The sun was sinking low when Ramon stepped out of the merchant’s shop, the weight of a full coin pouch resting comfortably at his side. He adjusted his satchel and moved down the alley that led back to his inn. His steps were quiet, purposeful—relaxed, but alert.

  He was in a good mood. The pelts and cores from his last hunt had sold well, and for once, his coin purse was heavy.

  Too heavy for the outer district.

  As he turned into a narrow passage between two squat buildings, he slowed.

  Four men waited ahead, loosely arrayed in a half-circle. They weren’t here for conversation.

  One had a jagged scar over his lip. Another twirled a short blade with idle menace. The other two were broad-shouldered, arms crossed, watching him like dogs waiting for a signal.

  “Well, well,” said the scar-lipped one. “Took your sweet time.”

  Ramon didn’t answer right away. He studied them, noting the tension in their stances, the way their hands hovered near weapons. No Qi fluctuations. No aura. But they knew violence. Probably lived by it.

  He kept his voice level. “Can I help you?”

  “We were hoping you could help us,” said the knife-spinner, flashing stained teeth. “You’ve been making a few rounds. That coin purse of yours? Consider it a neighborhood tax.”

  Ramon gave a small, humorless smile.

  “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  The scarred one’s grin faltered. “You think we’re bluffing?”

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Ramon shifted his grip on the satchel and tapped the shaft of his spear against the ground—not drawing, just reminding.

  “I think you don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

  They charged.

  He didn’t wait.

  The first thug swung a club. Ramon sidestepped and swept his legs out from under him with the haft of his spear. Before the second could stab, Ramon twisted, redirected the blade into the alley wall, and drove his elbow into the man’s face.

  The third tried to tackle him. A quick step back, a low sweep—down he went.

  Ramon moved with precision, pulling his strikes just short of lethal. Sharp, brutal efficiency. Pain, not death.

  The last man hesitated. Then froze.

  Clap. Clap. Clap.

  The sound echoed from behind.

  Ramon turned.

  A tall, lean figure strolled into the alley, arms crossed over black-and-silver robes. Hair slicked back, eyes sharp. He moved like someone used to being obeyed.

  More importantly—Ramon felt it.

  An aura. Faint, but present.

  A cultivator.

  “Tsk, tsk,” the man said, stepping over one of the groaning thugs. “I told them to wait. I wanted to see what kind of fish we were reeling in.”

  Ramon narrowed his eyes. “Let me guess—you’re the one in charge?”

  The man smiled. “Name’s Darin. Crimson Ash Syndicate. This patch of dirt belongs to Soorin—outer disciple of the Cloud Lotus Sect. Which means your coin? It’s ours.”

  Ramon breathed slowly.

  Soorin. That name again.

  One of the stronger outer disciples—Bone Refinement, like him. Ruthless, ambitious, and rumored to have his fingers in every corner of the outer district.

  Soorin wasn’t here. But his reach was.

  “You’re awfully confident,” Ramon said, adding a note of hesitation to his voice. “What if I say no?”

  Darin stepped forward. “Then I break a few bones. Not fatal. Just enough to make you think twice next time.”

  Ramon smirked. “Try.”

  Darin’s grin vanished. He drew a short spear from behind his back and lunged.

  Steel met steel.

  Ramon deflected the first thrust with a twist of his wrist. Darin spun with surprising speed, aiming a sweep at his legs—but Ramon ducked low, drove the butt of his spear into Darin’s ribs, and slid behind him in one fluid motion.

  Another strike—this one hard, but controlled—sent Darin staggering.

  “You—!”

  Ramon leveled his spear at the man’s throat. “Not bad,” he said. “But don’t confuse that with being good.”

  Darin coughed, backing away. His face twisted with pain and humiliation.

  “You’re hiding your strength,” he spat.

  Ramon said nothing.

  Silence did the talking.

  Darin wiped his mouth, furious.

  “Soorin’s going to hear about this.”

  “Good,” Ramon said. “Maybe he’ll send someone worth my time.”

  They locked eyes.

  Then Darin turned and walked off, dragging his bruised pride behind him. The others scrambled after him, limping.

  Ramon stood in the alley, quiet. Then he looked at his hand.

  I almost used too much.

  He still hadn’t fully adjusted to the changes. Bone Refinement had given him real power. But that power came with risk. Not from monsters or beasts—from people. From the city.

  He couldn’t afford to reveal everything. Not yet.

  That night, he returned to the inn without further trouble, but his thoughts weren’t quiet.

  He’d expected this eventually. The outer district was ruled by strength, and the disciples who couldn’t earn it the right way took it the wrong way.

  But he hadn’t expected to be dragged into it this soon.