The courtyard of the Rising Stone Sect was in chaos.
Disciples gathered in clusters, their voices overlapping in frantic murmurs. Some looked around anxiously, while others paced back and forth, gripping their robes with uneasy hands. The tension in the air was thick, suffocating.
"They've been missing since last night!" one disciple exclaimed, his voice laced with worry.
"Not just missing! They never returned from the market! I heard someone found a bloodstain along the forest path," another added, his face pale.
"This isn't normal. Did they desert? Or—"
"Don't be stupid! Who would desert the Rising Stone Sect just like that? Something happened to them."
A wave of unease spread through the crowd. A missing disciple was one thing—but two at the same time? And with no sign of struggle near the sect? It didn't make sense.
"But where's Senior Sister Salma?" someone suddenly asked.
The question cut through the noise, and the courtyard fell into a brief silence.
Indeed, Salma was nowhere to be seen. It was unlike her to avoid a situation like this—especially when it involved her own fellow disciples.
"Maybe she already knows something…"
"Or maybe she doesn't care."
The murmurs picked up again, this time with suspicion creeping into their voices. Whatever was happening, the sect was shaken.
---
Meanwhile, deep within the sect, behind thick wooden doors, the council hall was heavy with a different kind of tension.
Elders sat in a semi-circle, their faces grim, while Patriarch Weh stood at the center, his expression unreadable. Candles flickered against the lacquered wood of the chamber, casting eerie shadows on the walls.
"Two of our disciples are missing, and you tell me there are no clues?" Weh's voice was calm, but the weight behind it made even the most senior elders uneasy.
An elder with a long white beard cleared his throat. "Patriarch, we have already sent out search parties, but as of now, there is no trace of them."
Another elder, one with sharp features, spoke up. "There was a bloodstain found in the forest near the narrow passageway to the market. If something happened to them… we must prepare for retaliation. The last thing we need is another sect accusing us of harming our own."
The chamber was thick with tension as Patriarch Weh's voice echoed through the dimly lit room.
"This story must not go outside the sect," he declared, his eyes scanning the elders with sharp authority. "Not with Scale Dalgona approaching. A scandal of this magnitude will harm our reputation. Until we uncover the truth, this news must be pressed down and contained. We must be the first to know what happened."
The elders exchanged uneasy glances. The sudden disappearance of their own disciples was alarming enough, but the idea of deliberately suppressing the truth? That made their stomachs churn with a deeper, unspoken fear.
"Then… what are we supposed to do?" one elder hesitated before asking.
"Tell the disciples that it is forbidden to discuss this matter." Weh's voice was unwavering. "Let it be known that those two were sent on a critical mission—under my direct decree."
Some elders shifted uncomfortably. A lie of this scale could only hold for so long, and if the truth ever surfaced, the consequences would be catastrophic.
But fear was a powerful weapon. Fear of Weh's authority. Fear of the sect's crumbling reputation. And, most of all, fear of what this truly meant for the Rising Stone Sect.
Could this be the start of something more sinister?
They had no answers. Not yet.
Patriarch Weh slowly stood, his presence towering over the council. His next words were cold, calculated.
"Do not burden our most prized disciple with this nonsense."
"Salma?" one elder murmured.
"Yes," Weh nodded. "Where is she?"
"She is cultivating, Patriarch."
Weh's expression softened slightly, nodding in approval. "Yes. By the time of Scale Dalgona, she will have peaked the Body Tempering Realm."
"Indeed," Elder Faiz confirmed. "As we speak, she is approaching that threshold."
A slow, satisfied grin crept onto Weh's face. "Good… good."
Then, his expression hardened once more. "Do not disturb her. Anyone who dares to do so will face the greatest punishment under our sect law."
His warning sent a shiver down the spines of the council members.
---
Days passed, and Kazel was immersed in his training. His movements were precise, each strike and stance textbook perfect, but his mind was elsewhere. His focus wasn't on his form, nor the sensation of his muscles strengthening with each repetition.
His mind was in the marketplace, where the voices of the people painted a picture more vivid than any report.
"The Rising Stone Sect's really put a tight leash on visitors these days."
"I tried to go up the mountain yesterday—strict regulations like I've never seen before!"
