To Tempt A Saint

Nine cast one last glance behind him.

The distant glow of the tavern had faded into the darkness, swallowed by the dense forest. His torn cloak flapped lightly with his movements, the frayed edges brushing against his fingertips. He barely acknowledged the damage.

"Stop crying. I won't die." His voice was little more than a murmur, meant for no one but Aya, even though she wasn't there to hear it.

With a controlled breath, he advanced, his body melting into the shadows between the trees. His Light Step Technique made his movements near soundless, weightless, as if he were nothing more than a specter passing through the branches. The forest canopy rustled above him, his presence barely disturbing the world around him.

This part of the valley was still within a safe zone, but it wasn't suitable for living. It was only a temporary refuge, a fragile bubble of peace that could be shattered at any moment. The information he had gathered at the tavern suggested that its owner was once a formidable martial artist, someone who despised the Tournament for Sins. He had gathered like-minded warriors from across the Thousand Valleys, creating a hidden stronghold where they could protect the small village that had taken them in.

Hiring Colla had been a precautionary measure. A necessary one.

Nine exhaled slowly and adjusted the mask over the bridge of his nose, his instincts urging him to be on high alert. He pressed his back against a tree, scanning the area for any signs of movement.

A sharp whisper of air sliced through the night.

His eyes widened.

Fwip!

An arrow cut through the darkness, passing so close to his face that he felt the sting of displaced air graze his cheek.

"Shit—"

His thoughts barely had time to register the danger before his senses screamed again.

A shadow loomed above.

Without hesitation, Nine looked up. A figure was descending from the treetops, body twisting midair with a dagger aimed directly at him. The blade glinted under the faint moonlight, its trajectory perfect—straight for his throat.

His muscles coiled.

In a single explosive movement, he kicked off the tree trunk behind him, his body launching sideways just as the dagger slashed through the space where he had been.

A second arrow flew toward him.

Fwip!

He twisted in the air, but not fast enough. The arrow tore through his shoulder, leaving a searing pain in its wake.

Nine hit the ground in a crouch, his breathing controlled despite the growing ache. His fingers brushed the wound for the briefest second before he forced himself to refocus.

Two attackers.

His eyes scanned the darkened forest. One was the swordsman, a warrior whose blade pulsed with qi—refined, dangerous, and fast. The other was the archer, hidden somewhere in the treetops, his presence barely detectable. His qi was muted, almost imperceptible. That meant one thing—his cultivation was a step above theirs.

Nine's lips pressed into a thin line. This wasn't a fight he could win in a direct confrontation. Not like this.

He needed a distraction.

His mind raced through his options before settling on the only feasible solution. He had to create a larger commotion. If he could blend into a chaotic battlefield, he could shift the tide in his favor.

With a surge of qi, he propelled himself forward, his body a blur as he crashed into a nearby group of warriors.

The impact sent bodies stumbling in every direction.

The moment he hit the ground, Nine scrambled to his feet, grinning widely as he held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Shit. I'm doomed."

The warriors had already begun encircling him, their hands reaching for their weapons. Their expressions were a mixture of confusion and hostility. Nine jabbed a finger toward the archer still perched in the distance, then at the swordsman who had stopped on a high branch.

"They're my allies," he blurted, nodding to himself as if trying to convince them. "I screwed up our plan and fell down from above."

The warriors didn't immediately react.

Then, a woman scoffed. Her voice was thick with amusement but laced with danger.

"We're a group, rascal. You're an outsider."

The realization dawned on him a second too late.

"Shit."

Nine didn't hesitate.

His hand shot forward, sending his dagger whistling through the air. It buried itself into the skull of a man who had started laughing at his predicament.

Before the body could slump to the ground, Nine darted forward, grasping the dagger's hilt and using the corpse as a stepping stone to propel himself into the air. His movements were swift, seamless, calculated.

Pain flared in his shoulder again.

The poison was beginning to spread. His body wasn't shutting down yet—his daily poison resistance training was keeping it at bay—but he could feel the sluggishness creeping into his limbs. It wouldn't be long before it started taking its toll.

He needed to get out of here.

But the warriors weren't giving him a chance.

His senses screamed again—danger. "I told her i'll come back alive!" He shouted in frustration.

The warriors surrounding him moved in, their eyes alight with something far more terrifying than mere duty.

It was hunger.

A thirst for blood.

Nine cursed under his breath and pushed his core to its limit, qi surging through his veins as he burst forward with inhuman speed. His only advantage now was outrunning them.

Then—

A deafening scream split through the night.

"AHHHHH!"

It came from ahead.

Nine skidded to a stop, his boots digging into the dirt. The warriors chasing him hesitated as well, their heads snapping toward the sound.

Newcomers just like Nine based on their reactions.

The ground trembled beneath them. A low, deep rumble that sent vibrations through his bones.

Nine slowly reached under his robe, his fingers curling around the hidden needles concealed there. He wasn't taking any chances.

Then he saw it.

The battlefield.

Not just a skirmish—this was the battlefield.

A warzone stretched before him, an unholy clash of warriors, their silhouettes illuminated by the burning embers of battle. The forest itself had become a bloodied coliseum, its towering trees acting as battlements for fighters leaping from branch to branch like ravenous beasts.

The chaos was absolute.

Swords clashed, shields splintered, and flesh tore.

Explosions erupted in the distance, the scent of burning wood and seared flesh mixing with the thick iron tang of blood.

Above, the archer lowered his bow. His focus had shifted.

Instead, he reached for the sword strapped to his back.

Nine tilted his head.

So, he wasn't just an archer.

The realization made him grin.

A rock crumbled beneath his boot.

He moved.

His hands flicked outward—needles shot forward, embedding into enemies before they could react. Some struck their mark, others were deflected with swift counters.

Five warriors charged toward him.

Nine exhaled.

In one fluid motion, he unsheathed his sword.

A sharp, resounding clash filled the air as he parried three incoming blades. At the same time, he let loose another barrage of needles—one piercing the eye of an opponent, eliciting a pained scream.

An axe-wielding warrior lunged at him.

Nine braced himself, catching the strike against his blade. The force sent a jolt through his arms, his feet sinking slightly into the dirt.

His response was immediate, A spit to the man's face.

The warrior blinked in surprise—just enough time for Nine to sidestep, letting the axe slam into the ground before twisting his blade into his opponent's throat.

"I. Told. You. I'm. Coming. Back. To. Her. Alive."

Each word was punctuated by a stab.

Then he turned—his gaze locking onto the archer and the swordsman.

With a dagger in one hand and his sword in the other, Nine stepped forward, a grin curling his lips as he carved his way toward them.