Xuang Xi climbed the stairs leading to the top of Tianhai’s walls, his joints popping with each step. His shoulders slumped. He sighed, wanting to slap himself for feeling so blue. Guarding this territory was a duty—and a privilege—given to him by the Emperor himself. Without the guards stationed here, who would keep the boundary formation running? Who’d keep all the monsters from breaking in? The demons from sneaking past? The spirit-beasts from charging through?

No one, that’s who, he thought, his armored boots clacking against the stairs leading up to the wall’s walkway. You’re just as important as any general, captain, or sergeant. He nodded, feeling his spine straighten, bones creaking. He glanced to his right, toward one of the closest civilizations.

The Frozenflame Sect.

Patches of snow covered for miles around, and its school was encircled by a wall of jagged icicles. In the dimming light, he could see humans like specks roaming the streets. Did the people there truly appreciate the work he was doing? Did they even comprehend his importance? Did they know what kind of threat he was holding at bay?

The Emperor does, he told himself. It didn’t matter if they didn’t. But . . . some gratitude would be nice every once and a while.

Roaring laughter caught his attention. A group of four soldiers were descending toward him, their pointed helmets missing. Their chest plates hung loose, and only one of them had on his shin guards. And Gods below, where were their spears?

“Xuang!” One of them said, his arms around his buddy’s shoulders. “That a new scar?” He and others stared intently at his face, smirking.

Xuang could feel his blood beginning to boil. He refrained from touching his lip, a cut pulsing there. But they could have been talking about the gash on his forehead, slashing through his scalp. There were marks riddling the left side of his head, where his ear used to be, but they wouldn’t be talking about that unless they were mocking him.

Xuang stopped when he reached the boys, holding his peace.

The foremost cleared his throat. “Uh . . . Where are you going?”

“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” Xuang said stiffly, back straight. They didn’t even salute me. He was their superior. A Mid Gold Core—or so they thought. He was much, much more than that. But that was a topic way beyond them. It was far too difficult for their blinded minds to comprehend the truth about their souls.

Still. They should have saluted him.

His grip on the handle of his spear tightened. The spirit inside of the weapon shuddered, lines of silver light glowing along the haft. Two glowing pinpricks appeared on the spearhead, narrowing as they watched the soldiers.

All four of the soldiers staggered back.

“Captain Kuanzhi let us go for the evening.” The soldier gave the spear an uncomfortable glance. “Said we could take a break. Go to the tavern. Play around.” He nodded. “You should come.”

“No.” He continued ascending.

They stepped out of the way, watching him go. If it was up to him, he would have demanded they stay. But the captain had the final say. Not him.

When he reached the walkway, facing the outside world, he glanced to his right. A tower rose in the distance, jutting up from the wall. It was flying a bright red, imperial flag. There were ten towers surrounding the entire territory, and it was because of them—and the soldiers who maintained them—that the people were safe. Boundary formations kept out most Gold-leveled spirits, and it was the soldiers’ job to kill those that slipped past. OF course, there were other unsavory creatures that wanted access to this place . . . .

He’d been stationed here for ten years, and only once did he have to fight a full-blown Gold Core spirit-beast from ravaging the territory. It was a tiger, with flaming fur and burning eyes. It took less than a day for his companions to take care of the issue. No one died, but a few lost their fingers, and he, his ear.

As he stepped up to the parapet overlooking the outside world, he glanced to his left, then his right again. He saw no other soldiers on duty—at least on this quadrant of the wall.

His heart was beginning to hammer, steam floating off his red skin. What did they think this was, a vacation? The world was falling apart, and all they could do was party!

Xuang huffed, looking out over the moonlit expanse.

Spirits the shape of onions danced among abandoned rice patties. Black lizard demons swam across a lake, dark spines poking from their backs. A couple of plump ghosts, each with a single eye, danced within a dark forest.

It was relatively calm tonight. Is that why everyone was gone? Did the captain know about this? Where was he?

Xuang glanced toward the tower on his far right.

Probably at the top, wasting away his life with a couple of harlots. Xuang grimaced, peeling his eyes away from the tower. Why did it feel like he was the only one who took this seriously?

