The weapon appeared in a flash of vibrant purple light, its shaft gleaming with sinister energy, almost as tall as the boy who wielded it. The spear seemed to pulse with a life of its own, a dark aura radiating from its sharpened point. The boy, obscured by a hood, gave Yao Yuxuan a toothy grin, a smile that was equal parts childlike and malevolent, sending a chill down Yao Yuxuan's spine.
Within seconds, the two were in the midst of heated combat, their weapons clashing with a ferocity that belied the youth of Yao Yuxuan's opponent. The air around them crackled with tension, the force of their strikes causing the very atmosphere to tremble. The sound of steel against steel echoed through the desolate landscape, a harsh, metallic symphony that mingled with the howl of the wind. Snow swirled around them, whipped into a frenzy by their movements, the flakes catching the light and glittering like tiny shards of glass, transforming the battlefield into a sparkling, deadly arena.
To both of their surprise, they were evenly matched. Yao Yuxuan's swordsmanship was flawless, honed through years of rigorous training, each movement a testament to his discipline and skill. His blade was an extension of himself, cutting through the air with deadly precision.
But the boy's agility and raw power were beyond anything Yao Yuxuan had ever encountered. The child moved with a speed and ferocity that seemed impossible for someone so young, his spear a blur of motion as he attacked with relentless force. Any reservations Yao Yuxuan had about fighting a child quickly evaporated as the boy's spear nearly skewered him on several occasions, the sharp tip grazing his skin and drawing blood—the domineering power of the young man before him began to swallow him whole. Yao Yuxuan realized that this was no ordinary opponent. This was a demon in the form of a child, a creature of unfathomable strength and malice.
The two danced together in the snowstorm, their movements fluid and deadly, a macabre ballet of life and death. Each step they took was deliberate and calculated as they moved in perfect synchronization, their weapons clashing with a force that sent shockwaves through the ground beneath them. The pure, untouched snow beneath their feet was soon stained red with blood, starkly contrasting the silver landscape. The evidence of their brutal struggle now marred the once pristine blanket of white. For hours, they fought, neither willing to give an inch; their souls poured into each strike, each parry.
They fought on, their breath coming in ragged gasps, each exhale a puff of mist in the frigid air. Their bodies were pushed to the limit, muscles aching, lungs burning, but they refused to yield. It was a battle of attrition, a test of endurance as much as skill, and neither was willing to be the first to fall.
Yao Yuxuan's arms trembled with the effort of holding his sword, the blade now heavy in his hands, his vision blurred by the blood dripping into his eyes from a deep gash on his forehead. The blood mixed with sweat, stinging his eyes and making it difficult to see, but he forced himself to keep going, to keep fighting. Across from him, the boy was in a similar state, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath, his youthful face smeared with blood and dirt. His eyes, once bright with confidence, were now dull with exhaustion.
Finally, as if in response to some unspoken signal, the child collapsed to his knees, the spear slipping from his grasp and clattering to the ground with a dull thud. The sound echoed in the stillness, a final note in the battle symphony. Yao Yuxuan quickly followed suit, his legs stretching beneath him as he sank to the snow-covered earth. The cold, wet snow soaked through his clothes, but he hardly noticed, his mind too numb from the fight. They were both bleeding profusely from numerous wounds, their clothes soaked through with blood, their breaths shallow and ragged. The cold was a distant memory, drowned out by the pain that consumed them both. It was a miracle that either of them was still alive.
If they continued any longer, Yao Yuxuan knew the barrier would have also shattered. It was a minor miracle that it had held out as long as it did, given the intensity of the battle. But now, as he lay in the snow, his body wracked with pain, he knew that the fight had taken everything from him.
The kid broke into hysterical and crazed laughter, the sound jarring in the stillness of the early morning. It was a laugh that seemed to come from deep within, filled with a madness that sent a shiver down Yao Yuxuan's spine. The force of his laughter caused his hood to fall off, revealing a head of healthy, thick hair. The roots near his scalp were a pale white, which faded into deep black by the time it reached the ends, a strange, unnatural gradient that marked him as something otherworldly.
