The Cunning Treasure Hunter

Chapter 69 A Promise in the Shadow of Ice

There was a three-year difference between them.

Sev was twenty now, but when he had been seventeen, Elise was fourteen—the same age as Vera now.

He had been nothing more than a minor branch member of the Northern Ice Palace .He had inherited the constitution necessary to train in Snowy Heaven Ice Art, but that was all. He was always slightly below average, content not to stand out, unwilling to involve himself in the competition for succession.

But Elise had been different. Discover hidden stories at empire

Despite her small frame, she harbored an overwhelming power. The intense cold she couldn't control froze any sword she held and turned gloves to brittle ice with a touch. A talent forbidden to those from minor branches.

A fourteen-year-old girl unable to wield her strength, a threat the palace lord couldn't ignore.

The Northern Ice Palace Lord ruled with an iron hand, and his decision had been unyielding.

Snowy Heaven Ice Art represented eternal, unmelting ice. But the lord, having already mastered that art, had transcended it, achieving the higher technique: All-Encompassing Cold Divine Art.

Sev would never forget the sight of the lord conjuring dark blue ice needles with compressed, eternal frost and piercing them into his sister's body one by one.

Those needles never melted, forever blocking portions of Elise's meridians. The result was nothing short of an artificially induced Blocked Vein Syndrome.

It was the same art as his own—just more advanced. That was why he had vowed never to use Snowy Heaven Ice Art again.

It was the same path that had left his sister crippled.

'...And yet, I broke that vow,' he thought bitterly.

A Quiet Conversation

It was then that Sev realized his back felt warm. He jolted upright, instinctively reaching for his sword. But his weapon wasn't there.

"You're awake," said a calm voice.

Vera's voice.

His pupils trembled. "Why did you spare me?"

She offered him a black herbal tonic instead of answering. He didn't drink it. Even though he knew she wouldn't need poison to kill him, the thought still gnawed at him.

"No one spares someone only to kill them later," she sighed, taking a sip of the tonic herself before handing it back. "It's for your internal injuries. Drink."

"...Not until you answer my question."

"Finish it first, then I'll answer."

Suspicion flickered in his eyes as he glanced between Vera and the tonic. But she held it out again with insistence.

"If it cools, its efficacy will diminish."

"...Fine."

Reluctantly, he took the bowl and drained its contents. Immediately, the chaotic flow of his energy began to settle, the tonic soothing his battered meridians.

"...It works."

"Of course it does. Master Nathaniel brewed it himself."

That name sent a shiver through Sev. The idea that a monk from Iron Fist Sect —a place he had tried to desecrate—would save him was incomprehensible. And to make matters worse, he now lay in one of Iron Fist Sect's annexes.

"What do you want from me?" he asked finally.

It had to be something. Once he recovered, he assumed they would drag him to the underground prisons for questioning.

"Who is Elise?" Vera asked instead, nonchalantly collecting the empty bowl.

The name froze him.

"...How do you know that name?"

"You said it yourself," Vera replied calmly. "You kept calling it out in your unconscious state. Judging by the surname, she must be your sister."

His gaze darted nervously toward the door. Could he escape? But the midday sun filtering through the window told him otherwise. There was no chance he could slip away unnoticed.

"Don't bother," she said, reading his intent. "My senior brother and Master Nathaniel are both outside."

Hopelessness gripped him again. The girl's senior brother was one thing, but Master Nathaniel was a famed warrior monk of Iron Fist Sect, known as the Little Divine Monk of Mount of the Moon.

"They won't come in," she continued. "I told them not to."

"Why would you do that for me?" he asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.

"You said you needed to kill me to save your sister," she replied, extending her energy to create a barrier. The technique was one she had seen Aiden use many times—a way to isolate their conversation from any prying ears.

"Someone hired you for this, didn't they?"

"That's just speculation," he deflected.

"Don't waste time with weak excuses."

Her gaze, dark and fathomless, bore into him. It was the kind of gaze that could pierce through any lie. He let out a groan, defeated.

He was a failed assassin. Stripped of his weapons, he didn't even have the dagger to take his own life.

"...Fine. Yes, someone did. But even if I told you who, you wouldn't be able to kill them."

"If you help me deal with them," she said, "I will save your sister."

His eyes widened. Did she even understand what she was offering? Did she have any idea what Elise's condition entailed?

