared being dragged into any further disputes. The guards cautiously approached the center of the battlefield and began to lift one of the charred bodies. The figure was nearly unrecognizable, but from everyone’s tense expressions, it was clear that it held significant importance. This action caught the attention of the woman in Yangchuan Military Uniform; her brow furrowed as complex emotions flickered across her face.
Taking a deep breath to suppress her anger, she retorted, “This situation has never been under my control from start to finish. We have exercised great restraint; however, this is not how I wished things to unfold.” She paused for emphasis before locking eyes with the Fog City Man, her tone firm. “If we truly want to calm things down, we should sit down and discuss it rather than push this matter toward an even more unmanageable state.”
Upon hearing this, displeasure deepened on the Fog City Man's face. He glared at her coldly; his lips moved slightly as if he wanted to say something more but ultimately pressed them into a thin line and fell silent. Turning away with his sleeves billowing in the wind, he signaled for his guards to complete their task quickly before striding away toward where his remaining soldiers were gathering.
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