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90. The Sect's Hound
🕑 Added 2025-08-26 22:00:06 +0000 UTCThe terrain continued to change as Jiang moved further south. The ground was firmer here than in the marshes he’d crossed earlier, ridges of frozen earth pushing up through patches of snow. The vast open areas gave way to forest once again, the well-maintained road cutting a ribbon through the wild. A good place for wagons to travel, which meant a good place for bandits to lie in wait.
He checked each rise as he went. A group of fifty or more would need space, cover, and water, not to mention easy access to firewood. Somewhere close enough to the road that they would be able to attack at will, but not so close they’d be seen too easily.
Winter meant that significantly fewer wagons were travelling, which would mean less prey – but it was also less likely that the local magistrate would bother sending soldiers after them. With a little luck, that would make them sloppy.
By now, Jiang was travelling parallel to the road, though he made sure to stick close enough to see it. He wasn’t actually looking for the bandit’s camp – not directly – but he was hoping that they’d left a scout to keep an eye on the road in case of an unexpected wagon.
Of course, it was possible that they didn’t bother, but in that case he’d be back to manually combing through a relatively large stretch of woods, so it was worth the effort to check. Even still, he was mostly relying on his intuition and experience as a hunter to try to figure out where someone might lie in wait.
It was a little uncomfortable to try and slip into the mentality of a bandit, especially when he realised how many of his skills were transferable. He slowed at a bend in the road where a ridge of stone pushed up through the earth. The trees on top would give a wide view of the track below for some distance, and the bend itself meant that an approaching wagon would have no idea what was around the corner.
Jiang circled wide, keeping to the trees. Snow lay shallow under the boughs, sheltered from the worst of the wind, though enough had gathered to mask prints. He kept low as he worked his way around, pausing now and then to listen. The road curved below, wagon ruts frozen into the packed dirt visible even from here. Definitely a good place for a watcher.
He eased forward, slowing his movements until they were all but silent, stretching out with his Qi senses. Mortals were harder to detect than other cultivators – they simply didn’t have enough Qi to stand out, most of the time – but it was worth a shot anyway. In the end, though, Jiang spotted the scout with his eyes before his more esoteric senses picked up on the man.
The scout sat with his back against a tree just shy of the ridgeline, cloak drawn tight, bow balanced across his knees. A leather cap pulled low over his ears, shoulders hunched against the cold. A light dusting of snow covered the figure. Jiang watched him for a long moment, measuring. Not dozing – his head shifted once as he scanned the road. A patient one, then. Careful enough to sit still in the cold for hours if need be.
That was… unusual.
Jiang moved closer, step by careful step. The man hadn’t left any traps or alarms, nothing but his own eyes and ears. Hunters did the same often enough, and it wasn’t a bad spot. Broad view of the bend in the road, trees for cover, easy signal to the camp with a horn or arrow if trouble appeared. Jiang’s lips pressed thin. All the things he himself might have chosen.
He slid along the slope, keeping to the trunks. The way he figured it, there were two options here – confront the scout and try to question him, or bypass the man and head directly for the bandit’s camp. Both options had advantages and disadvantages – leaving an enemy at his back wasn’t something Jiang was particularly comfortable with, but at the same time, there was always a risk of someone being alerted by the man’s absence. Killing the scout now meant he would be on a timer – potentially dangerous, especially when he didn’t know anything about the numbers he would be facing.
Better to slip past, then.
Unfortunately, he was either going to have to take the long way around, or try and sneak uncomfortably close to the scout to get past him. Jiang only considered it for a moment before moving slowly forward. He was confident enough in his stealth – particularly enhanced by Qi – to risk it. Even so, each placement of his boots was thought through, every breath timed against the sigh of wind through branches. Closer. The scout shifted once more, tugged his cloak higher. Still oblivious.
Then Jiang brushed a low bush.
