The courtyard’s morning mist clung to Lin Hao’s bare torso as he faced Steward Zhao Rong. Sweat traced the newly defined ridges of muscle across his shoulders—a testament to weeks of grueling training. The Wolf Spider observed from a nearby persimmon branch, silk threads quivering with each shift in the air.

  “Strike me,” Zhao Rong commanded, stance deceptively relaxed. His gnarled hands hung loose at his sides, palms calloused from decades of martial discipline.

  Lin Hao’s Fly mapped the steward’s qi flow—a placid lake hiding undertows. He lunged, fist arcing with fire-tinged precision.

  Crack!

  Zhao Rong’s palm intercepted the blow, redirecting momentum into empty air. Lin Hao stumbled, the Spider’s warning hiss echoing his frustration.

  “Your mind races ahead,” the steward chided, “while your body drags like an oxcart.” He tapped Lin Hao’s quivering bicep. “Muscle without harmony is noise without melody.”

  Lin Hao straightened, milky eyes narrowing. Through the Fly’s infrared vision, he studied Zhao Rong’s meridian network—a glowing latticework of controlled energy. “Teach me.”

  The old man’s chuckle rustled like dry leaves. “Begin by forgetting your arms.” His cane swept upward, tracing invisible sigils. “True power flows from here.” The tip paused at Lin Hao’s solar plexus.

  For three hours, they drilled stance transitions—shifting weight through hips rather than limbs. Lin Hao’s scales itched with impatience until, during a particularly sharp pivot, his trailing foot accidentally channeled qi. The courtyard tiles beneath him fissured, spiderweb cracks racing toward the east wall.

  Zhao Rong froze. “Dragon’s Step…?” he breathed, then quickly masked his astonishment. “Adequate progress. Rest now.”

  As the steward shuffled away, Lin Hao noticed the old man’s shadow stretching unnaturally long—a many-limbed silhouette that vanished when clouds obscured the sun.

  ———

  The blacksmith’s quarter reeked of molten metal and charred dreams. Lin Hao, now cloaked in Jing Ke’s signature black silks, traced a finger over freshly forged dowry chests bearing the Lin family crest. The dwarf smith’s hammer stilled as recognition dawned.

  “You!” The smith’s beard bristled. “Returned to swindle more treasures?”

  Lin Hao tossed a jingling pouch onto the anvil. “I need gravity armor—adjustable, full-body.”

  Interest warred with suspicion in the dwarf’s eyes. “Forbidden tech. Empire banned its making after the Iron Rebellion.”

  “Yet you’ve still got the molds.” Lin Hao’s Spider lowered itself onto the smith’s shoulder, fangs glistening. “Underplate the weights with fire-rune dampers. Triple your usual fee.”

  The smith swallowed audibly. “Two weeks.”

  “Three days.”

  “Impossible! The quenching alone—”

  Lin Hao placed a second pouch beside the first. “Four days. And tell me why the Lin family orders fifty dowry chests.”

  The dwarf pocketed the gold with practiced speed. “Old Li’s buying their third daughter. Lin Wanrong, the pretty one from the auction house. Wedding’s next moon cycle.”

  Ice flooded Lin Hao’s veins. Memories surfaced—a girl with orchid-scented hair shielding him from bullies, sneaking mooncakes into his isolated quarters, whispering promises of escape.

  “She’s... willing?” His voice emerged strangled.

  The smith spat into the forge. “Willing? Old Li’s ninety if he’s a day. But gold greases all hinges in noble marriages.”

  ———

  Dusk found Lin Hao scaling the Lin compound’s eastern wall, Gravity Armor prototypes clinking in his storage pouch. The Fly scouted ahead, revealing patrolling guards whose qi signatures matched Nether Pavilion reports—mercenaries, not family retainers.

  Lin Wanrong’s chambers exuded quiet despair. Talismans of suppression papered the windows; the scent of faded peonies lingered like a ghost. She sat before an untouched meal, jade hairpin poised like a dagger above her wrist.

