Belinda was starting to regret her decision to make this journey.

The illegitimate offspring of a member of a branch family of the influential Balar Trading Company, she had not lived her life in the supreme lap of luxury, but it was nonetheless a gilded cage. Kept alongside her mother in a well-maintained manor paid for by a stipend, her needs were seen to even if not every want of hers could be.

That kind of life had grown stale for the sixteen-year-old girl, though, and she had incessantly petitioned to be allowed to try her hand in some minor business of the company, a request that was finally indulged after many exchanged letters with her father. The small two-wagon caravan was arranged and some trusted trainee warriors were sent to man it.

Belinda wasn't left entirely to her own devices, though. Her two longtime housekeeper-guardians, Uncle Stan and Uncle Robett, were sent to direct the mission and provide its security. As initial Meridian Circulation experts, they would be more than capable of dealing with the level of threats present in this forsaken backwater.

The men had promptly stuffed her in this awful wagon, where she rarely came out during the day due to "security reasons" despite the lack of any threats in the grasslands. Belinda found little sense in this arrangement as even the oh-so-arrogantly titled Dragon's Den bandits wouldn't dare assault wagons marked with the Balar Trading Company sigil. Still, she was not given a say in the matter, and so she had to suffer on in silence.

The most comforting thought for the young woman was that at least they would get to see some civilization by around noon. The Aureate Hill trading hub was their next stop, and at their current pace they would reach it in a few hours. Finally, she might be able to have a bath like a civilized person!

There would, of course, be trading to do once they reached the town, but Belinda was content to allow her uncles to handle that business. Traveling came with a distinct lack of creature comforts, and she was running out of dresses that weren't stained with sweat from the stifling summer heat.

Belinda's fanciful imaginings were rudely interrupted when the wagon jerked to a halt. She pursed her lips and, grabbing her skirts, stood up, ready to deliver a blistering denunciation to the men for making such an uncomfortable and sudden stop.

"Protect the miss!" she heard Uncle Stan cry, a bellow that almost made her heart stop in fright. What was going on out there? What group would be so bold as to launch an assault on the Balar Trading Company's envoys in this rundown backwater? The bandits weren't so stupid, so was it some of her father's enemies?

The men shouted, a cacophony that rose as shouts turned into screams. "Devil! It's a bleedin' devil!" one particularly clear bellow came through. The wagon shook with impacts from the outside as more agonized screams echoed. Belinda crouched down and snuck to the wagon's rear, unable to handle not knowing what was going on outside. Pulling aside the cloth, she examined the scene.

She immediately regretted that decision. The outside was a scene out of a nightmare. The trainee warriors -- proud men who a day before had been proclaiming their eagerness to challenge the nearby demon forest -- were lying about in pools of their own blood. Some had finger-sized holes in their neck or forehead, while a couple of others had had limbs torn off and flung aside.

Belinda clutched at her throat as she made a valiant effort to keep her breakfast down. What kind of force could cause such carnage so quickly? Darting her gaze around, she soon caught sight of the culprit.

Holding Uncle Stan in the air with a hand clamped around his neck was a large man. Long blood-red hair flowed down his muscular back, and he was draped in crimson furs. Uncle Stan clutched at that hand, futilely trying to budge it as his legs fluttered with futile attempts to kick the man.

"Little miss," Uncle Stan wheezed, "run!"

Belinda, however, could not find the strength to. As though she were riveted to the spot, she stood and watched as her purple-faced guardian shrank, his body withering until he was nothing more than a mummy. The man tossed aside the drained corpse as though it weighed no more than some dried kindling, and turned around.

The man was not particularly handsome, although he was well-built with lean muscles. There was a strange beauty in the fluidity of his movement, a flow unlike that of any man she had before seen. If the circumstances were not so dire, she would have remained standing there, staring. But there was one thing about the man that unnerved Belinda enough to come to her senses finally.

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His eyes. They were as red as his hair, as red as that fur he wore draped over his shoulders. They were eyes that no human being should ever have, and they terrified her.

A squeak escaped her throat as she dropped from the wagon and scrambled around it, looking for someone, anyone else to save her from this crimson-eyed monster. Passing the front of the wagon, she found Uncle Robett laying on the ground, a hand clutched at his throat as blood poured through his fingers.

She screamed.