It was the smallest thing – branches stiff with frost, the snow clinging to them dislodged with a soft patter. The sound was slight, no louder than a hare fleeing cover. But the man’s head snapped around, eyes narrowing as Jiang’s stealth technique tried to insist that there was nothing worth looking at.
Jiang moved at once. He dropped low, closing the last gap in three quick strides. The cout’s weapon jerked up but too slow, the man’s mouth opening to call. Jiang’s hand clamped over it, going for his knife instead of his bow, flashing out in a short thrust beneath the jaw. A muffled grunt, a shudder, and the body sagged heavily into him.
He lowered the corpse carefully, laying it out of sight among the roots. Warm blood steamed faintly in the cold, sharp on the air. Jiang wiped his blade clean against the man’s cloak, steadying his breath.
Well. It appeared the decision had been made for him.
Jiang allowed himself a moment of irritation before sighing and refocusing. If nothing else, it was a useful reminder that his stealth technique was not all-powerful – clearly someone on the lookout could be alerted by even a slight noise. The confusion of not being able to clearly see what had caused it was enough for Jiang to close the distance, but still – it wasn’t something he could always count on.
Now the question was how long until someone came to relieve the watch. Scouts didn’t sit forever, not if the camp was disciplined. A couple of hours at most, but likely a good deal less than that, considering it looked like the man had already been on watch long enough to be covered in a light dusting of snow. He would assume he had no more than half an hour, then. The clock had started.
He rose and scanned the ground. Fortunately, finding the camp wouldn’t be difficult – the man hadn’t bothered to hide his trail; and why would he, walking the same path each day? Boot prints were plain in the snow, leading off into the trees. Jiang set his own feet to them, falling into the same rhythm, watching each step until the pattern drew him deeper.
The forest thickened as the slope fell away. He crossed a shallow stream where ice had broken under the scout’s tread, water still dark in the gaps. From there, the prints climbed again, and soon the smell of smoke caught at his nose. Not the thin bite of a single fire, but the heavy mix of many, overlain with meat and boiled leather.
He moved off the trail, taking care to keep his own tracks as subtle as possible as he crept to the lip of a rise.
The camp sprawled below, larger than he had expected. This was no ragged band like the Crimson Blades. Firewood was stacked high in neat piles, salted hides stretched taut on frames, spears and bows set ready by the guard posts at the perimeter. These people had built themselves a place to last.
Tents set in ordered rows, timber shelters leaned tight against one another, smoke rising from half a dozen fires. Men and women moved between them with the easy purpose of habit. More than fifty, maybe sixty. The Broker’s information had been wrong – or out of date.
At the centre of it, just like Jiang remembered from the night at his own village, stood two cages.
Unlike the ones his family had been contained in, these were properly constructed – heavy cages squatting in the middle of the camp, iron bars blackened with age. Empty, thank the Heavens, but too familiar for comfort. His teeth ground until his jaw ached.
He forced the anger down, pulling air slowly through his nose. Fury was a knife with no hilt – grip it wrong and it cut the hand that held it. Charging in would be suicide. A single man against sixty blades – cultivator or not – would end up with him being cut down before he crossed the firepits. Besides, the cages were empty. There was no one to rescue here, no reason for him to abandon good sense and go charging to his death.
Jiang slid back from the ridge, letting the branches swallow him. The plan would need to change. The scout’s death had started the invisible clock ticking away – someone would go to either check on him or relieve him, and when they did, the camp would know they were hunted.
He imagined stepping out of cover, loosing arrows until the quiver was empty, shadows twisting to confuse them. It would be chaos, but not victory. Ten dead, maybe twenty if he was lucky. Then they’d rush him.
He could vanish, fade back into the woods – he wasn’t worried about outrunning mortal bandits, no matter how many of them there were. No, the real danger was of the bandits scattered, fleeing through the woods and forcing him to hunt them down one by one.
Jiang eased back into cover, belly close to the snow. He put ten careful paces between himself and the ridge before straightening again, slipping back through the trees. The anger in his chest burned hot, but anger wasn’t a plan. He needed distance, enough to think without the weight of sixty men at his back.
