As the younger brother, Flame, unleashed his palm strike, the air inside the training hall grew abruptly scorching.
The interwoven net of blade techniques shattered instantly.
"Boom… Boom…"
"Clang… Clang…"
The blade net had been destroyed.
The two swords were sent flying backward, their wielders barely managing to steady themselves. Yet their arms trembled violently, hanging limp at their sides.
They clutched the broken halves of their blades with white-knuckled grips. Their eyes were wide with disbelief, shock, and dawning terror.
They couldn't believe that their 'Blade Net Formation' had been dismantled by bare hands, no less. Fear, something they had never known before, crept into their hearts.
"Clang… Clang… Clang…"
The two swordsmen could no longer hold onto the broken blades and let them fall. Their arms from palms to elbows were utterly ruined, tendons and bones shattered. They would never wield a sword again in this lifetime.
Flame Inner Energy and Flame Palm Technique.
The Flame Inner Energy was an ancient legacy art, one that the Flame Brothers had stumbled upon unexpectedly. Though immensely powerful, mastering it was terrifyingly difficult. Only because the brothers possessed uniquely resilient physiques had they been able to train it to such an advanced level.
The Flame Palm Technique was a brutal, self-created martial art born from their own ingenuity. Since they had no compatible techniques to pair with their inner energy, they forged their own path.
Creating an original martial art was no easy feat few could accomplish it. Yet the Flame Brothers had succeeded. Their Flame Palm Technique could be considered mid-tier, but its sheer destructive power in direct combat was overwhelming. That was why, in their prime, the brothers had once dominated the martial world.
"The rumors in the martial world are wrong," one of the swordsmen muttered. "The Flame Palm Technique is not mid-tier..."
The younger Flame brother said nothing in response. He simply stood there, his massive plams dripping blood from the cuts left by the blades.
Exhaling a heated breath, he acknowledged their skill.
"Haha… Not bad. That blade technique had no openings. I had to risk breaking it head-on. If I'd faced this ten years ago, I'd have lost both my arms. Even now, it cost me." He chuckled darkly.
"Have you… elevated the Flame Palm Technique to a higher tier?" the swordsman asked weakly.
Before the younger brother could answer, the elder Flame cut in.
"Enough. The match is over. No need for further bloodshed. Out of respect for our past camaraderie, let's end it here."
His tone was final, brooking no argument.
Though the swordsmen still lived, their martial futures were over. For warriors like them, this was no different from death.
With a stiff bow, they turned and left without another word, their heads hung low.
The remaining spectators were awestruck. The legendary Flame Palm Technique had lived up to its name. Respect and reverence filled their gazes as they watched the Flame Brothers.
After a moment, the crowd dispersed, leaving the training hall. The brothers, along with Wan Jun, Gu Wei and Crimson Crows, retreated to a private chamber.
Once inside, Wan Jun whispered to a guard, who promptly left.
The younger Flame brother stared at his bloodstained sleeves, his eyes burning like embers. He wanted to tear the swordsmen apart, but for the sake of appearances, he had held back. "Next time," he vowed silently.
Soon, the guard returned, carrying two small chests. He handed them to Wan Jun, who then presented them to the Flame Brothers with deep respect.
"A humble gift, prepared especially for you, Masters."
The Flame Brothers accepted the chests with a glance and opened them.
Inside lay two sets of robes lined with crimson fur, a few accessories, and two engraved tokens.
The younger Flame brother picked up one of the robes and grinned in approval. Without hesitation, he stripped off his bloodied shirt and inspected his wounds.
Though both his arms bore deep sword cuts, he showed no sign of pain. He wiped away the blood roughly with his discarded garment, his expression unflinching.
Then—
"Hmph."
With a surge of inner energy, he flexed his arms in a martial stance. Instantly, his hands glowed red like burning embers, and the bleeding stopped. Within moments, the wounds began to close. While they didn't fully heal, the fact that the injuries sealed so quickly was unheard of. The onlookers stared in awe, their respect for the brothers deepening into something closer to fear.
Younger Flame brother donned the new robe. It matched their usual sleeveless martial attire but was far more luxurious—crafted from fine silk and lined with crimson fox fur, giving him a commanding presence. The robe fit him perfectly, as if tailored for his imposing frame.
Next, he examined the accessories armguards, shoulder plates, and other martial gear, all made from high-quality materials and similarly lined with red fur. They complemented the robe flawlessly.
"Hah! Young Master Wan, you've got quite the eye!" younger flame brother laughed. "Who'd have thought you'd prepare such finery for rough men like us? I like it!"
He strapped on the gear, and in moments, his appearance transformed into that of a formidable, dignified warrior.
Finally, he picked up the engraved token.
"This," Wan Jun explained, "will grant you anything you desire in Guangzhou—silver, wine, or… other pleasures. Consider it a token of our gratitude."
"Oh-ho! Not bad at all!" elder flame brother chuckled, tucking the token into his inner pocket.
Wan Jun beamed, pleased that his gifts had been well received.
The elder flame brother, however did not change into his new attire. Instead, he closed the chest and set it aside. His voice was calm but commanding.
"Now, recount everything that happened last night. Leave nothing out no assumptions, only facts."
At his words, Wang Jun nodded to Gu Wei, the bearded scout.
Gu Wei took a swig of wine and began recounting the previous night's raid on Li the Merchant's estate in meticulous detail.
Elder Flame Brothers listened intently, his eyes sharp. When Gu Wei finished, the elder flame brother closed his eyes, deep in thought. After a long pause, he spoke.