If it was up to him, he would have every soldier trained and armed, ready for a full-on attack from the enemy. They would learn to respect themselves, their leaders, and the people they protected. Not treat them like toys.

The spear he was leaning against shuddered. When he looked at the pinpricks on the spearhead, he found them frowning. The unmistakable impression of sorrow radiated from the being.

“Sorry, my friend,” Xuang whispered. “You and I seem to be in this alone . . .” He marched along the walkway, thinking back to the soldiers he’d run to on his way up here. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for the boys. Like most of the people he knew, they focused only on cultivating the lower dantian . . .

As far as they were concerned, that was the only dantian one could form. How wrong they were. Xuang’s middle dantian, found within the solar plexus, pulsed quietly. His Silver Shroud kept it hidden, even from his betters. If they discovered what he’d managed to do . . .

He dropped that thought, suppressing a shiver as he continued his march along the walkway. On his left side, out in the world beyond, he heard disturbing cackles. Creatures moaned, while others howled, their cries echoing through the dark forest, and a strange zithering seemed to bounce from tree to tree.

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On his right side, in the safety of the territory, he heard distant chatter from the Frozenflame sect. Beyond that, he could see the brilliant pagoda of the School of the Rising Sun. It shimmered on a grand hill, beaming like a lighthouse. How did the people sleep with that much light?

The spirit in Xuang’s spear—Splinter was his name—vibrated, tickling his palm. “Danger . . .” He whispered to his mind. Xuang spun to face the outside world, dropping into a battle stance, spear held with both hands. His eyes darted from a group of circular, floating sprites to a shelled spirit beast. The tortoise was the size of a horse, with a long white mane. It crawled along the overgrown grass of the abandoned rice patties, dragging its heavy shell.

“Where is the danger?” Xuang whispered, searching the shadows of the forest. “I don’t see what—”

There.

A pair of red glowing eyes were watching him from between two trees, bobbing up and down as they drew closer. When the creature hobbled out into the moonlight, Xuang stiffened. It was a person. His hair was long and slick with grease, his face a twisted mask of pain, his brown clothes ragged and worn. He limped, dragging one of his bare feet.

Xuang leaned against the parapets, watching the man with apprehension, an undeniable glow of curiosity burning from within his chest. Had he ever seen a person staggering around outside in the middle of the night? What was even more remarkable was the fact that nothing was attacking him.

He said something, stumbling on a gnarled root, but he was too far away for Xuang to hear. As Xuang cycled maqi from both of his dantians to his ears, enforcing his hearing, sounds clattered for his attention. But he focused on the man’s voice . . .

“Help . . .” he croaked. “Help . . .”

Xuang nearly jumped into action, but something gave him pause. Was that blood draining from his eyes? And where was his nose? Great Gods below! Were those claws? They were red-brown, arching from his fingers like rusty scythes.

Bonding with a spirit did strange things to the body. Most were apparent, others less so. His own skin, for example, glinted like polished steel, but only when sunlight caught it at just the right angle.

Which begged the question.

What Path was this man on? Or . . . was it a man? There were demons that could shapeshift at will. But if this was a malignant spirit, why transform into someone this hideous?

“Where do you fare from?” Xuang yelled.

The stranger groaned, reaching the bottom of the wall, digging his claws into the mortar-bound stone. Head bowed, he gagged then coughed, as if trying to hack up one of his lungs.

Xuang took a shaky breath, heart aching for him to do something. If he had people to back him up, he would hop from the wall and drop to the man’s aid. His wariness might be the demise of an otherwise innocent victim. It was roughly sixty feet to the ground, but that was nothing for a Lowbond’s reinforced body.

“Feed,” the man whimpered. “Feed!” There were hundreds of nocturnal cries vying for Xuang’s attention, but his enforced hearing remained fixed on the poor wretch.

“Hold on!” Xuang said, pulling at a pouch dangling from his belt. His shifts were long, so he always carried several doses of bokudon with him. The brown balls were made by some of the finest alchemists, packed with both physical and spiritual nutrition. He tossed a bokudon over the edge. “Eat one of these! It should hold you over until I return with help.”