He circled west, climbing until the trees closed in overhead. A fallen pine gave him a place to sit and watch the branches sway in the wind. He adjusted the bundle of arrows on his back, thinking through the problem.
He could pick them off in the night, one by one, but there was little to no chance of him making his way through the entire camp without raising the alarm – assuming he could even get close enough in the first place. If this group was disciplined enough to set scouts or sentries, his plan would fail before it even began.
The cages sat in his mind like a stone. If they were empty now, they wouldn’t stay that way. Every day he delayed meant someone else might end up behind those bars. That thought gnawed at him more than the cold did.
He drew in a long breath, forcing it out slowly. No matter how much his gut urged him to strike now, he knew better. Charging in was suicide. Better to be patient, make the bandits react to him. Jiang rose from the fallen pine and began to circle wide, keeping his distance until the sound of the campfires dimmed.
His plan was simple. When the bandits found their dead scout, they would search. Their first instinct would be to sweep the area where the man had been posted. By positioning himself on the opposite side of their camp, he could use their own search party as the perfect distraction. While a chunk of their forces were busy hunting his ghost in the northwest, he could strike their weakened camp from the southeast.
Hardly the most complicated plan, but then he always preferred to keep things simple.
It didn’t take him long to find a good spot on a low ridge that offered a clear, if distant, view of the basin. From here, he could watch their movements and wait for his opening. He felt the distance was safe enough now. He let his stealth technique fall away, the constant, low-level drain on his Qi ceasing. The technique was fairly efficient, but there was no reason to maintain it – especially when no one was looking for him.
In the exact instant the thought crossed his mind that he sensed it – a controlled, disciplined presence that felt chillingly familiar.
“Jiang Tian.”
The voice was cool and clear, cutting through the silence without effort. Jiang’s head snapped towards the sound. A figure stepped out from behind the trunk of a massive pine, moving with an unhurried grace that was utterly out of place in the rugged wilderness. He was dressed in the immaculate, deep blue robes of an Azure Sky Sect inner disciple, not a single speck of dirt or snow marring the perfect fabric.
It was Zhang Shuren.
Zhang stopped a dozen paces away, his hands clasped politely behind his back, his expression a mask of polite, faintly bored inquiry. “You’ve been surprisingly difficult to find,” he said, his tone the same as if they’d just crossed paths in one of the Sect’s manicured courtyards. Jiang felt a wave of Qi wash over him faintly, and Zhang’s expression twitched. “And it appears you’ve used the time well,” he said, faint suspicion colouring his tone. “Your advancement is… remarkable.”
Jiang’s mind raced, all thoughts of the Dead River Gang evaporating in an instant. The Sect. They had sent someone after him. He had known it was a possibility, but he hadn’t expected it so soon. Still, he’d half worried they would send an elder after him or something – and while Zhang wasn’t ideal… well, Jiang had grown rather quickly recently. The gap between them wasn’t quite as large as it once was.
No reason to start a fight if it wasn’t necessary, though. “What do you want?” Jiang asked, his voice tight. He was somewhat gratified to see the note of caution in Zhang’s stance. From Jiang’s own senses, he could tell Zhang was still more powerful… but not so much more powerful that a fight would have a foregone conclusion.
“Elder Yan was most displeased by your departure. He has tasked me with escorting you back to the Sect to answer for your desertion.” Zhang took a single, deliberate step forward. “So, are you going to come quietly, or are we going to make this unpleasant?”
Comments
piranha
time to start the face slapping arc
Gopard
Thanks for the chapter! Called this one at least correctly! Just please for the love of God I hope Jiang doesn't pull for some reason a super upset and beat Zhang Shuren somehow... Maybe let him manage to barely use his new shadow mastery to slip away or something that I could maybe see even without outside help... But BEATING Zhang Shuren? He would need some massive help for that in his current state!
