The situation crushed down on the Chief from both sides.

On one side stood responsibility–trust built over years, lives bound by oath and survival, belief that a leader never abandons those who walk behind him. On the other stood his daughter, found only moments ago, blood of his blood, the last living remnant of a family he had already lost once.

There was no path without loss.

The fog thickened without moving. Sound dulled, as if the world had leaned closer, waiting. Azriel's gaze fixed ahead, then drifted–not to the formation, not to the enemy, but to the space between his feet.

He did not look at Aizrel yet.

His jaw tightened, then eased. Breath filled his chest and stayed there a moment too long before he let it out, slow and controlled. The weight on his shoulders did not lift–but it settled, becoming something he could stand beneath.

Gen Jin had planned this well. No matter which choice Azriel made, it would end with his daughter standing alone before death–either abandoned by duty or sacrificed to it. A forced separation. A wound carved deliberately, meant to rot.

"I decided."

The words came out steady. Too steady.

He turned his head toward Aizrel then, eyes lingering on her face as if engraving it into memory in case this was the last time.

"My daughter," he said, voice cold as drawn steel, "return with every bone in his body separated from its joints."

Then, without pause,

"Split him into two hundred and six pieces."

Silence collapsed inward.

Not the silence of disagreement. Not shock at the choice itself.

It was suffocating because of how he chose.

The command was merciless. Absolute. A verdict delivered not as a father, but as a Chief who had accepted that this path demanded blood. Loyalty–not to comfort, but to responsibility–stripped bare.

Kiaria, Diala, Princess Lainsa, Hylisi, Mu Long, Ru, and Yi froze, minds emptied for a heartbeat.

Then–

Laughter broke the weight.

Clear. Feminine. Unafraid.

A grand smile curved across Aizrel's face, sharp and radiant, as if the choice had freed rather than condemned her. She threw her head back slightly, eyes gleaming.

"So you chose the same answer I had in mind," she said brightly.

She turned toward her father, whip tightening around her wrist, posture straight and alive.

"Thank you, Father. Truly."

Her voice sharpened with delight.

"You gave me permission to finish what I left half-cleaned."

Her gaze slid toward the fog, predatory and focused.

"My whip is ready to purge the filth that polluted this formation," Aizrel continued. "I promise–I'll eliminate that pest before it turns into a plague."

The tension snapped.

Relief surged–not because danger had passed, but because her will matched the cruelty of the moment. She wasn't walking to her death. She was walking to settle a debt.

Mu Long let out a rough breath, a crooked smile forming.

"You really inherited Ailse's tongue," he said, "and the Chief's courage–and rage."

Just as Aizrel stepped forward, a hand caught her wrist.

Hylisi stood behind her, grip firm, eyes searching her face–not as an examiner, not as a cultivator, but as a woman who refused to lose another child.

"Aizrel," she asked quietly, "how sure are you?"

Aizrel turned back, smiling softly now.

"Lady Hylisi," she said warmly, "as sure as I am that you'll marry my father when this ends."

Hylisi blinked.

"He's good," Aizrel added lightly. "That much, I'm certain."

For a moment, even the fog seemed to pause.

Then–

Hylisi laughed under her breath, eyes glistening.

"Then," she said calmly, unsheathing the casket at her side,

"as his future wife, I suppose I should ensure my daughter survives."

The lid opened.

Golden Berry Beads gleamed within–every remaining reserve.

"Take them," Hylisi said. "All of it. Hold nothing back."

Aizrel's smile faded.

"No," she said immediately. "Mother–please take it back."

Her voice was earnest.

"If I take this, then someone will die later."

Hylisi stepped closer, expression gentle but unyielding.

"You think of others first," she said. "That's your kindness."

Her hand closed around Aizrel's fingers.

"But I only care about now. And right now, only you need this."

She tilted her head slightly.

"Are you really going to refuse your mother's gift?"

Aizrel giggled softly.

"…Then I'll take it."

She swept the casket into her spatial ring without another word.

No more hesitation.

She turned toward the fog and stepped forward.

Kiaria's Eye of Insight followed her movement closely.

The fog closed around her.

From that moment on, the boundary was absolute.

The passed candidates could see–every distortion, every shift of shadow–but the fog rejected them completely. No intent crossed. No force answered.

This was exactly what Gen Jin wanted.

Azriel stepped forward unconsciously.

The fog did not yield.

His fist clenched until blood traced down his palm. He did not feel it. His breath shortened, eyes locked on the silhouette within the mist.

Kiaria noticed.

So did Gen Jin.

Within the vast black dominance of Yin, a flaw appeared–small, precise, unmistakable. A pale arc of Yang rotated silently at the core of the formation, swallowed yet persistent.

Yang within Yin.

Kiaria exhaled slowly.

"She must reclaim what was taken from her," he murmured. "Or this place will devour itself."

The fog answered first.

Laughter erupted–raw, bloodthirsty, expanding outward like a wound torn open. It echoed inside the fog, then beyond it, carrying nothing but appetite.

