Eldritch Assassin: Reincarnated With An SSS-Rank Devouring System
Chapter 115: Crescent Lotus Mark

Chapter 115: Crescent Lotus Mark

Minutes stretched into an eternity, each exchange a test of will and skill. Kael adapted, his Crescent Requiem Dao honing his perception, finding the rhythm in Amara’s movements.

He shifted his stance, his blade spinning with brutal grace, a silver arc slashing through her guard, drawing a thin line of blood across her arm.

Amara backflipped, skidding through the mud, her laughter bright and unyielding. "Good. Very good," she said, her voice tinged with genuine delight, her qi flaring brighter despite the wound.

Kael didn’t chase, his breath steady, his silver eyes cold and unyielding. He pointed Abyssal Fang at her, the Lotus Flame pulsing along its edge. "Leave. Now."

Amara bowed once more, her gesture mocking yet respectful. "We’ll meet again, Warden of the Lotus," she said, her voice a promise that lingered in the fog. "Don’t die before then."

She vanished, her form dissolving into the mist, her qi signature fading like a whisper on the wind. Kael stood alone, the quiet of the marsh settling around him, his Silver Lotus Flame burning brighter in his dantian, its light a testament to his growth.

The encounter had been a test, a prelude to the battles that awaited him, and Kael had proven himself—for now.

He turned, his gaze fixed on the horizon, and continued deeper into the Deadflame Marsh, his steps resolute. The world had noticed the Forbidden Lotus, its allure a clarion call to those who sought power beyond mortal limits.

But Kael was no longer running from that truth. He was preparing, tempering his cultivation, forging his path as a warden of a legacy that could unmake or remake the heavens.

The marsh’s fog closed around him, a shroud for the war to come, and Kael walked on, Abyssal Fang at his side, the crimson mark on his forearm a quiet vow to face whatever destiny demanded.

Kael moved through the murk of the Deadflame Marsh, each step sinking into the damp, yielding earth, the ground clutching at his boots like a living thing.

The thick fog clung to him like wet silk, its tendrils muffling sound and shrouding the twisted landscape in an ethereal haze that concealed both predator and prey.

The air was heavy with miasma, a corrupted qi that weighed on his meridians, slowing the flow of spiritual energy and dulling his senses.

Yet within his dantian, the Silver Lotus Flame simmered, a quiet pulse of purified power that resonated with each measured breath, its light a defiant beacon against the marsh’s oppressive gloom.

No path existed in this forsaken realm—only gnarled trees with bark like blackened bone, stagnant pools reflecting a fractured sky, and the ever-present miasma that seemed to whisper of heaven’s abandonment.

The marsh rejected cultivators, its natural qi formations suppressing techniques and draining spiritual reserves, a crucible where even Primal Saints faltered.

Yet Kael pressed forward, his injuries a constant throb—his leg wound burning with a dull ache, his ribs protesting with each step, and fatigue pressing against his shoulders like an iron yoke forged by fate itself.

His silver eyes remained sharp, scanning every shadow, attuned to every ripple in the stagnant waters, his Silent Eclipse Dao cloaking his presence in a veil of subtle intent.

Kael was no wanderer lost to chance. The Deadflame Marsh was a calculated refuge, one of the few places where the Forbidden Lotus’s spiritual signature might go unnoticed, its radiant allure dampened by the land’s corrupted essence.

The marsh was both sanctuary and grave, a place where cultivators perished not from enemies but from the land’s relentless hunger.

Here, Kael could temper his cultivation, refine his control over the Silver Lotus Flame, and evade the sects and clans drawn to the crimson mark on his forearm—a mark that pulsed like a second heartbeat, a beacon to those who sought to claim its power.

He moved silently around a fallen log, its surface slick with moss, his steps light despite the weight of his burdens. Abyssal Fang rested at his side, its blade still faintly aglow from his clash with Amara of the Verdant Shroud, its spiritual essence humming in harmony with his dantian.

Amara had been formidable, her qi refined beyond her apparent age, her attack a calculated probe rather than a killing blow. Her restraint marked her as a greater threat than any brute assassin—she sought to measure him, to test the Warden of the Lotus, and that made her dangerous.

A sudden ripple passed through the air, not a breeze but a subtle disturbance in the marsh’s stagnant qi, a faint tremor that stirred Kael’s spiritual senses.