It bonked against the man’s head. He stiffened, then glanced up. His red eyes shimmered as his face twisted into a terrible mask of rage. “Feed . . .” Blood trailed from the corner of his mouth. “Feed!” His screech was inhuman.

Xuang grew queasy, backing away.

The man crouched, then launched himself upward, flying like a ballista bullet. Xuang cried out, stumbling back at the unexpected strength. The man darted past the wall, reached the apex of his climb, then arced toward the walkway.

“Fight . . .” Splinter whispered to Xuang’s mind, and a pleasant calm washed over his soul.

The stranger landed ten feet in front of him, feet cracking stone. His head was bowed, greasy hair hanging in front of his eyes, chest heaving with raspy breaths.

Xuang slid his right foot back, holding out his spear with both hands. Silver maqi rushed through his channels, flowing into his hands, feeding the long weapon. Lines of light shimmered on the haft, the spearhead shining like a tiny star.

The stranger started weeping. Xuang staggered, but held his stance. He grimaced when—like two opened faucets—blood poured from the stranger’s eyes. He howled, dropping to his knees, relentlessly punching the bricks making up the walkway.

What rank is this creature?

Xuang couldn’t help it—he stretched out his Bronze Senses, reaching through the aura to scan the beast’s soul. It was smothered in a bloody, toxic energy. Xuang blinked into Tin Sight, looking into its spirit, but the energy was so dense, he couldn’t even see into the creature’s core . . .

It was screaming now, its cry scraping Xuang’s ears. Gods below, the beast was suffering! Knocking it out and getting it to a doctor was the best Xuang could do for it.

Without wasting another breath, he lunged forward, swinging the haft of his spear, aiming for the beast’s temple. If this monster was at least a Lesser Gold Core, the strike wouldn’t kill him. At best, it would knock him out. At worst, it would daze him.

Right before Xuang’s haft would have struck, the stranger dropped to his belly. Baring his brown teeth, he glared at Xuang then pounced at him.

Xuang quickly jumped to one side, swinging his spear. It connected with the stranger’s skull and a nasty crack sounded. The creature howled, hitting the floor and rolling.

Xuang thrust with his spear, activating the Piercing Mirror technique. A replica of his weapon, forged entirely from silver maqi, shot from the spearhead.

The stranger looked just in time to see it coming.

But he was too slow to act.

It pierced through his neck, came out the other side, collided with the floor, then shattered to motes of silver light. The stranger grabbed his neck with both hands, dropping to his knees.

Xuang held his stance, groaning, watching the man struggle to breathe. It made him feel even worse when the stranger dropped to the ground, gagging while writhing like a worm on a frying pan. “Forgive me,” Xuang whispered, touching his forehead, sending the prayer to the Gods below. “Judge me not for the sins of this deed.” The stranger was beyond the point of saving. Killing him now was an act of mercy—both for his sake, and Tianhai’s.

Xuang marched toward the squirming mess of a man. As he lifted his spear with both hands, the stranger went rigid. Quick as a blink, he somersaulted then launched for Xuang’s armored abdomen. “What!” The bloody man collided into him, shoving claws into his armor. “GAH!” Knives of pain ripped into his gut as he dropped to his back, the stranger on top of him.

The claws in his gut sucked at the very essence of his soul. Xuang screamed, back arching as blood and maqi surged toward the claws, flowing into them at an alarming rate.

When Xuang’s eyes popped open, he clenched his teeth, consciousness ebbing. How? He was a Lowbond! And this monster was only a . . .

Xuang noticed that the gash on the man’s neck was closing up. Xuang also sensed Splinter buzzing in alarm. In the corner of his vision, he noticed the spear hovering. It blasted toward the creature, ripping through his chest.

It didn’t even seem to bother him. His red eyes were locked with Xuang’s. His expression was twisted in a confusing mask of pain. A bloodless tear slid down his oily cheek, dripping onto Xuang’s face.

“Forgive me,” the man’s grated voice scratched out.

Before Xuang could respond, oblivion took him away.