The air crackled with tension, thick with the smell of smoke, blood, and the lingering ozone scent of the Fiery Tiger Palm. Riu Xian stood amidst the carnage, his crimson sword dripping with a mixture of spiritual energy and the blood of the fallen rogues. His chest heaved, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The spectral tiger had vanished, leaving behind an echoing silence that was almost as deafening as the roar itself.

Before him stood Fang De, the leader of the rogue cultivators, a cruel smile etched on his scarred face. He raised his wicked-looking saber, its dark energy swirling around it like a living shadow. "You're stronger than you look, little rat," he acknowledged, his voice a low growl. "But you're still just a rat. And I am the exterminator." His earlier words about finishing him quickly and going to the women in his camp echoed in Riu Xian's mind, fueling his anger.

Riu Xian didn't reply. His eyes, blazing with a cold fury, were locked on Fang De. The battle with the Qi Gathering rogues had been a release, a brutal outlet for his pent-up rage. But it had also been a warning. He had almost lost himself in the violence, the darkness of his Murim past threatening to resurface. He needed to control his anger, channel it, or it would consume him.

Fang De’s saber flashed. A villager’s head tumbled to the ground, eyes wide in shock. Blood sprayed, painting the dirt crimson.

Riu Xian’s vision turned red.

He moved before he could think, his crimson sword screaming as it clashed against Fang De’s saber. The rogue leader grinned, his blade oozing black mist that hissed like acid.

“You’re too slow, sect rat,” Fang De sneered, twisting his saber to lock Riu’s blade.

Riu Xian gritted his teeth, his muscles straining. Even though he was now a late-stage Foundation Establishment cultivator and Fang De was only at the mid-stage, the rogue leader's combat experience was evident. He moved with a fluidity and precision that Riu Xian, despite his training in the sect and his time in the Murim world, couldn't match. Every block, every parry, every thrust from Fang De was calculated, aimed at exploiting Riu Xian's weaknesses.

He kicked Fang De in the chest, sending him stumbling back.

“First stage: Draconian Sword!” Riu Xian shouted, his blade glowing with a faint golden light. He slashed downward, the air rippling as a wave of precise, concentrated energy surged toward Fang De.

The rogue leader raised his saber, the black mist forming a shield. The energy crashed against it, scattering into sparks. Fang De laughed, but the sound died as Riu Xian’s left palm slammed into the ground.

“Fiery Tiger Palm!”

The earth exploded. Flames erupted in a roaring wave, swallowing Fang De. The rogue leader screamed, his robes catching fire as he scrambled backward.

But the other rogues were already moving.

They swarmed Riu Xian, crude weapons swinging. He parried a spear, sidestepped a dagger, but a club grazed his ribs. Pain flared, a sharp, burning sensation that made him stagger. He hissed in pain, his hand going to his side. He couldn't afford to be careless, not here, not now.

Fang De, still smoldering, saw his chance. He lunged, saber aimed at Riu Xian’s throat.

A rock struck Fang De’s temple.

The rogue leader froze, blood trickling down his face. He turned, his eyes locking onto the boy from the hut. The kid stood trembling, another rock in his hand.

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“You little—” Fang De snarled, swinging his saber.

The boy ducked, but not fast enough. The black mist from the blade lashed out, slicing through the air. The kid screamed, clutching his arm, blood gushing from a deep wound. His severed hand lay on the ground a few feet away, fingers still twitching.

Riu Xian’s rage exploded.

“First stage: Draconian Sword!” he roared, his blade glowing brighter than ever. He channeled his fury into his left palm, the air around it shimmering with heat.

“Fiery Tiger Palm!”

He slammed his palm onto the flat of his sword. The blade erupted in flames, a spectral tiger roaring as it surged forward. The attack tore through the rogues, bodies flying like leaves in a storm. Some died instantly, others writhed on the ground, screaming.

But the backlash hit Riu Xian too. His right hand burned, skin cracking as the fiery energy tore through it. He screamed, but didn’t stop.

Fang De, battered and bleeding, tried to raise his saber.

Riu Xian was faster.

His crimson sword sliced through Fang De’s neck like butter. The rogue leader’s head hit the ground, his expression frozen in shock.

The village fell silent, save for the crackling flames, the boy’s sobs, and Riu Xian's ragged breathing.

Riu Xian dropped to his knees, his injured hand throbbing horribly, his body trembling from exhaustion and the aftereffects of his unleashed power. He looked at the carnage, at the boy clutching his bleeding stump, and felt no victory—only a bone-deep weariness and a sickening hollowness in his stomach.

The surviving villagers began to emerge from their hiding places, their faces a mixture of relief, terror, and disbelief. The young woman he had seen earlier rushed to the injured boy, her face etched with horror as she saw the severed hand.

Riu Xian looked at his own mangled hand, then at the boy's wound. An idea, desperate but possible, sparked in his mind. He remembered the innate healing power of his Qilin bloodline, a power he had barely begun to tap. It was a long shot, and his own injuries would make it difficult, but he had to try.

Ignoring the throbbing pain in his ribs and his burned hand, he crawled towards the boy. "Don't worry," he said, his voice hoarse. "I can help."

He gently took the boy's arm, his touch surprisingly gentle despite his own pain. He then picked up the severed hand, ignoring the surge of nausea that rose in his throat. He could feel the faint, residual life force still lingering within it. If he acted quickly, there was a chance.

Channeling what little spiritual energy he had left, he focused on the Qilin's power within him, the innate ability to heal and regenerate. A faint, warm, golden light emanated from his good hand, a stark contrast to the fiery energy of the tiger palm. He carefully placed the severed hand against the bleeding stump, aligning the bones and tissues as best as he could.

The process was agonizingly slow and drained what little remained of his reserves. His own injuries screamed in protest, and his vision swam. He could feel the boy's faint pulse, feel the weak life force in the severed hand. He poured all his focus, all his will, into the healing, the golden light intensifying as he pushed his power to its limit. He was vaguely aware of the villagers watching him, their silent prayers a tangible presence in the air.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he felt a faint click, a subtle shift as the tissues began to knit together, bone to bone, nerve to nerve. The boy gasped, his eyes widening in surprise as the pain lessened.

Riu Xian slumped back, utterly spent. The golden light faded, leaving him drained and trembling. He had done it. He had reattached the boy's hand. It would take time to heal fully, and he wasn't sure if the boy would regain full use of it, but it was a miracle nonetheless, especially with such limited knowledge of healing techniques. He was no healer, but his qilin blood helped him to do the impossible.

The young woman who had been tending to the boy looked at Riu Xian, her eyes filled with a mixture of awe and gratitude. "You... you saved him," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

Riu Xian could only nod, his energy depleted. He looked around at the devastated village, the weary faces of the survivors. He had saved them from the rogues, but his mission was far from over.

"Elder Zhao," he said, his voice raspy. "I need a place to rest. To heal. My power is depleted, and this body needs time to recover." He gestured towards his burned hand, the pain a constant, throbbing reminder of the battle. "I cannot enter the secret realm in this state."

Elder Zhao, his face etched with concern, nodded understandingly. "Of course, young master. You have done more than we could ever ask. Come, there is a hut. It is untouched by the fire. Rest there. We will tend to your wounds as best we can."

"When I have recovered," Riu Xian continued, his gaze shifting towards the distant, unseen realm, "I will deal with the problem of these rogues permanently. But for now, I need seclusion. And I will need your guidance to reach the secret realm when I am ready."

Elder Zhao bowed his head. "As you command, young master. We will do as you say."