Chapter Four: Drawing In

That aged voice hesitated for a moment, then sighed deeply, “I truly don’t know what to make of you… A reckless youth like you may indeed possess the makings of one who can achieve great things, but such lives are often cut short—among a hundred, not even one lasts to the end! Enough of that… Do you still remember what I told you two years ago?”

“What did you say?” Ye Xin asked.

The old voice chuckled, “With a memory like that, you still dare boast of your peerless wit?!”

“You buzz in my ear every single day—how am I supposed to know what you’re referring to?” Ye Xin replied helplessly.

“I possess a divine power, one that specializes in drawing forth and absorbing the force of primordial souls. With my help, as long as you’re willing to endure hardship and devote yourself to cultivation, you are destined to reach the pinnacle!” the aged voice intoned slowly.

“I remember.” Ye Xin walked to the corpse of the Poison Widow, searching her for spoils as he spoke. “But… it’s been two years and I’ve never succeeded. I thought you were simply boasting nonsense.”

“Hmph! I thought you were just hopelessly untalented!” the old voice retorted. “But now you’ve absorbed the Poison Widow’s primordial soul. Why not try out her life-bound technique?”

Ye Xin paused. Among all cultivators in this world—including the lesser-ranked Martial Adepts and the Innate Martialists—every path of cultivation centers on one’s own life-bound technique. Advancement in rank does not necessarily equate to greater power; if one’s life-bound technique is weak, there are countless instances where even a master cultivator of the highest level has fallen to the blade of an ordinary warrior.

Innate Martialists are divided into three martial ranks: junior, intermediate, and senior. The martial rank denotes the vast differences in strength, speed, defense, and reaction that come with one’s level of progress. However, due to the existence of life-bound techniques, such gaps are not impossible to bridge.

A junior Innate Martialist who forges his own life-bound technique is called a King of Arms. Intermediates are known as Generals, and seniors are Pillars of the Nation—the very foundation of their realm.

Whether one can forge a life-bound technique depends entirely upon talent and resources. Talent is innate; resources refer to one’s investments and efforts. Among a hundred junior Innate Martialists, fewer than ten will possess a life-bound technique. At the intermediate and senior levels, the number rises, for power brings wealth, but those unable to forge a life-bound technique generally lack the necessary talent, a thing that cannot be changed.

A life-bound technique, after thousands upon thousands of uses and refinements, may evolve into a Killing Move; above Killing Moves are Unique Arts, and above those, Sacred Arts.

A senior Innate Martialist who forges his Killing Move becomes an Upper Pillar of the Nation—one who has undergone a profound transformation. Such a warrior can face several, even a dozen, foes of equal rank at once. For example, Marshal Xiao Demonfinger of the Great Summoning Kingdom in the southern ancient forests, a pinnacle Innate Martialist with a Killing Move, single-handedly assassinated seven top generals of the Great Wei Kingdom, forcing Grand Commander Ye Guanhai of the Sirius Army to abandon his plans to seize the capital and make peace instead. That battle transformed the unknown Xiao Demonfinger into a national hero.

As for Unique Arts, they are so rare as to be legendary; the term “unique” implies something unseen before or after. A cultivator who can forge a Unique Art would not linger in any minor principality. Sacred Arts exist only in myth.

For most warriors, to possess a single life-bound technique is already a stroke of fortune; to have two marks one as a prodigy, such as the ill-fated Poison Widow.

To wield three, four, or even more, is to become a treasure for whom all the great powers would fight desperately.

Ye Xin knew well that Divine Power ranked above Sacred Arts—the ultimate ability. He’d never truly believed the old man’s claim that it could seize another’s soul and make their powers his own, but he’d persisted over the past two years partly because he had no other choice, and partly thanks to his extraordinary will. The path to the summit was glorious—he would risk anything for even the slightest hope.

Today, he had succeeded in absorbing the Poison Widow’s life-bound technique. The excitement surging within him defied words, but his nature was always deep and restrained, his emotions never revealed. The old man sensed nothing of his elation, so had to bring up the past, hoping to remind Ye Xin of what he had gained.

“A life-bound technique is not something to test lightly.” Ye Xin hung the spoils taken from the Poison Widow and Fei Chuan at his waist, then dragged Fei Chuan’s corpse over, pried open the corpse’s stiffening hand, and took hold of his spear. “Aren’t there a few targets outside?”

With that, Ye Xin turned and walked out. His judgment had been correct: to prevent word from spreading and to avoid the ruthless revenge of the Poison Widow’s backers, Fei Chuan had ordered that, no matter what happened tonight, no one was allowed near his residence.

Outside, a few guards were still chatting. Fei Chuan had always fancied himself a master strategist, and the warriors of Dragon Mouth Hall had unshakable faith in him; none thought misfortune would befall him.