Aizrel had not yet drawn her whip, but her fingers had already found its handle.

The fog darkened, pressing close, swallowing distance and depth. Sound arrived late. Vision dulled. The laughter grew nearer, heavier.

Then it settled.

The fog sank into the grasslands, condensing into thick chains of Yin. From within it, three groups emerged–treasure hunters suspended midair, limbs stretched wide, bodies held apart like offerings.

"Run!"

"Guilty Weasel–run before he takes form!"

"Please–run!"

Aizrel did not answer.

Her gaze moved, slow and deliberate, tracing distortions in the fog, measuring space. Her breathing remained steady. Her stance did not shift.

He did not ambush her.

The Yin folded inward, and Gen Jin stepped out openly, standing before the suspended hunters as though onto a stage.

He raised his hands.

Three tokens lay across his fingers.

Aizrel's eyes locked onto them.

"Oh?" Gen Jin chuckled softly. "You want these?"

"No," she replied calmly.

Her whip slid free.

"I didn't come for tokens."

She met his gaze.

"I came for you."

Azriel's heart slammed hard enough to blur his vision.

Gen Jin smiled.

"Don't rush," he said lightly. "I want to enjoy this."

His eyes flicked once toward the fog's edge.

"I want to watch Azriel's face when I peel you apart. Slowly. Carefully."

He vanished.

Space tightened behind her.

In the same breath, he reappeared, lips brushing her ear.

"You have no scent of fear," he whispered. "I hate that."

His fingers traced her arm.

Aizrel did not flinch.

Her breath stilled. Her muscles held.

She waited.

CRACK.

A token shattered close to her chest.

"Blood Feast."

Aizrel moved instantly–her hand snapping forward to snatch the token before it completed its break.

Too late.

Gen Jin's fingers closed first.

The token disintegrated.

The fog screamed.

Black chains of Yin tightened violently around the two bound hunters, stretching them wider as joints were forced beyond limit. An arm tore free in a brutal wrench. Blood sprayed outward, staining the fog.

At the same time, the legs were pulled apart. A leg ripped free at the hip. Joints dislocated with hollow cracks.

The screams were not quick.

Aizrel's fists clenched.

Outside the fog, rage surged. Mu Long took a step forward before stopping himself. Azriel's breath broke unevenly, chest heaving.

Only Kiaria did not move.

Gen Jin approached the dying bodies.

He seized them by the necks and hurled them toward her.

"Catch."

She did.

The impact drove the air from her lungs, but her hands moved without hesitation. Golden Berry Beads were forced between their lips.

Yang surged.

Bones snapped back into place. Flesh sealed. Limbs grew anew. The pain intensified before stabilizing.

They were alive.

Then–

Two daggers pierced her thighs.

Aizrel stiffened.

She looked down.

The blades were buried deep, poison already flooding in. She lifted her gaze to the ones she had just saved.

Their eyes were empty.

Controlled.

She did not strike them.

Instead, she seized both and flung them outward, throwing them toward the edge of the fog–toward her father.

The fog had settled low now. From outside, everything inside was visible.

Just before they crossed the boundary–

They vanished.

Every breath caught.

Laughter roared.

Gen Jin.

The two hunters reappeared before him, bodies rigid. Kiaria's Eye of Insight flared.

Yin–dense, saturated, absolute.

In the next instant, both raised their daggers.

And stabbed straight into their own hearts.

No hesitation.

Their bodies collapsed at Gen Jin's feet.

Dead.

Aizrel's jaw tightened.

From afar, Kiaria saw the Yang flicker–and dim.

Yin surged.

"This is bad," he shouted instinctively, though the fog devoured his voice. "He's growing!"

Aizrel laughed.

Sharp. Cruel.

"Good kill," she said coldly. "But watching you scream when my whips tore you apart was far more satisfying."

Her eyes burned into him.

"If you weren't afraid of me, you wouldn't have stolen my whip," she continued. "Cowards steal weapons."

Gen Jin's smile thinned.

He stepped closer.

"You're right," he said calmly. "I am a coward."

He drew a dagger.

"But every brave soul I've met is already dead."

He dragged his tongue across the blade.

The metal hissed.

Corrosion spread instantly.

Aizrel moved.

The invisible lattice struck.

Whip scars tore open across his body–old wounds reopening, new ones carving deep, precise lines. Flesh split. Blood sprayed.

She coughed violently, blood spilling from her lips.

The poison had taken hold.

"Hahaha," she laughed through it. "You thought I needed to hold the whip to strike you?"

Her breath shook, but her voice held.

"Every missed lash stays where it was cast."

She flicked her wrist.

"Locked."

The severed arm at her feet twitched.

She yanked.

The whip tore free from his grasp, dragging the arm with it. She reclaimed the handle in one smooth motion.

Gen Jin straightened.

His fighting intent ignited.

"…Impressive," he admitted. "I misjudged you."

Then he smiled.

"Thank you for explaining your technique."

His eyes darkened.

"Now–my turn."

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