Ming lunged toward the assistant.
But before he could reach him, several guards and attendants rushed forward, throwing themselves into his path. They raised spears and blades with trembling hands, forming a desperate wall between Ming and their master.
Ming stopped.
His teeth ground together.
"I warned you," he said quietly.
His voice was low—too calm.
"I will not spare anyone who stands in my way."
Behind him, Wrath and Jinhai arrived at the shattered entrance. They felt the killing intent flooding the hall, heavy enough to suffocate. Instinct screamed at them to move, to intervene—
But they didn't.
Because Ming had ordered them not to.
Even if I die.
Do not interfere.
This revenge… was his alone.
The guards shouted and charged.
Ming moved.
His sword became a blur.
There was no technique.
No flourish.
Only speed—absolute and merciless.
One swing.
Two heads fell.
Blood sprayed across the floor before the bodies even understood they were dead.
The remaining men froze.
No matter how brave they were.
No matter how loyal.
They were not martial artists.
Against Ming, they were nothing more than paper before a blade.
Fear finally crushed their resolve.
Their weapons trembled. Their courage shattered.
And Ming stepped forward again—eyes locked on the assistant, who now stood pale and frozen, staring at the corpses that had died for him.
The distance between them was closing.
Relentlessly.
The remaining guards broke apart, fleeing in terror as they rushed past Ming, Wrath, and Jinhai. No one dared look back.
Ming did not chase them.
His eyes were fixed on only one person—the assistant.
The moment their gazes met, the assistant's courage shattered. He stumbled backward, his legs turning weak, and collapsed onto the ground with a dull thud. Cold sweat soaked his back as his eyes trembled in fear.
"W-what do you want?" he stammered. "Don't come closer… who are you?"
Who is he? the assistant thought wildly. I don't remember offending any martial artist… any sect…
That question struck Ming like a hammer to the chest.
He stopped.
For a moment, the forest fell silent.
Slowly, Ming spoke, his voice calm—too calm.
"…Did you just ask who I am?"
He repeated the words under his breath, disbelief flickering in his eyes. Then, suddenly—
"Hahaha…"
Laughter echoed through the forest.
It was a hollow, bitter sound, stripped of warmth, filled only with pain and irony. Ming had imagined many things—begging, excuses, denial—but never this.
They had forgotten him.
Every night, every breath, he had carried their faces in his heart. And yet, to them, he was nothing more than a speck of dust, not even worth remembering.
The laughter continued, growing colder.
Then it stopped.
Ming's eyes sharpened like drawn blades as he took a step forward.
"I never thought…" he said slowly, "that you would forget me."
His voice dropped, heavy with killing intent.
"So let me remind you."
"I am Ming."
"The boy you accused of stealing one hundred copper coins."
"And because of your accusation—"
Ming's qi surged violently, the ground beneath his feet cracking.
"—my family was slaughtered."
Hearing Ming's words, the assistant froze.
His trembling eyes widened as memories resurfaced—
a weak, frail boy kneeling on the ground, desperately shaking his head, swearing again and again that he had stolen nothing.
That boy…
Realization struck like lightning.
Fear swallowed him whole.
He finally understood one thing clearly—
today was the day his karma arrived.
"P-please!" the assistant cried as he crawled forward, clutching Ming's leg with both hands. "I didn't do it on my own! I was just following orders! It was Physician Lian Hua—he told me to say it! I was helpless!"
Tears streamed down his face as his voice cracked.
"I'm telling the truth! Please listen to me!"
Wrath watched the scene in silence.
At that moment, he finally understood where Ming's hatred came from—why that house had burned, why Ming's killing intent toward civilians had been so terrifying.
Jinhai clenched his fists.
I can only imagine the pain he went through, he thought. If that were me… I might not have endured it.
Ming looked down at the assistant with cold, unreadable eyes.
Slowly, he reached out.
His fingers tangled in the assistant's hair, forcing his head upward.
"Fine," Ming said flatly. "I'll spare you."
Hope instantly bloomed on the assistant's face.
"But," Ming continued, his grip tightening, "tell me—where is Lian Hua?"
Relief flooded the assistant's body. He nodded frantically.
"I'll tell you everything! After what happened to you and your family, Lian Hua returned with the Emperor. He became an Imperial Physician. He should be in the capital now."
Ming nodded calmly.
"I'll deal with him later."
Then his eyes darkened.
"But now…"
"It's time for you to repent."
The assistant's breath hitched.
"W-what? But—you said you'd let me go!"
Ming stared at him.
He said nothing.
Instead, he tightened his grip on the assistant's hair and dragged him toward an inner room like a sack of trash.
The assistant screamed, clawing at the ground.
"Please! Let me go! I swear I'll never do something like that again—please!"
Ming didn't slow down.
At the doorway, he glanced back at Wrath and Jinhai.
"Don't let anyone enter this room," he said coldly.
"Even if you hear screams."
The assistant's eyes filled with absolute terror as Ming pulled him inside.
The door closed.
Bang.
The room was small.
No windows.
No escape.
The door closed behind Ming with a dull thud.
The assistant collapsed to the ground, crawling backward until his spine hit the wall. His lips trembled as he stared at Ming like a beast cornered by death.
"P-please…" he whispered.
Ming didn't answer.
He slowly removed his sword and placed it against the wall.
That alone broke the assistant's last shred of hope.
"You know why I brought you here," Ming said quietly.
The assistant shook his head violently. "I swear—I was forced! I didn't want to—"
Ming stepped forward.
The pressure in the room changed.
The assistant suddenly felt it—
killing intent, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on his chest like a mountain.
He couldn't breathe.
Ming grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the wall.
"Do you know," Ming said calmly, "how my sister screamed?"
The assistant froze.
"How my mother begged?"
"How my father kept bowing until his forehead was soaked in blood?"
Each word landed like a hammer.
"I remember everything," Ming continued. "Every sound. Every face."
He tightened his grip.
"But you," Ming said softly, almost amused,
"forgot me."
The assistant broke.
"I'M SORRY!" he screamed. "I'LL DO ANYTHING—ANYTHING!"
Ming released him.
The sudden freedom made the assistant collapse, coughing violently.
Then Ming spoke again.
"Good," he said.
"Then endure."
The screams began soon after.
Wrath stood outside the room, fists clenched.
Jinhai turned his head away.
No one entered.
No one interrupted.
Only the sound of suffering leaked through the wooden walls—
until even that faded into silence.
When Ming stepped out, his expression was calm—but his qi trembled, unstable, as if something inside