It was only when Ye Xin pushed open the courtyard gate and emerged—not Fei Chuan, but the youth in black robes—that the guards were startled. By then, it was too late to react.

A thread of black light flashed from behind Ye Xin. It seemed a single strike, but in truth, the Soul-Sealing Thorn had already pierced three directions in succession. Its speed was such that the traces of its attack were swallowed by the darkness, or rather, the guards lacked the strength to perceive it.

Three guards were shot through the forehead by black light almost simultaneously—blood spraying—while Ye Xin’s face turned ghostly pale. Employing a life-bound technique required vital energy; the more power exerted, the greater the cost. The Poison Widow, after years of cultivating the Soul-Sealing Thorn, could release only three or four strikes in succession before needing long rest. Ye Xin’s three instant strikes pushed him to the limit, but this was precisely why he had done it: to gauge the Soul-Sealing Thorn’s true edge.

The next moment, Ye Xin’s fist drove into the last guard’s chest, the force bursting through his body and blasting a cloud of blood behind him.

Moving on, Ye Xin strode out through the Dragon Mouth Hall’s lantern-lit gates. Two warriors stood outside; seeing Ye Xin, they hurried to greet him obsequiously. One, recognizing him, forced a smile, “You’re leaving, sir…” but he trailed off, nose twitching at a sudden, ominous scent of blood.

A fist flew toward him—the last thing he ever saw.

With a heavy thud, the warrior was sent flying a dozen yards, slamming into the wall like a ragged ball. The other barely moved before Ye Xin’s hand struck his neck. The sickening crack of bone echoed; the warrior crumpled like a limp sack, his neck grotesquely twisted.

Ye Xin leapt onto the carriage, turned it about, and sped down the street.

“What you’ve done is useless. Fei Qi will still find you,” the old voice sounded again.

“I know,” Ye Xin replied coolly. “But there’s a world of difference between hunting the true culprit and tracking an accomplice. At most, Fei Qi will think I aided the Poison Widow and betrayed Fei Chuan.”

The carriage sped through the streets of Tianyuan City, and soon left it behind, vanishing into endless darkness.

“In the end, won’t it come to the same?” the old voice asked.

“Of course not,” Ye Xin replied. “If I were the mastermind, Fei Qi would stop at nothing for revenge. As an accomplice, he’ll try a few times, but if I make it troublesome enough, he’ll back off and wait for another chance. Besides, he has to contend with the Poison Widow’s people—he can’t spare too much effort for me.”

The old voice was silent for a long time, then suddenly asked, “How old are you, really?”

“We’ve been inseparable these last two years. Don’t you know?” Ye Xin laughed.

“Your body is young, but your conduct…” the old voice paused, then shifted, “You promised that if I proved my divine power, you’d tell me your origins. It’s been two years. All I know is your name: Black Robe…”

“When you entered my vital palace, I was called Black Robe, so Black Robe I have remained,” Ye Xin replied.

“I want to know where you come from,” the old voice said. “I don’t know why, but I feel increasingly uneasy about you!”

For a brief instant, Ye Xin’s eyes grew profoundly solemn, but his expression soon relaxed into nonchalance. “I thought you could read my thoughts anytime you pleased from within my vital palace. Seems I was mistaken… Otherwise you wouldn’t keep asking such foolish questions.”

“You’re calling me foolish?” the old voice was clearly annoyed.

“Haha…” Ye Xin laughed off the rebuke, then said, “All right, I’ll be honest. My name is Ye Xin. Before I turned one, the old man never gave me a name. When the time came for the ritual, I grabbed his marshal’s seal and wouldn’t let go, biting anyone who tried to take it. The old man laughed and said I was young in years but great in ambition, so he named me Xin—meaning ambition. Ye Xin.”

“Ye Xin? Marshal’s seal? The Ye family?” The old voice seemed to realize something and exclaimed, “You’re Ye Xin, direct heir of Ye Guanhai, commander of the Sirius Army?!”

“That’s me,” Ye Xin answered lazily.

“But that can’t be…” The old voice was even more astonished. “That can’t be! I heard Ye Xin, heir of Ye Guanhai, is the most notorious wastrel in Nine Cauldrons City—always causing trouble and committing every misdeed, to the point that the people of Great Wei lament that the Ye family’s noble line has produced only a dog of a son! I also heard… When Ye Xin was fourteen, he tried to rape Sovereign Ironheart’s beloved seventh princess, enraging the king so much he sent Ye Xin to the Camp of the Condemned, regardless of the Ye family’s honor… But you, you’re deep, ruthless, calculating—attempt to rape the seventh princess? What a joke… I daresay, if that princess lay naked in your bed, you’d show no interest! In these two years you’ve had countless chances, but I’ve never seen you display even a hint of lust!”

“You seem to know quite a bit,” Ye Xin replied lightly.