Chapter 14: A Fathers Fight

                                    

                                          
The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the battlefield. Ruo Xuan's disciples, though tired and bloodied, had managed to hold the line, pushing the mercenaries back with fierce determination. The bandits had not expected such resistance, and now, their forces were scattered and disorganized.
But the battle was far from over.
Ruo Xuan stood at the front, his sword slick with the blood of their enemies, his senses keen and alert. He could feel the subtle shift in the air—something was wrong.
A sudden shout cut through the noise, one of the junior disciples running toward him, panic in his voice.
"Master Ruo Xuan! A group of mercenaries—they broke through the left flank! They're heading straight for the main hall!"
Ruo Xuan's expression darkened, his grip tightening on his sword hilt. The main hall held his father, the elders, and many of the injured who were being cared for after the battle began. They could not afford to lose the heart of their clan to these marauders.
Without hesitation, Ruo Xuan turned to Zhang Wei. "Hold the line here. I'll handle the ones going for the hall."
"But Master—" Zhang Wei started to protest, worry etched on his face.
"Stay here," Ruo Xuan commanded firmly. "I'll be fine."
Zhang Wei nodded, though the concern never left his eyes. Ruo Xuan wasted no more time, turning and sprinting through the chaos. His heightened senses guided him swiftly through the battlefield, dodging the lingering clashes around him. The sounds of metal clashing and battle cries faded as he moved closer to the clan's stronghold.
He could hear them—the mercenaries. Five of them, perhaps six, and their footsteps were heavy and determined as they raced toward the hall. Ruo Xuan's sharp ears picked up the clinking of their armor, the unsheathing of blades. They knew what they were after.
With a burst of speed, Ruo Xuan leaped into action, his blade cutting through the first mercenary's neck before he even realized what hit him. The others spun around, surprised by his sudden appearance.
"Stop him!" one of them barked.
But Ruo Xuan was already moving again, his sword a flash of silver in the dim light. He moved like a shadow, his senses guiding him as he ducked and dodged their attacks with ease. To them, it must have seemed impossible that a man without sight could fight with such deadly precision.
A second mercenary fell, his body crumpling to the ground with a sickening thud. The others hesitated, their confidence shaken.
"Who... who is this man?" one of them stammered, backing away.
Ruo Xuan didn't answer. He didn't need to. His blade did the talking for him, slicing through the remaining mercenaries one by one, their attacks clumsy and panicked in the face of his swift movements.
Within moments, the threat was neutralized, the last of the mercenaries lying lifeless at his feet.
Ruo Xuan stood still for a moment, listening intently. The sounds of battle had quieted, and his disciples were likely wrapping up the final skirmishes. But as his breathing slowed, his mind shifted back to the question that had been nagging him since the battle began.
Why had these mercenaries attacked with such purpose? And why did the Tian Clan have troops ready to assist so conveniently?
Something larger was at play. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach.
He quickened his pace toward the main hall, where his father and the elders were waiting. The wind seemed to carry with it the scent of blood, though he wasn't sure if it was just the remnants of the battlefield clinging to him or something far more sinister.
As he neared the hall, his sharp hearing picked up the clash of steel—a single fight, isolated from the chaos outside.
"Father..." he whispered, his heart beginning to race.
Ruo Xuan sprinted the last few steps, his senses guiding him through the entrance of the hall. The sound of clashing blades grew louder, and he could hear the strained breaths of those inside. A panicked cry from one of the elders echoed through the space.
And then, a sound that chilled him to his very core—the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the floor.
"No..." Ruo Xuan's voice was barely audible, his body already moving, racing toward the source of the sound.
He burst into the main hall just in time to hear the gurgling breath of whom he just knew was his father, the metallic scent of blood thick in the air. The mercenary stood over Ruo Jian's body, a wicked grin on his face as he crouched and yanked something from Ruo Jian's neck—a pendant, the only pendant he ever wore.
The elder members of the clan, along with several injured disciples, had tried to intervene, but Ruo Xuan's father had stepped forward, taking the fight into his own hands. And now, he lay lifeless, his blood pooling on the stone floor beneath him.
Ruo Xuan's body froze for a brief second, disbelief washing over him. His father—gone.
The mercenary turned, noticing Ruo Xuan for the first time. He smirked, dangling the stolen pendant in his hand like a trophy, the sound like a soft taunting jingle to Ruo Xuan's ears.
"Too late," the mercenary sneered, wiping the blood from his blade.
Ruo Xuan's heart thundered in his chest, a cold fury rising within him. He could feel his control slipping, the emotions he had held back for so long threatening to break free. The world around him seemed to fade, the sounds of the hall growing distant. There was only one thing he could focus on—the man who had taken his father from him.
Without a word, Ruo Xuan moved, faster than he had ever moved before. His sword was in his hand before the mercenary could even react. There was no thought, no strategy—only the raw, instinctual need for vengeance.
The mercenary lifted his sword to block, but Ruo Xuan was too fast. His blade sliced through the man's defenses, cutting deep into his side. The mercenary gasped, stumbling back, but Ruo Xuan didn't stop. He advanced, his strikes swift and relentless, each one fueled by the pain and anger that had consumed him.
The mercenary's smug grin was long gone, replaced by a look of fear as he realized the mistake he had made.
"You should have run," Ruo Xuan's voice was cold, devoid of emotion.
With a final, lethal strike, Ruo Xuan's blade pierced the mercenary's chest. The man choked on his own blood, his eyes wide with terror as he crumpled to the ground, his hand still clutching the stolen pendant.
Ruo Xuan stood over him, his breathing ragged. The hall was silent except for the soft, uneven breaths of the elders who had witnessed the entire scene.
But Ruo Xuan couldn't hear them. All he could hear was the sound of his father's final breath, the weight of his loss pressing down on him like an unbearable burden.
He bent down and pried the pendant from the mercenary's cold fingers, holding it tightly in his hand. His knuckles turned white as he clenched it, his mind racing with grief and anger.
This was no ordinary defeat. This was a message, a warning—someone had targeted his father, and now, the mercenary's nearly stolen prize was proof of that.
Ruo Xuan's heart hardened in that moment. The pain of his father's death, the helplessness of not being able to save him, and the bitter taste of vengeance had changed him. He could no longer be the leader who only sought peace. He could no longer afford to be the man he once was.
He rose to his feet, the pendant still clutched in his hand, his expression unreadable. The elders stared at him, waiting for him to speak, but Ruo Xuan said nothing. His father's blood had yet to dry on the stone floor, and the man he had been before this moment was gone.
The leader of the Ruo Clan had changed, and the world would soon know it.