"Hm. That black-robed fighter is no ordinary opponent. Hard to tell if it was a man or a woman, but likely a man."
"The way they used shattered porcelain as hidden weapons resembles the Fairy's Petal Scatter technique of the Omen Sect."
"Deflecting Twin Blades' attack mirrors the Viper's Strike from the Serpent's Venom Sect."
"And dodging your barrage of hidden weapons? That aligns with the Tiger's Soaring Wings, a signature evasion art of the Flying Tiger Sect."
"Every move they used resembles a top-tier technique from a major sect. Interesting. Very interesting." Elder Flame Brother's voice grew sharper. "Who could wield such varied skills while masking their true style? They're deliberately mimicking others to hide their identity."
He stood abruptly.
"Let's go examine Number Four's wounds."
The group stood and followed the elder Flame Fist brother out of the private chamber.
Wan Jun led them to another room.
Inside, Number Four lay motionless on a bed his lower body paralyzed, his internal energy shattered, and one arm severed.
At the sight of him, the Flame Brothers' eyes burned crimson with fury.
Number Four barely looked human anymore. In such a short time, his skin had turned ashen, his body withered like scorched wood. It was clear he wouldn't last much longer.
The elder flame brother, rolled Number Four onto his stomach and examined the wound near his spine. Both brothers froze in shock.
"This…"
"This is—!"
Elder Flame Brother turned to his younger brother, voice low.
"You see it too?"
"I do," younger flame brother replied, his voice trembling slightly. "Who the hell was that black-robed fighter?"
The others Wan Jun and his men stood confused, unable to follow the Flame Brothers' exchange.
"Is there something unusual about the wound, Masters?" Wan Jun ventured.
Elder Flame Brother's gaze remained fixed on the injury as he spoke, each word deliberate.
"Unusual? Extremely. This wound… was inflicted by the 'Severed Veins, Shattered Breath' technique—a lost art of the Misfortune Sect."
"You younger generations wouldn't know of it. But in our early days, this technique was infamous. It emerged with the Misfortune Sect a century ago and vanished with them."
Wan Jun frowned. "I've heard of the Misfortune Sect. Wasn't it a faction of the disabled those missing limbs or senses?"
Elder Flame Brother smirked humorlessly. "Disabled, yes. But do you know how they became that way?"
When no one answered, he continued.
"Every member was a soldier. Warriors crippled in battle, discarded by their warlords."
"During wartime, rations were scarce. Warlords hoarded supplies for able-bodied troops. Those too wounded to fight? Given a pittance and cast aside."
"Soldiers with families could return home. But those without? They starved. Begged. Rottted in the streets."
"They'd given everything—blood, limbs, lives for empires that repaid them with nothing."
"That's when the Misfortune Sect rose. One man gathered these broken warriors, trained them in specialized martial arts. At first, the warlords ignored them. Too busy with wars to care about a 'charity' for cripples."
"But five years later… the Misfortune Sect became a nightmare."
"They raided military depots. Slaughtered warlords. Even martial sects weren't spared. Each member was a master of a unique, lethal art."
"And the most terrifying? Their leader the Sect Head. Not disabled himself, he named his style 'Misfortune Fist' because it left opponents crippled."
Elder Flame Brother tapped Number Four's wound. "This technique severs meridians and breath. No cure. He'll die soon—a true 'misfortunate'."
A chill swept through the room.
The elder Flame Brother continued his tale, his voice heavy with history.
"The Misfortune Sect numbered in the hundreds of thousands. Each warrior mastered unique martial arts. They were soldiers—brilliant tacticians. No sect or warlord could stand against them. Even as dynasties changed, their power remained."
"Rulers, busy rebuilding empires, initially tolerated them. But in the end, it took the Emperor's personal army joining forces with the martial world to eradicate them."
His fists clenched. "Of all the blood-soaked battles in martial history, none wounded our hearts like crushing the Misfortune Sect. Because every member was once a soldier who'd sacrificed for this land comrades we'd fought beside."
The room grew still as death.
"It was a war, not a battle. The Misfortune warriors didn't beg for mercy. They fought gloriously to the last man. Our alliance suffered terrible losses too."
Elder Flame Brother's eyes grew distant. "That battle... was too ugly, too painful to memorialize. Had it been against foreign enemies, poets would've composed epics. But this? No one dared record it. Remembering only brought tears for those unfortunate souls. The Emperor himself forbade speaking of it, lest history repeat."
A bitter laugh escaped him. "Afterward, wise rulers cared for wounded veterans. The empire prospered until weak successors let decay set in. Now? We're stepping into another age of ruin. Hah! But such is the wheel of time."
His voice turned jagged with sudden madness. "Why dwell on it? Do what you will! Follow your desires! What's death? What's life? Hahahaha!"
Though hardened martial artists, his listeners felt profound respect for those doomed rebels crippled warriors who'd dared challenge both warlords and the martial world.
Elder Flame Brother examined Number Four's wound again, frustration darkening his face. "That black-robed fighter…, who could they be?"
A leaden weight settled over the group. Such an enemy appearing now boded ill for their plans.
Then—
"Haha! But what better test for our Flame Palm Technique?" The elder brother threw back his head, laughing wildly. "Ten years we trained in seclusion! To cross hands with this one would be perfection!"
This was the true nature of martial artists when facing a worthy opponent, their blood boiled with excitement.
For in their world, a true rival was rarer than the finest friend.
Thus did the Flame Fist Brothers resolve: they would hunt down the black-robed warrior and clash with all their might.
End of Chapter