Taking a glance behind her, she saw the vermilion monster making his inexorable advance toward them. It was wholly irrational -- a man who could so quickly mow down a dozen warriors including two Meridian Circulation experts would have no trouble at all capturing her -- but she abandoned Uncle Robett to his fate and started running down the road, stumbling as she got caught in her skirts.

Fighting her mounting dread, she took another glance back. The devilish young man was lifting Uncle Robett the same way he had held Uncle Stan, and the same process of withering was occurring. With her lack of coordination, she stumbled and tumbled to the dirt, transfixed on the sight of the young man practicing his evil art on the old guardian who had helped to raise her.

As she again rose to her feet, the young man tossed aside the desiccated husk. The drained mummy broke apart as it hit the dirt, gray dust flying in the air from its collapse. Recoiling in horror, Belinda backed away.

The red-haired young man stood there, looking at her with some confusion. He made no move to come after her, instead only staring at her with those hellish red eyes of his. What was going on here?

Belinda did not take too long to contemplate this. She was not a complete idiot; if the man were momentarily dazed for some unknown reason, it would be best if she got out of here as fast as possible.

Turning around one last time and vowing never to look back, swearing to never again be discontent with her pampered lifestyle if she could manage to make it back alive from this, Belinda fled down the dirt road as fast as her feet could take her.

--------

"You idiot!" Mister Black raged at him with an uncharacteristic loss of composure, "Kill her! Now!"

Blood River was jolted out of his momentary hesitation by his mentor's strict command. Mister Black never had before demanded something of him like this, and it was a startling experience.

Sighing, he raised his right hand and materialized a Blood Arrow. The projectile shot forth, right into the back of the girl's skull, and she tumbled forward with the missile's momentum and fell, never to rise again.

He lowered his palm and turned, beginning to attend to the rest of the fallen in the caravan. They weren't much in the way of cultivation level, but after so long without that painful feeling of tempering, he actually felt relief at the grinding agony the men's blood was giving him. Maybe it could wash out the other pain he felt now, too.

"So my theory was right then, young man?" Mister Black was calmer now, the wise old mentor returned to his lofty demeanor.

"It was." River replied shortly as he bent down to drain the blood from a dying warrior. The burning sensation was not the same as the sharp one he felt from the other men, but it was still better than what he had been getting back in the forest recently.

"Young man, you do realize that was for your own good, don't you?"

River shrugged. "What harm could she have done, Mister Black? She wouldn't have even been able to reach the town until after nightfall, stuck on her own two feet. I would have gotten there long before her."

Mister Black sighed. "It doesn't matter if it took her all week to reach the town, my young, naive student. She saw you well enough to describe you. We are going to Aureate Hill to get bounties to hunt, not for you to become one yourself."

River stood and moved to another body, another searing source of blood vitality. "I don't know that it would have been a problem, would it have?"

"If you want to cut all ties with civilization and never again interact with human beings, sure," Mister Black retorted. "As it is, you look rather distinctive in a way that arouses suspicion. I don't think you want to upgrade that assessment to kill on sight. Never underestimate people just because you have a higher cultivation!"

River sighed. "You're right, of course. I'm sorry, Mister Black, I... she reminded me of someone, that's all."

"As long as you recognize the necessity, young man. Cultivation is a path of cruelty, to others and to yourself most of all," Mister Black reminded him. "You cultivate the Passion Sublimation Technique; you should discard sentiments before they become dangerous sentimentality. Otherwise, your journey will end with a crossbow bolt to the face right as you're entering a town you thought would be a safe haven."

River nodded. "Well, now we know that it's human blood I need, Mister Black," he said, changing the subject. "I guess we continue with the plan and go get some bounties at Aureate Hill?"

"First, let's look through these wagons. You can't carry it all with you, but these goods were things the Dragon's Den arranged for, so there might be some good stuff in here. If anything, we need to get you something to cover up a bit in, you're a bit too conspicuous as you are right now."

"Okay."

"Cheer up, young man!" Mister Black said encouragingly. "This is the best part of the lifestyle of a cultivator: gathering the loot!" The old man chuckled with mirth.

"I guess it is," River replied.

The devilish young man began to ransack the wagons, looking for valuables to keep. He also silently vowed to himself to remember everything this day, especially how Mister Black had made him kill that young woman.

There would, after all, be a day when River outgrew the need for a mentor.