บท 159: A Never-Ending Cycle of Kill or Be Killed

The words flow from my lips like a gentle zephyr, "Ya Xin, from the Clear Wind Sect!" I press my palms together in salutation, my bow shallow yet steeped in respect. The subtle rustle of my robes whispers the presence of an unseen wind.

"Chen Lung from the Nine Dragon Sect!" comes the crisp response. The man before me, an embodiment of martial grace, clasps his hand in a mirrored gesture, bowing with a swiftness that belies his intention to defend. His eyes, sharp and discerning, lock onto mine, a silent vow not to be the quarry in my storied one-punch hunt.

A wry smile threatens to surface as I watch him—a proud warrior, staunch and unyielding, carving out his defiance in the space between us. "Master, he may not have many habits, for his caution is a cloak he wears closely. Yet, when he strikes, it is a symphony of flaws we can exploit," Dea elucidates.