  “Would you bleed for them, Jiejie?”

  Her head snapped up. “Who—?”

  Lin Hao lowered his hood. The Spider skittered across the floor, weaving a sound-dampening web around them.

  Wanrong’s breath caught. “Hao’er? But your eyes...”

  “See more than ever.” He gripped her trembling hands. “Tell me how to stop this.”

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  Tears traced the contours of her forced smile. “The Li family controls the northern grain routes. Our elders hunger for—”

  Explosions rocked the compound. Through the Fly’s eyes, Lin Hao watched Zhao Gaolie’s men clashing with Lin guards at the main gate. Smoke plumed skyward, carrying the acrid stench of alchemical fire.

  “Seems my father-in-law grows impatient.” Lin Hao stood, Gravity Armor segments clicking into place. “Come. We’ll use the chaos.”

  Wanrong hesitated. “The collateral...”

  “Will be minimal.” The Spider spat silk lines anchoring them to ceiling beams. “Hold tight.”

  As they swung through smoke-choked corridors, Lin Hao’s mind raced. Zhao’s premature attack reeked of desperation—likely triggered by intercepted intelligence about the Gravity Armor. The Fly’s fragmented feed showed Zhao Rong directing combat from the shadows, his movements too fluid for an aging steward.

  They breached the outer wall as dawn tinged the horizon. Wanrong’s grip tightened around his neck. “Where now?”

  “Where all broken toys go.” Lin Hao adjusted their trajectory toward the skeletal spires of Tianyan Academy. “We’ll remake the game.”

  Behind them, the Lin compound burned—a beacon declaring war between shadows. Ahead, trial gongs boomed their relentless countdown.

  The Source of Fury

  The air in the smithy hung thick with the acrid scent of molten metal and unresolved tension. Lin Hao’s knuckles whitened around the hilt of the Dragonbane Sword as dark energy coiled around his scaled forearm. The engraved copper dowry chests—symbols of Lin Wanrong’s impending imprisonment—glinted mockingly in the forge light.

  “Another political marriage…” The words slithered through clenched teeth as his draconic transformation completed, obsidian scales rippling across his neck.

  Crash!

  The first chest exploded under the rusted blade, its intricate phoenix carvings shearing like paper. The Wolf Spider skittered backward as splinters ricocheted off its armored carapace.

  “You lunatic!” The dwarf smith roared, hefting a warhammer glowing with containment runes. “Those are Lin family commissions!”

  Lin Hao’s milky eyes glowed sulfur-yellow in the gloom. The Kung Fu Fly intercepted the descending hammer mid-swing, metallic legs screeching against enchanted steel.

  “Impossible…” The dwarf staggered back, beard quivering as he registered the insect’s unnatural strength. “That’s no ordinary familiar.”

  Chaos stilled when the last chest crumpled into scrap. Lin Hao’s scaled features smoothed into human semblance, though dark energy still smoked from his pores. “Compensation.” He slapped the Myriad Gold Card against the anvil, its transaction chime slicing through tension. “One million taels covers damages and silence.”

  The dwarf gaped at the flashing sum. “You’re not just some random mercenary.” His beady eyes narrowed. “That Lin girl—you know her?”

  “Irrelevant.” Lin Hao sheathed the Dragonbane Sword, its hunger temporarily sated. “Three days. Gravity armor. Keep the surplus for your discretion.”

  ———

  North District’s opulent mansions loomed like sleeping dragons as Lin Hao approached the Lin ancestral compound. Twin guard towers framed a gate carved with the family crest—a serpent devouring its tail. The Kung Fu Fly’s compound vision revealed energy barriers humming beneath stone tiles, their frequency matching the containment talismans in Wanrong’s chambers.

  “Halt!” The guards crossed halberds, their polished blades reflecting Lin Hao’s unseeing gaze. “State your business!”