"They're probably just keeping their training a secret. Scale Dalgona's coming up, after all."
Most of them accepted the Rising Stone Sect's silence as normal. A mere precaution to keep their competitors blind to their techniques.
But Kazel knew better.
(They're afraid.)
The Rising Stone Sect was moving in response to what had happened. This wasn't about training. This was about containment.
Kazel smirked, throwing a final punch before stretching his shoulders.
(They're scrambling… and they should be.)
Kazel found his father outside their home, practicing slow yet precise sword forms. Without a word, Kazel grabbed his own weapon and stepped forward, tilting his head in invitation.
"Hmm?" Noel smirked, adjusting his stance. "In the mood for a light spar?"
Kazel nodded. He lunged first, his sword slicing through the air, but Noel turned effortlessly, meeting his strike with a clean parry.
As their blades clashed, Kazel spoke, his tone casual but his words sharp.
"Father, do you think we still have a good relationship with the Rising Stone Sect?"
Noel raised an eyebrow at the unexpected question, deflecting another attack before countering with a thrust.
"Hmm? Why do you ask?"
Kazel dodged, weaving around the strike. "Have you ever considered the possibility that my Soul Rot wasn't randomly inflicted?"
Noel's brows furrowed. His grip on his sword tightened. "Huh? You mean…?"
Kazel pressed forward, letting his father redirect his attack, sending his blade flying into the air. It spun, flashing under the sunlight before embedding itself into the dirt.
Instead of rushing to retrieve it, Kazel turned slowly, watching the fallen weapon.
"Do you think it's just a coincidence, Father?" His voice was calm—too calm. "Because I think I was what you'd call a planned death."
The words hit like a hammer, heavier than any of their strikes.
Noel inhaled deeply. He glanced at Kazel, eyes searching for something—doubt, hesitation—but he found only certainty.
"The truth is…" Noel exhaled. "I've had my doubts."
Kazel finally stepped forward, retrieving his sword.
"But your mother would never approve of such thinking. She believes in people far too easily." Noel's expression darkened. "But what is it, Kazel? Do you know something?"
Kazel met his father's gaze, lifting his blade once more. "I do."
Noel stepped back and let out a long sigh. Then, suddenly, he turned toward the house.
"Lana! I'll be going to the Immortal Sect with Kazel!"
A voice rang out from inside. "Be back before dinner!"
"If I'm not?"
"Then you'll be eating the wok!"
Noel chuckled. "Got it!"
Then, with a nod at Kazel, he gestured toward the road.
"Let's go."
---
Kazel and Noel stood in their usual spot inside the Immortal Sect, the silence between them heavier than ever before.
Kazel didn't waste time. With a flick of his wrist, he lobbed a small pouch toward his father.
"Do you remember Old Fu's most recent visit?" he asked.
Noel caught the pouch and pulled it open. Inside were small, round pills—familiar ones.
His brows knitted together. "These… these pills look familiar."
Kazel's gaze was sharp, cutting through Noel's hesitation like a blade.
"As familiar as the ones you and Mother fed me with?"
The words hit like a hammer. Noel's breath hitched, his grip tightening around the pouch.
"Yeah… No…" His voice wavered. (No. That couldn't be. It couldn't be.)
His heartbeat thundered in his ears, his chest tightening as a chilling realization crawled up his spine.
"Don't tell me…"
Kazel's face darkened, his next words falling like a guillotine.
"I visited an alchemist, one recommended by Old Pao," he said, his voice laced with cold anger. "And do you know what he confirmed, Father?"
Noel didn't answer.
"It's none other than a Soul Rot-inducing pill—a poison sold only in the black market. Periodic consumption of these pills initiates Soul Rot."
A sharp gasp left Noel's lips. His knees buckled.
He fell.
Right onto the ground, his trembling hands clutching the pouch as if it burned him.
His chest heaved, his shoulders shook.
His own two hands had fed his own son poison.
His breath came in ragged, his fingers digging into his palms so hard they turned white. Tears began slipping down his face, dripping onto the cold floor beneath him.
Kazel stood still, watching his father tremble—a rare sight for a man as strong as Noel.