As the news spread that a Black Serpent Sect member had been killed, the city erupted in quiet celebration.
People whispered excitedly, fear lifting from their eyes for the first time in days.
But Ming felt nothing.
He glanced at Wrath and said calmly, "It's time. We should leave."
They walked toward the city gates, ignoring the stares behind them.
"Those are the ones who killed him…"
"Yes, I saw it with my own eyes."
"He didn't even struggle."
"He moved like a true martial master…"
The whispers followed them like shadows.
Soon, a new name began to circulate.
The Emotionless Master.
Cold as ice. Merciless as death.
Ming heard every word.
He didn't care.
Once they left the city, the road narrowed into dense jungle. The noise of people faded, replaced by the sound of wind brushing against leaves.
Ming stopped.
His eyes shifted slightly.
"You've been following us for quite some time," he said calmly.
"If you're not planning to show yourself—do it now."
Silence.
Wrath frowned.
Ming slowly drew his sword and pointed it toward a large tree.
"Three breaths," he said coldly.
"Or I cut the tree—and you—into pieces."
Before the third breath ended, a hurried voice rang out.
"I'm coming! I'm coming—don't cut me!"
A man stepped out from behind the tree, hands raised in surrender.
It was Jinhai.
Ming's gaze sharpened. "Why are you following us?"
Jinhai lowered his hands and spoke honestly.
"You killed a Black Serpent Sect member. They won't let this go. They'll hunt you down."
He hesitated, then added,
"I thought… maybe I could be of some help."
Wrath snorted, her eyes filled with disdain.
"You couldn't even defeat a mere Martial Artist Gate Realm cultivator," she said coldly.
"And you think you're qualified to help us?"
Jinhai clenched his fists—but didn't deny it.
Jinhai clenched his fists and spoke again, his voice trembling.
"I know… I know I'm weak," he said. "But I want to be useful. Please—let me go with you."
He took a step forward, desperation clear in his eyes.
"I can hunt. I can cook. I'll wash your clothes, gather firewood—anything. Just… let me follow you."
Before either of them could respond, Jinhai dropped to his knees.
"Please," he said again.
And again.
And again.
His forehead pressed against the ground as he begged, his pride completely shattered.
This is my only chance, he thought bitterly.
If I don't follow them… I'll never learn martial arts. I'll never avenge my brother.
Ming stood still.
He understood.
He could see it clearly—Jinhai wasn't begging for survival.
He was begging for a path.
But Ming turned around.
"No," he said.
The word was calm. Absolute.
Wrath blinked in surprise.
Jinhai froze.
Ming didn't look back as he continued walking.
"I can't let you come with us."
Jinhai's hands trembled against the dirt. "W–Why…?"
Ming stopped for a brief moment—but still didn't turn.
It wasn't because Jinhai was weak.
Weakness could be fixed.
It was because Jinhai was different from the others.
Greed. Envy. Pride. Wrath. Gluttony.
They never helped others unless they gained something in return.
They followed Ming for power, survival, or ambition.
But Jinhai…
He had warned Ming of danger.
He had stood between him and Sao—knowing he would die.
He had asked for nothing in return.
That went against everything Ming believed.
Ming's philosophy was simple and cruel:
People only help others when it benefits them.
Yet Jinhai had shattered that belief.
And that… unsettled him.
"Compassion creates chains," Ming said quietly.
"And chains lead to death."
He began walking again.
"Survive on your own," he continued.
"If fate allows, we'll meet again."
Jinhai watched their backs disappear into the forest.
For a long time, he didn't move.
Then—slowly—he stood up.
His legs trembled, his body screamed in pain, but his eyes burned with resolve.
I have no path, he thought.
So I'll make one.
If you reject me once… then I'll try again.
He began running.
Not recklessly.
Not desperately.
He followed them at a distance—never too close, never too far.
Like a shadow clinging to the edge of their presence.
As dusk fell, Ming and Wrath stopped near a quiet riverbank to rest and eat.
When they sat down, Wrath suddenly frowned.
In front of them, placed neatly on a flat stone, were several fish.
Cooked.
Seasoned.
Still warm.
Wrath's eyes sharpened instantly.
"My lord," she said coldly, "he's still following us."
Ming glanced around, sensing the faint traces of movement far away.
He gave a slight nod.
Wrath stood halfway, her hand moving toward her weapon.
"We should throw it away," she said. "Who knows what he put in it. It could be poisoned."
Ming calmly picked up a fish.
"No," he replied. "Let's eat."
Wrath froze. "My lord—"
"He's not that kind of man," Ming said flatly.
Then, almost casually, he added,
"And even if it were poisoned… it wouldn't affect me."
Wrath hesitated, then sat back down.
Ming took a bite.
He paused.
Then another bite.
"…Delicious," Ming said.
He looked at the fish again and added, almost thoughtfully,
"His cooking is better than yours."
Wrath's eyes widened.
Her mouth slowly opened in disbelief.
"…What?"
Her pride flared instantly.
With a sharp snort, she grabbed a fish and took a bite—hard.
What's so special about this—
Her thoughts stopped.
Her expression stiffened.
She chewed slowly.
Then again.
And again.
Finally, she swallowed.
"…Tch."
She turned her head away, her ears faintly red.
"I admit defeat," she muttered under her breath.
Ming glanced at her, genuinely confused.
"…Did I say something strange?"
Wrath said nothing.
Far away, hidden among the trees, Jinhai watched quietly.
A small, exhausted smile appeared on his face.
He didn't need permission.
He would prove his worth—one meal at a time.