Though still youthful, his face was smeared with blood, the red stark against his pale skin, and his small shoulders trembled with uncontrolled mirth. Each heave urged another wave of blood to seep from his wounds, but the boy didn't seem to care.
Yao Yuxuan stared at the demented figure before him, a mix of exhaustion and disbelief written across his features. He had fought many battles in his life, but never had he encountered someone like this. The boy was a contradiction, a being of immense power and still a child in many ways. The sheer madness in his laughter was unsettling, and Yao Yuxuan wondered what kind of life could have created such a creature.
He was in an equally terrible state, his body trembling with the effort of staying conscious. His limbs felt like lead, his vision was swimming, and the pain in his chest was a constant, throbbing ache. He had earned his one and only scar that day—a deep stab wound that had shattered his sternum and cracked most of his ribs. The pain was excruciating, a dull throb that resonated through his entire being, but he forced himself to remain still, not wanting to show any weakness in front of his opponent. He couldn't afford to let the boy see how close to the edge he was.
"Finally," the child muttered beneath his breath, his voice barely audible over the wind. "I found an equal." The words were spoken with a strange mixture of satisfaction and weariness, as if the boy had been searching for this moment for a long time. His tone had a darkness and a depth of emotion that Yao Yuxuan couldn't fully comprehend.
Yao Yuxuan hadn't heard the words the kid had said that day, the sound of the wind and his own labored breathing drowning them out. He hadn't gotten the chance to ask, either—because as swiftly as he had appeared, the snowstorm's wind seemed to carry the boy away. One moment, he was there, kneeling in the snow, and the next, he vanished into the storm as if he had never existed. Yao Yuxuan blinked, his vision swimming as he struggled to comprehend what had just happened. When he looked up to see if the child had spoken, he was nowhere to be seen. The battlefield was empty; the only evidence of their fight was the blood-stained snow.
That was the beginning of the Snowfall Assassin's reign of atrocities.
The memory faded, the edges of the vision blurring as Yao Yuxuan's mind was dragged back to the present. The pain that had been a dull throb in the background of his consciousness flared up again, sharper than before, and he groaned, his body twitching involuntarily. The world around him was a haze of darkness and light, a dreamscape where reality and memory bled together, leaving him disoriented and vulnerable.
His body was betraying him, the darkness at the edges of his vision closing in with each passing moment. But even as he sank deeper into unconsciousness, one thought remained, burning brightly in the depths of his mind. He would not be a slave to this demon. He would find a way to escape, to free himself from this torment, or he would die trying. The thought was a lifeline, a flicker of defiance in the overwhelming tide of pain and despair that threatened to consume him.
Yao Yuxuan's mind once again surrendered to the darkness, his body going limp as unconsciousness claimed him. His last conscious breath was a shallow, ragged gasp, his body too battered to continue fighting.
The Snowfall Assassin looked down at the unconscious cultivator with a cold smile, his eyes gleaming with dark intent. The expression on his face was one of cruel satisfaction, as if he were savoring the victory he had won. Yao Yuxuan's defiance amused him, but it would not save him. The demon lord knew that the cultivator was stronger than most, but in the end, it wouldn't matter.
With that, Snowfall settled back in his seat, his gaze shifting to what was becoming a snowy landscape outside. A storm was growing more substantial, the wind howling like a beast in the night, but the demon lord was unconcerned. The cold did not touch him, nor did the snow that whipped against the sides of the palanquin. He was in his element, a being of darkness and cold, and this journey was just another step in his grand design.
The demon lord's thoughts were unreadable, his plans known only to him, but there was a certainty in his gaze, a certainty that he would succeed in whatever cruel game he was playing.
Yao Yuxuan remained unconscious, his body limp and unresponsive, a prisoner to his own mind. The pain that had wracked his body was now a distant memory, replaced by the numbing cold that seeped into his bones. His breath came in slow, shallow bursts, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of the palanquin's movement.
For now, the snow continued to fall, covering the world in a shroud of white that hid the darkness lurking just beneath the surface. And in the silence of that snowy wasteland, the only sound that could be heard was the faint, steady breathing of the unconscious warrior, lying helpless in the grasp of his captor.