The air inside the City Lord's manor was frozen. It wasn't just the lack of fire: it was the weight of a powerful man's grief. The walls were draped in heavy, dark velvet that seemed to swallow the light of the mana lamps.
Han Sen followed Grandmaster Mo through a series of gold-leafed doors. At the end of the final hallway, two guards stood like statues. They didn't move as the group approached, but their eyes followed Han Sen with a predatory sharpness.
In the center of the massive bedroom, a man stood by a silk-curtained bed. He was tall, with shoulders like a mountain and hair the color of iron. This was Lord Zhao, the ruler of Willow Creek.
[Detected: Lord Zhao (Level 75)]
Lord Zhao turned around. His gaze was a physical weight that slammed into Han Sen's chest. It was heavy, desperate, and filled with a cold, simmering rage. To a man of his level, Han Sen looked like a piece of dust that had accidentally wandered into his palace.
"This is the one?" Lord Zhao's voice was a low rumble that vibrated the glass vials on the nearby table. "A Level 1 boy? Mo, have you finally lost your mind?"
"He produced a King-Grade pill with his bare hands, My Lord," Mo said, his voice unusually humble.
Lord Zhao looked back at Han Sen. The "Gaze" was suffocating. Han Sen felt his 4 HP flicker. His heart hammered against his ribs, each beat a painful reminder of how easily this man could crush him into a red mist.
"If you touch my daughter and fail," Lord Zhao whispered, stepping closer, "I will not just kill you. I will pull your soul apart and feed it to the crows."
Han Sen didn't look away. He walked toward the bed, his [Void Aegis] humming as it fought against the Lord's overwhelming pressure. He pulled back the silk curtain.
The girl, Zhao Ling, was pale as marble. Her breathing was so shallow it didn't even move the sheets. Through his [Spirit-Sovereign Vision], Han Sen saw her soul: it looked like a shattered glass vase, with glowing shards floating away into the darkness.
"Out," Han Sen said.
The room went deathly silent. Alchemist Zhou, standing near the door, let out a sharp gasp. "How dare you! You speak to the City Lord as if—"
"I said get out," Han Sen repeated, his voice cold and mechanical. "The soul is sensitive. If any of your clumsy auras touch her while I am stitching, she will shatter. Is that what you want, Lord Zhao?"
The Lord's eyes flashed with a dangerous light. He looked at the fragmenting soul of his daughter, then at the calm, Level 1 boy. He gestured sharply toward the door.
"Everyone out," the Lord commanded. "But I will be watching through the scrying mirror. One mistake, boy. Just one."
The room cleared. The heavy doors clicked shut. Han Sen was alone with the dying girl and the invisible Nixi on his shoulder.
[HP: 3/10]
[Warning: Spiritual pressure has caused internal bruising.]
Han Sen ignored the warning. He raised his hands, and the ten glowing filaments of [Soul-Stitching Thread] sprouted from his fingers. The air in the room began to hiss, a high-pitched vibration that made the air feel like it was ionizing.
"Nixi, watch the door," Han Sen whispered.
The little bird chirped and took a defensive stance, her invisible heat flaring.
Han Sen leaned over the girl. He didn't use a needle. He used his mind. The threads dove into the girl's chest, seeking the jagged edges of her soul.
He felt the first shard. It was cold and sharp, trying to drift away. He looped a thread around it and pulled.
[HP: 2/10]
Pain flared in Han Sen's head, a white-hot spike that made his vision swim. He was literally giving his own life force to hold her spirit together. He grit his teeth, the taste of copper filling his mouth as his gums began to bleed.
The hiss of the threads grew louder, a sound of reality being forced back together. In the scrying mirror outside, Lord Zhao watched with wide, terrified eyes as his daughter's shattered soul began to glow with a terrifying, unified light.