Nyx’s mind raced at the barred entrance. How long had it been since this ‘argument’ started? When would the dispute for the house conclude? He grasped the wooden shaft he was carrying tightly. The silver sheen of the steel blade that decorated the weapon and elevated it from a simple ‘stick’ to a lethal weapon glinted in the slowly setting sunlight.

  Sol cleaned the dirt off the blade as he leaned against the doorframe in order to obstruct the view as much as he could. He could catch his breath a bit if his opponent did not realize that he had maneuvered himself into a corner. The peaceful and relaxed facade that he had put up at a moment's notice threw off his pursuer as he rounded the corner. Surprise that Sol had not yet entered danced on his face, which only served to accelerate Sol’s heartbeat.

  Even though he had gained hold of his opponent's weapon, he felt that it was he who was trapped. If he fought back, even so much as hitting or kicking his opponent in self-defense, he would be punished for fighting—just as his opponent would be. However, with potential safety directly behind him, it would only take a stroke of luck for him to escape this predicament.

  His foe warily approached and started to circle him to assess the situation. The weapon was a deterrent. How quickly he would have leaped at the opportunity was readily apparent. Seven days of confinement was better than seven days of confinement with a serious injury that drained resources. Nyx beckoned his focus skill to guide him while holding himself back as much as he could. A sudden bloodlust flared, sending anger and excitement through his veins. The spear felt familiar.

  He whirled the spear contemplatively as he eyed his opponent. The green-skinned demon backed off a few steps as he circled and flexed his claws readily, yet his steps felt… uncertain. They lacked the confidence and assuredness they had shown during the chase. Sol tried to resist his own emotions, finding it harder and harder to hold back against someone who so clearly projected weakness in front of him.

  But initiating the fight was losing.

  He was on the edge of losing his reason and pushed his skill aside. This was a strategic situation; skill would not give him an edge here.

  “You seem to be trapped here. Why do you not return my weapon to me? And I will… consider leaving,” the green-skinned demon tried.

  Sol felt his heartbeat again. How useful it would be to just tap into his skill to calm himself down. But it had its own mind and would lead to him abandoning all reason to attack. He held the spear ready at his side. “It is you who is trapped,” he reasoned. “I will gladly return the weapon to your chest if you want it urgently.”

  His statement made his opponent's hands twitch, and he stepped back further, prompting Sol to continue. “Otherwise, wait,” he emphasized sharply. “I will not rob you.”

  Conflict was warring on his adversary’s face, prompting Nyx’s focus skill to push back to the forefront, stronger than ever. It demanded to be used. Wielded. Unleashed. Asked for control. Turning his mind inwards despite facing an opponent, Sol got ready to cut himself off from his ability sharply and was just about to do so—when the door opened.

  A perplexed-looking demon with dark blue skin and light blue eyes that held a glimmer of orange stepped into the last few streaks of sunlight that the day would offer. Nyx immediately turned his attention to action and dashed for the entrance, his opponent having reacted far quicker than he had. His inward focus had cut down on his reaction time. Nyx threw the spear to the ground next to him with a lazy twist of the wrist, uncaring about who picked it up. It was unnecessary weight now.

  The new arrival was an unknown quantity. Was he an ally of the Spear Saint Mountain? Would he fight him? For a moment, Nyx contemplated provoking his instincts to get him to punch or kick him reflexively. With the exit so close, he could succeed.

  His focus skill flared, and his hunger for conflict twisted into something more playful. Like a cat chasing a bird simply because it could, he eyed his new target. It would be terribly funny, wouldn’t it?

  The blue-skinned demon quickly sidestepped Nyx’Sol’s mad dash, denying him the opportunity.

  Momentum carried Sol toward the door, and the last thing he saw was his pursuer picking up the spear from the ground. He looked relieved as he quickly stored his weapon away. Then dark tendrils of ink-black mist crept up and encompassed him—punishment underway.

  The rest remained mysterious to him as his entrance into the estate closed the door. Immediately, the by-now-familiar barrier set into place. His muscles relaxed, and the tension in his posture finally dissipated.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, he studied the hallway. It was oddly a different shape compared to what the building suggested from the outside. Where the estate had seemed to be a broad and elegant wooden mansion of great finesse and architecture, the inside gave off a brooding, dark, and sinister aura. Black, smokeless candles burned in spiked metal cages along the crimson walls. Each step on the pale white floor reminded him of stepping on bones, the creaking sound of wood contributing to the mental image.

  Sol had no intention of leaving immediately since, this time, he had no idea if the owner—and therefore his prior visitor—was affiliated with the Spear Saint Mountain Group. He would at least find out before leaving. His focus skill still screamed bloody murder in his mind, hints of bloodlust tempting him to abandon reason for fun and battle.

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  As he refused its call, he stepped into the main living room. An elegant black marble table stretched out in its center, maps and books piled onto it. Dozens of books. Hundreds even. Glancing at their spines and covers, he found them to be market ledgers of alchemy ingredients—quite familiar to the ones Sol had perused not so long ago.

