Chapter 7: The Man with Silver Eyes

What kind of eyes were those—so cold, so indifferent, as if frosted over? Meeting that gaze, Long Yin felt an almost bone-deep chill, a sense of déjà vu washing over him. He stared, transfixed, at the man before him.

The man was tall and lean, his limbs long and elegant. His silvery hair was tied high and left to fall carelessly down his back. He wore a thin white long shirt, the collar left open, though the cuffs were fastened, paired with white trousers and high boots. For any Kaxiu traversing the forests, this was the most practical attire, and in Dezhou, it was a typical look. Yet, worn by this aloof man, the ordinary outfit became something else entirely. Even in the sweltering heat, he was like a walking icebox, spreading a chill wherever he went.

Like most Kaxiu, a card activator was strapped to his left hand. What set him apart was the sword in his right. A blue gem gleamed on the hilt, flickering with shifting light. The blade was sheathed in a simple scabbard, but no one would believe it was just some decorative antique. Where the hilt met the scabbard, the insignia of a Mechanist was clearly etched—this was a card-weapon, through and through. Who knew what kind of destruction this sword could unleash, but it was surely something formidable. Any card-weapon bearing the Mechanist’s mark was said to have unfathomable power.

Long Yin realized the man was standing directly in front of him. Startled, he heard a voice as cold and metallic as steel: “Move.”

Long Yin blinked, suddenly aware he was blocking the man’s path. He stepped aside, watching as the cold stranger walked on with steady, unwavering steps, his spine straight, his bearing unyielding and remote. The man was handsome, with skin that seemed fair even under Dezhou’s summer sun, and dark, bold brows that spoke of decisiveness and resolve. His eyes, fox-like and crimson-tinted, brimmed with an aloofness that kept others at bay. A straight nose, thin lips lending a touch of severity and harshness—yet these features did nothing to diminish his striking looks.

Long Yin sensed the atmosphere in the Wanderers’ League had shifted, growing tense and solemn from the moment this man entered. People near the mission wall parted to let him through, their eyes full of awe. Even the other wanderers put down their drinks, a mix of envy and reverence on their faces.

So, even if this man was a lone wolf, he was a lone wolf known to all.

Long Yin’s sharp ears caught the murmurs nearby.

“His Highness Lin is here again. Do you think he’ll take a mission today?”

“He always does, but what’s it to us?”

“How can it not matter? His Highness Lin is the only one in the Wanderers’ League to reach Level 5, and he’s from our Dezhou branch. Of course it matters!”

“That’s true. Every time the League headquarters calls a meeting, even if His Highness never attends, he’s always mentioned. Our Dezhou branch gets to bask in the reflected glory.”

“Do you think His Highness has reached the Hall rank?”

“Obviously! Why else would anyone address him as ‘His Highness’?”

“By the way, he only registered as ‘Lin’ in the League’s records. When did people start calling him ‘His Highness’?”

“I think it was three years ago? Some Level 6 Kaxiu lost to him. That’s when the title started.”

“Three years ago? It’s been that long—has he broken through since?”

“His Highness is incredible, but do you think breaking through to Saint rank is easy? You know how many Saints there are in the Federation? You could count them on your fingers. I believe he’s Hall rank, but reaching Saint rank? That’s a stretch!”

So, this was the only Level 5 in the Wanderers’ League. He looked barely thirty—maybe just into his twenties. As for being called ‘His Highness’... Long Yin smirked. He’d met old ghosts who were Saint-level Kaxiu, and he himself, as a Card Artisan, had reached the Hall rank. He hadn’t seen many Hall-level Kaxiu, but certainly enough to judge that this man hadn’t reached that stage yet. Besides, how would the Kaxiu Guild ever allow a Hall-rank Kaxiu to wander freely? Still, the man must have at least the skills of a Level 6 Kaxiu, and with that unpredictable sword, taking on several Level 6s would be no problem.

Among Level 6 Kaxiu, the cards in hand—be they energy cards or card-weapons—could decide the outcome of any battle. Kaxiu, unlike Card Artisans, had less clear-cut ranks; once you broke through, you were simply higher, and challenging someone above your level was pure folly.

The man stood before the mission wall. An attendant approached him with a bright smile, quietly inquiring about his needs, her enthusiasm making other members roll their eyes after being coldly dismissed earlier.

He seemed to accept a mission, took a card to record it, and turned to leave. From start to finish, he said little, barely acknowledging anyone, not even with a nod or greeting. He entered coldly and left the same way.

Long Yin pressed his lips together, then, as if making up his mind, hurried after the man. He didn’t walk fast, nor slow, but with a steadiness that was almost measured. Watching closely, Long Yin saw that every step was the same length, as if calculated, each stride perfectly consistent. He marveled—this man even trained while he walked. Had he integrated discipline into every aspect of his life? Recalling the man’s movements earlier, Long Yin sucked in a breath. How could someone so young do all this? Then he remembered—he himself, in his past life, had been even more impressive, though he’d forgotten it in his admiration for another.

Long Yin followed for a while and saw the man stop at a small alley. Curious, Long Yin wondered what business he had here.

“How long do you plan to follow me?” The man didn’t turn, but his voice carried back.

Long Yin glanced around. Was he speaking to him?

