Meng Hao's Hex of Binding caught two of the shadow assassins, pinning them in place as the swordsman drove his blade through their immobilized forms. Two enemies down. Three remained.

But the Hex had a cost. The backlash hit Meng Hao's meridians like a hammer blow, doubling his vision and sending blood streaming from both nostrils. His cracked foundation groaned under the strain.

'Again,' the swordsman said, parrying a shadow blade that emerged from the darkness at Meng Hao's left.

'Can't,' Meng Hao gasped. 'Not yet.'

The Blood Immortal technique pulsed in his storage pouch, hotter now, more insistent. He could feel its hunger — the demonic arts reaching out toward the spiritual energy dissipating from the two dead assassins. He could absorb that energy. He could replenish himself. He could survive this.

He could become a demonic cultivator.

The third assassin materialized from the river mist directly in front of him. Her blade was coated in poison — the same poison that had killed the archer. She was fast, faster than Meng Hao, her cultivation at Foundation Establishment Level Six.

Meng Hao didn't reach for the Blood Immortal technique. He reached for something older — the basic Reliance Sect Spirit Palm, the technique every Outer Sect disciple learned on their first day.

The assassin clearly expected something more sophisticated. When Meng Hao's palm strike connected with her chest, she staggered more from surprise than impact — which gave the swordsman time to drive his blade through her guard.

'You used a beginner's technique,' the swordsman said.

'It worked.'

'It shouldn't have.'

'Beginner's techniques work on people who've forgotten them.'

The remaining two assassins retreated into the shadow-trees. The river grew quiet. Meng Hao and the swordsman stood alone among five bodies — four enemies and one comrade.

'We're alive,' the swordsman said. It sounded almost like an accusation.