  “Come in,” a croaking, bruised voice harrowed from upstairs. Sol did as he was told, carefully surveying the stairs for possible traps or ambushes. Then he entered what seemed to be the master bedroom at the center of the upper floor. The pale floor creaked as he entered a much friendlier room. Light blue color lifted the mood as spiked metal candle holders made way for charming water lamps carrying glowing stones.

  A soothing feeling spread throughout his body. At first, he tensed, then dropped his guard as it seemed to actually soothe his sore muscles, not mute his senses or induce sleep.

  Around the corner, he found the current owner of the estate, aiming a small crossbow at him.

  “Ah, Nyx’Sol.” The weapon was quickly discarded, and the bed’s occupant relaxed. His face was twisted and bruised, deep cuts ran through his face and disappeared into his hairline. Swelling contorted his appearance, and his face was not the worst of it. Several soaked bandages lay next to the bed, revealing a serious amount of blood loss. The new ones had not fared much better, already showcasing a hint of red trickling through them.

  The patient continued with a hint of relief in his voice. “I assume you must have heard about what happened. I am glad to know that—” He spat blood into a cup nearby. “I apologize, the regrowing teeth are opening the wounds again.”

  Sol sat down in a chair that held no bandages, his expression mortified. He did not know what to say. The body on the bed was riddled with injuries and told a grim story. This was not a beating. This was not a mere assault. He had been tortured. For over an hour, they had tortured him.

  Rage pulsed in his veins, and bloodlust came to him as he watched the victim try to cleanse his mouth of a fresh stream of blood before speaking to him. This time, it was his own emotions. This was not how initiates of the same sect should interact with one another.

  “Sorry, give me a minute.” The patient nodded appreciatively as Nyx handed him a fresh cup of water.

  Maybe Nyx had a na?ve view of what a sect should be, but to him, it meant being part of a group that sought to better one another - a family that helped each other, teaching through love and conflict how to become something… more. He had not hated his conflicts with the Spear Saint Mountain group. No, he had rather enjoyed learning from them, even if it meant struggling.

  But outnumbering someone to inflict such injuries needlessly, in an effort to make them lose face? To humiliate them and strengthen one's own position? That went against everything he thought a sect should stand for.

  “Ah, it stopped bleeding, finally.” Nox’Rictus put the cup down and gave Nyx a bloody smile. “I was concerned that they might get to you as well. I apologize for pulling you into this. I should not have.”

  Nyx did not answer. Instead, he met his eyes.

  “What is it?” Rictus asked him seriously.

  Nyx was unsure. “I had only heard what happened, not who was attacked. And I only stumbled into the estate by accident. I was searching for—”

  “The young master? This is his estate. He ordered me to rest here and had one of the medically gifted initiates come see me. Well, bandages and such. No techniques, but still.” He smiled through his bruised face. It was barely visible. “Do not make such a long face. Such things happen. Overcoming pain is a virtue for a cultivator.”

  “Why do you—” Nyx began, but was promptly interrupted by Rictus.

  “What did you mean by ‘accidentally’?” he probed.

  Nyx was shaken out of his thoughts. This might at least cheer Rictus up a bit. “I provoked two Spear Saint Mountain members into attacking me. One I lost in the bigger estate up the hill, and the other I managed to lose here when your guest left just now.”

  As he leaned back into the bed, the bruised swellings of the Aurelius Vox branch family member shifted. Was that a frown? Anger? Or just a thoughtful face?

  “While I am appreciative of the outcome of your actions, I do not condone aiding the Aurelius Vox Clan without our express permission. Unless you are asked to join hands with us by the young master, I ask you to stay out of it.”

  Nyx could not understand why it was so important for them to act so formally, so composed and distant. Was it not better for him to simply help? He disapproved of how the group tried to control territory and housing, but he did not mind the conflict. Rax’Rathos and Nox’Rictus were targeted, so why would they not work together?

  So, he pretended to understand and respect their wishes, even if he disagreed with them. “I did not mean to cause offense. May I ask a question?”

  Rictus adjusted himself to sit more upright. “How could the Aurelius Vox be offended by a mere child?” He waved his hands dismissively. “What is your question, Nyx’Sol?”

  The comment stung a bit, but Nyx gladly accepted the little jab if it meant giving them some face. He was, after all, just a lone cultivator initiate without a family connection. Since he had recounted his ‘help’ to Rictus, the demon had taken a more formal position, clearly having realized that his personal friendliness toward Nyx may have suggested a more official position with his clan.

  ‘You are not our ally.’ It was clear.

  Still, it bothered him. Why? “Why did you not fight back?” It burst out of him, unable to understand what could possess someone to passively accept an hour-long torture without defending himself.

  The left side of Rictus’s face rose. “Could the sun decide not to rise one day?” he challenged.

  “Do you equate defending yourself with the sun not rising? What does that have to do with it?” Nyx asked, perplexed.

  The boy spoke with severe reverence and a firm, stone-cold voice. "Nyx’Sol, I am Nox’Rictus and a scion of the Hestáia that belongs to the Aurelius Vox. The young lord has ordered me not to fight, and I heed his command. The sun would sooner never rise again than bear witness to Hestáia disobedience.”