The man turned, and Long Yin once again found himself caught in those icy, silver eyes. Every time he looked, a shiver ran through him. He pressed his lips tightly together.

Yuan Shaolin stared coldly at Long Yin, his thumb pushing the sword hilt, exposing a sliver of blade—its glint sharp and threatening.

Long Yin gazed into those emotionless eyes, watching as the man drew his sword. A surge of stubborn defiance welled up inside him. He clenched his jaw and stepped forward, closer and closer.

Yuan Shaolin saw the boy’s eyes ignite with a sudden, fierce anger as he approached, brow furrowing. Did the boy not fear death? Or was it ignorance? Watching Long Yin insistently close the distance, Yuan Shaolin’s gaze grew colder. He slowly drew his sword, the cutting aura dropping the temperature in the sweltering alley. Long Yin seemed unfazed, drawing nearer, undeterred by the threat.

When Long Yin was a meter away, the sword flashed past. He squeezed his eyes shut; the chill of the blade grazed his skin, stinging sharply. A few strands of hair drifted to the ground. Opening his eyes, he saw the wall before him cleaved in two, and he drew a deep breath—he had just walked the edge of death.

With a snap, Yuan Shaolin sheathed his sword. He had meant to kill the boy, but that stubborn gaze flashed before his eyes and his hand swerved at the last moment.

“What do you want?” Yuan Shaolin disliked anything that could disturb his composure, so the boy’s presence was naturally unwelcome.

The brush with death left Long Yin acutely aware of his own foolishness. Heaven had given him one more chance at life—there would not be another.

He closed his eyes, then looked up to meet the man’s gaze once more. This time, Yuan Shaolin was surprised—the boy had changed. The obsidian depths of his eyes were quickly veiled by a dead stillness, like a lifeless pool, so cold it chilled to the bone.

A trace of astonishment and suspicion flickered in the man’s eyes. Long Yin curled his lips. If it was cold indifference, who could rival his previous life? Composing himself, his obsidian eyes cleared, appearing as innocent and pure as any four-year-old child.

The man’s brow furrowed deeply, but Long Yin paid no mind.

Studying the cards at the man’s belt, he spoke coolly: “The one on the left is a martial technique card—a six-star Ice Blade card, to be precise. It can instantly release six ice blades, with a maximum range of ten meters. Its accuracy is stable, unaffected by external disruptions unless they’re of equal strength, in which case the range shortens, but the trajectory won’t change. The card’s explosive power is astounding. More importantly, it only requires a four-star energy card to use, which is rare. This card must have been made by a Level 7 Card Artisan—probably one from Yanzhou, who specializes in cards with high burst power. Judging by the patterns, the artisan is around sixty years old. Oh, and the artisan might have gone mad by now. Pity…”

“The second card, judging by the pattern at the edge, is a six-star wind summoning card. The color is faint, so it likely seals a fifth-tier card beast. A six-star summoning card for a fifth-tier beast—what a waste…”

When Long Yin saw the third card, his indifferent tone finally wavered. “The third one… is actually an eight-star healing card! Hall-rank healing, tsk…” The technique looked all too familiar. Long Yin’s eyes widened—wasn’t this from his own previous life? He had only ever made three Hall-rank healing cards before he died—yet here it was. He suddenly laughed. “Lin, tell me where you got this card, and I’ll tell you how to use it properly.”

Yuan Shaolin’s eyes were now full of shock and disbelief. The boy had deduced so much just from the patterns visible on his belt, and not a word was wrong. He even identified the most precious eight-star card in his possession.

Yuan Shaolin stared intently at the child. Was he really just a child? Why did he feel so uncanny? How could a child know so much—even the Level 6 Card Artisans Yuan had met didn’t know as much as this boy. And the eight-star card had only come into his hands that morning—how could anyone have researched him beforehand?

“You know about Hall-rank cards?”

Long Yin shrugged. “Not only do I know, but I also know who made that card.”

“You do?”

Long Yin kicked a stone, pouting. “Wasn’t it that Dongfang Ning who died four years ago…” Suddenly, a cold light flashed and a sword pressed to his throat. Long Yin felt the chill bite into his neck—this man really was a handful, always so quick to violence.

“Hey, take it easy, my neck is fragile—you could snap it with a touch! I just want to propose a collaboration…” Long Yin’s eyes were full of helplessness, and he tried his best to appear sincere, though the sword at his neck made him uncomfortable.

“Who are you?” Yuan Shaolin showed no sign of lowering his weapon.

“Long Yin. You can call me Long Yin!” He forced a smile, cursing the other man a hundred times in his mind.

“Who are you, really?” Yuan Shaolin asked again, a flash of killing intent in his eyes.

Long Yin sighed. “I don’t care who you are—why do you have to dig into my secrets?”

Yuan Shaolin hesitated. True enough—who didn’t have secrets? Why insist on getting to the bottom of things? The murderous look in his eyes faded.

“Whatever your reasons, if you follow me again, I’ll kill you.” With that cold warning, Yuan Shaolin sheathed his sword and walked away.

Now it was Long Yin’s turn to be stunned. “Hey, Lin, I really do want to work with you!”

The man leaped lightly to the top of the wall, vaulting away in a few swift movements, leaving behind only a cold rejection: “I don’t need a partner!”