  A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Ma Liu. Chen Hu. Has the scent of the armory’s leather polish faded from your armor?”

  The guards stiffened. “Young Master…Hao?”

  Chen Hu’s grip faltered on his weapon. “But your eyes—the scales—”

  “See more clearly than ever.” Lin Hao extended a hand, dark energy coiling around his fingertips. “I’ve come to witness the sacrificial altar your elders built.”

  Ma Liu stepped forward, voice low. “The wedding procession arrives at moonrise. If you’re here to stop it…”

  “I’m here to burn it.”

  The guards exchanged glances. Years of conditioning warred with childhood loyalties until Chen Hu slammed his halberd butt against the gate mechanism. Ancient gears groaned as the serpent’s jaws parted.

  “The east corridor’s sensors failed this morning,” Ma Liu muttered, staring resolutely ahead. “A rat infestation in the control room.”

  Lin Hao nodded once, the Wolf Spider already scuttling ahead to disable surveillance arrays. As he passed through the archway, the Fly’s enhanced hearing caught Ma Liu’s whispered warning to his comrade: “The Patriarch hosts Elder Li in the Hall of Ancestral Smoke. They’ve mobilized the Shadow Blades.”

  ———

  Lin Wanrong’s chambers reeked of extinguished hope. The Kung Fu Fly hovered over a shattered jade hairpin—its edge still sharp enough to draw blood. Through its vision, Lin Hao saw the ghostly afterimage of his sister-figure pressing the weapon to her throat moments before their interrupted reunion.

  “You shouldn’t have returned.”

  He turned to find Wanrong framed in moonlight, her wedding silks already stained with soot from the burning dowry carts. “The Li family employs soul-trackers. They’ll—”

  “They’ll find ashes.” Lin Hao tossed her a gravity bracer from his storage pouch. “Strap this on. It’ll counteract the suppression field.”

  As she fastened the device, the Wolf Spider completed its sabotage of the chamber’s energy grid. Distant alarms began wailing.

  “The east gate.” Lin Hao pressed a control stud on his own armor, feeling the gravity multiplier click to x3. “Ma Liu’s arranged transport.”

  Wanrong hesitated. “What about you?”

  His scaled hand closed around the Dragonbane Sword. “I have a wedding gift to deliver.”

  The compound erupted into chaos as they separated—Wanrong darting through service tunnels, Lin Hao ascending to the ancestral hall where the scent of sandalwood incense couldn’t mask the rot of corruption.

  Through the Fly’s eyes, he watched Elder Li leering at Wanrong’s portrait while the Lin Patriarch recited marriage vows. The Shadow Blades stationed around the room never saw the Wolf Spider’s venomous silk descending from the rafters.

  “Apologies for the interruption.”

  Lin Hao’s enhanced muscles strained against x5 gravity as he kicked open the jade doors. Dark energy swirled around him like a living storm.

  “This union,” he declared, Dragonbane Sword humming with pent-up fury, “lacks proper entertainment.”

  The first Shadow Blade died mid-lunge, his own dagger embedded in his throat by the Kung Fu Fly. As chaos erupted, Lin Hao’s mind split into tactical fragments—directing the Spider’s webs, monitoring Wanrong’s escape progress, channeling the sword’s insatiable hunger.

  When the last suppressor talisman burned, the gravity armor’s release sent him rocketing toward Elder Li. The Dragonbane Sword tasted sweet as it pierced corrupt flesh, its dark energy devouring the old man’s scream.

  “Remember this day,” Lin Hao whispered to the trembling Patriarch as the hall burned around them. “Every forced union. Every broken soul.” He yanked the sword free. “They’ll all return as flames.”

  The Fly’s final image before smoke obscured vision: Wanrong’s transport vanishing into the smuggler’s tunnel, Ma Liu saluting as the gate sealed behind her, the distant tolling of Tianyan Academy’s bells heralding a storm’s approach.