A Fractured Alliance

"You don't even know what's wrong with her," he said bitterly.

"Then tell me," Vera replied, her voice steady.

She didn't waver under his disbelief or his scorn. Her calmness unsettled him more than her blade ever had.

He clenched his fists, torn between distrust and the faint glimmer of hope her words offered.

"Elise..." he began, his voice faltering.

Whether he would speak further, the weight of his decision hung in the air like a blade poised to fall.

The Compassion of Iron Fist Sect

Vera stood with the tray and empty bowl in her hands. She glanced at him and spoke quietly, her tone firm yet calm.

"Sev, a cast-off branch member of the Northern Ice Palace. Think carefully about your choices."

"How do you know about me?" he asked, his voice edged with disbelief.

"A wanderer across Valkirum, about twenty years old, and a practitioner of Snowy Heaven Ice Art. Did you think you wouldn't be recognized?"

The speed of her deduction was incomprehensible. Even if she had summoned a beggar from the Nomads' Sect, this was too fast.

Then it hit him—he had been mistaken.

It wasn't just one day.

"How long was I unconscious?" he asked.

"Four days," Vera replied. "In that time, Master Nathaniel visited the The Central Plains Branch of the Nomads' Sect."

"...Damn it."

"I also know what happened to your sister," she added, her tone steady.

Sev's heart sank. These people, they weren't just trying to stop Ezekiel, the leader of the Bloodshadow Pavilion—they were genuinely trying to save his sister as well.

But the question gnawed at him endlessly.

"Why? Why is Iron Fist Sect showing me such mercy?"

Two Days Earlier

The foot of Mount of the Moon.

Vera and Master Nathaniel were walking leisurely down the path leading toward The Central Plains.

"So, this assassin claimed he had to kill the young benefactor to save his sister?" Master Nathaniel inquired.

"Yes, Monk. That's exactly what he said," Vera replied.

Master Nathaniel let out a sigh of relief, much to Vera's confusion.

"Why do you seem relieved?" she asked.

"It's fortunate to know that a being so close to committing evil is not inherently wicked," Master Nathaniel replied.

"...Is that so?"

"He was coerced into killing to save his sister. His only fault is his weakness. And in the teachings of Buddha, mere weakness is not considered a sin. The true sinner is the one who coerced him. Homage to Infinite Light."

He struck his wooden fish, the soft sound filling the air, calming Vera's mind.

She nodded slowly. It was true.

Why didn't Vera limit her vengeance solely to Valen? Because he was merely a tool. As long as the Sword Master's reign continued, others would suffer the same fate.

"I have a question, Monk," she said after a moment.

"Ask anything you wish."

"Where are we going now?"

"To the Central Plains Branch of the Nomads' Sect," Master Nathaniel answered with a smile.

Vera ran a few mental calculations before speaking again.

"You're trying to learn more about who this assassin was, aren't you?"

"Yes. And it was said he used powerful ice techniques, wasn't it?"

"Indeed."

"It must have been Snowy Heaven Ice Art of the Northern Ice Palace."

Her gaze filled with doubt. Could he truly be so certain? Master Nathaniel, noticing her skepticism, explained further.

"No other martial art outside the Northern Ice Palace produces such potent, lingering cold."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. They are born with a natural affinity for cold energy. A twenty-year-old, cast-off branch member forced into assassination with a family member held hostage—it wouldn't take long for the Nomads' Sect to identify him."

"And once confirmed, what do you intend to do?"

"Buddha teaches us to help all beings, benefactor. Homage to Infinite Light."

The wooden fish sounded again, and the clarity it brought to Vera's mind was undeniable.

"Spreading the great compassion and light of Buddha across the world is our sacred duty."

"But he was an assassin. He infiltrated Iron Fist Sect. I don't understand."

"Why such compassion, you wonder…" Master Nathaniel murmured.

There were many reasons. No lives had been taken. The circumstances warranted leniency. His inherent nature wasn't deeply corrupted.

But above all else, there was one fundamental reason.

"Because we are Iron Fist Sect."

His sins were not for monks to judge. That was the domain of King Yama in the afterlife.

But his suffering? That was the concern of monks.

In the north, the people revered Iron Fist Sect. In the south, they esteemed Celestial Sword Sect.

It was then that Vera understood why such reputations had endured for generations.