Scarlett Rothschild gazed at Elliott's peacefully sleeping face, her lips twisting into a sinister smile. William Rockefeller… William Rockefeller, she thought. Just you wait. Once I've trained him with my own hands, your death will be inevitable. With that, she left Elliott's room.
Eight years later, in the rear courtyard of a grand mountain estate, a young man wielded a sword with effortless grace, his movements fluid as though the blade were an extension of his own body.
Beside him stood a woman in plain white robes, her beauty ethereal, like a goddess descended to earth. Her eyes were fixed upon the swordsman, brimming with adoration.
The young man himself was strikingly handsome, yet his focus was entirely on the sword, as though nothing else in the world existed—only him and the blade in his hand.
A beautiful matron observed him from the sidelines, her mind drifting to another youth—her most capable subordinate, Elliott. At the thought, a faint smile touched her lips.
Eight years had passed since Elliott began practicing the Nine Yin Manual, yet in all that time, his internal energy had shown no sign of advancement. He remained stuck at the level of a second-rate martial artist. His swordsmanship, however, had improved dramatically. Though he had yet to grasp the true essence of the Solitary Nine Swords, he had mastered every form and stance flawlessly.
Seated in a chair at the edge of the courtyard, a middle-aged noblewoman watched him train, her gaze occasionally shifting to her daughter nearby.
Suddenly, a shadowy figure materialized in the courtyard. The beautiful matron's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Elliott," she said, "you've returned. How did it go?"
A young man clad entirely in black stepped forward, holding out a wrapped bundle. "It's done, Scarlett Rothschild."
The matron chuckled softly. "Good. Rest for now." Nearby, Amelia Rothschild and Noah Kennedys frowned—the young man's aura was thick with killing intent. He had worn a ghostly mask for seven years now, ever since he had unblocked one of the Ren and Du meridians under Scarlett Rothschild's orders.
Hearing the faint breaths of the other two, Elliott knew exactly who they were. "Amelia Rothschild," he greeted politely. "Noah Kennedys."
Neither responded, but Elliott was used to it. "Scarlett Rothschild," he continued, "tell me the next task. I'd like to get it over with."
She raised an eyebrow. "Why the hurry? You've always waited for my orders before."
Elliott smirked. "After this, I only have one more task left. Then I'm free to leave. That was our agreement."
Scarlett Rothschild's expression darkened. She remembered the promise she had made when she first placed the mask on him: If Elliott completes a hundred tasks for me, he will have repaid his debt for saving his life—and I will let him go his own way.
She forced a smile. "So, you've already done ninety-nine. Very well. I'll give you the final one."
"Wait, Aunt," Noah Kennedys interrupted. "Before he does your task, could he assist me with something first?"
Scarlett Rothschild was taken aback by Noah's sudden request. Amelia, seeing her cousin speak up, immediately chimed in. "Elliott, forget about bringing me gifts this time. If you help my cousin, that's gift enough for me."
Elliott inwardly laughed. All those gifts I've brought Amelia over the years were pointless. She's utterly infatuated with her cousin.
Scarlett Rothschild hesitated. If she let Elliott assist Noah, her own plans might be delayed—and William Rockefeller would remain alive.