His Crescent Requiem Dao vibrated within him, its rhythm attuned to the flow of the world, detecting a shift in the stillness—a whisper of intent that did not belong.

Kael crouched low, slipping beneath a curtain of dripping moss, his breath steady, his eyes narrowing as he extended his perception into the fog.

Shapes emerged from the mist like wraiths, three figures drifting with an eerie grace, their robes dark and trimmed with bronze thread that glinted faintly under the dim light.

Their footsteps left no ripples in the pools they crossed, their movements synchronized with a precision that spoke of rigorous training.

These were no common bounty hunters—they were Nightshade Valley assassins, elite killers whose Silent Blood Arts were forged in the crucible of shadow, their auras honed to strike without a trace.

Kael’s fingers tightened on Abyssal Fang’s hilt, the blade’s spiritual resonance aligning with his intent. Were they here for the Lotus, drawn by its radiant lure, or for Kael himself, targeted as the shard’s bearer? The distinction was irrelevant—both paths led to bloodshed.

He held still, his aura cloaked by the Silver Lotus Flame, letting the assassins’ qi currents pass over him like a gentle tide.

One lingered—the shortest of the trio, paused, their head tilting as if sensing a disturbance in the marsh’s corrupted flow. Their mask, etched with sigils of silence, gleamed faintly, their spiritual senses probing the shadows.

A dagger whistled through the air, its blade infused with Void-Tainted Qi, a strike meant to sever meridians before blood could be spilled.

Kael moved instinctively, rolling to the side as the blade sliced past his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood that burned faintly where it touched the earth. The fog erupted, the assassins converging in a storm of lethal precision, their auras flaring in unison.

Kael met the first assassin with a parry, Abyssal Fang’s edge clashing against twin daggers, sparks dancing in the mist, the sound swallowed by the marsh’s oppressive silence.

The second assassin struck from behind, their blade arcing toward Kael’s spirit core, a killing blow aimed to disrupt his dantian.

Kael twisted, his Crescent Requiem footwork guiding him to grab the first assassin by the wrist, swinging them into the second, breaking their momentum with a pulse of spiritual force that staggered their qi flow.

The third assassin unleashed a whip of black energy, its tendrils wrapping around Kael’s leg and yanking him off balance, a technique known as the Nightshade Serpent Coil. He hit the ground with a flash of pain searing through his ribs, but his grip on Abyssal Fang remained unyielding.

With a surge of Silver Lotus Flame, he channeled the lotus’s purifying light along his blade, slicing through the whip and rising to his feet in a single, fluid motion, his aura flaring with defiance.

"Lotus user confirmed," the lead assassin muttered, their voice low and mechanical, their qi resonating with the cold precision of a killer’s intent. "Target must not escape."

Their auras synchronized, weaving into the Triple Echo Formation, a Nightshade Valley technique that amplified their strikes through mirrored movements, their qi forming a deadly tapestry of rhythm and flow.

Each assassin’s actions echoed the others, their blades and whips moving in perfect harmony, a formation designed to overwhelm through relentless coordination.

Kael stepped back, his spiritual senses analyzing the formation’s pulse. He knew its weakness—hesitation was its fuel, doubt its blade. He gave them neither.

With a shout that resonated with his Primal Aura, Kael dove into the fray, the Silver Lotus Flame erupting from his dantian in a controlled blast.

Petals of silver light shimmered around him, their spiritual resonance disrupting the formation’s rhythm, scattering the assassins’ synchronized qi like ripples in a pond.

He met the first assassin’s dagger with Abyssal Fang’s flat edge, deflecting it wide, then spun low, his foot sweeping the legs from the second, sending them crashing into the mud.

The third assassin lashed out with the shadow whip, its tendrils seeking to bind him once more.

This time, Kael let it wrap around his arm, channeling a pulse of Lotus Flame through his meridians to anchor himself. With a fierce pull, he yanked the assassin off balance, their form stumbling toward him.

Kael surged forward, Abyssal Fang piercing the assassin’s gut, the Silver Lotus Flame erupting on contact, its purifying light searing through their meridians.

The assassin gurgled, their robes smoldering as they collapsed, smoke rising from the wound, their qi dissipating into the fog.

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