The mission request arrived at dawn.
Cain was in the outer disciples' hall, forcing down a bowl of spirit rice, when Deng Rui strode in with the particular urgency of a man delivering news he hoped would ruin someone's morning.
"Cain. Contract assignment. From Elder Kong."
Cain set down his chopsticks. "I'm listening."
"Forty li southeast. A village called Redmud. Blood Craving Rats—approximately two hundred head. The villagers have barricaded themselves in the grain storehouse." Deng Rui handed him a wooden token stamped with Elder Kong's personal seal. "Elder Kong assigned this to you specifically. He suggests you leave immediately."
*Redmud Village. Two hundred rats. Elder Kong either found evidence and wants me dead, or he knows something about me I haven't shared.*
"I'll leave within the hour."
Deng Rui nodded and left.
---
Cain packed his field kit: two jars of refined spirit fox blood, the Bone Grudge rib-dagger, spirit-suppressing rope, and three days' rations. He left a note for Yin Wuji in the waterfall cave: *Redmud Village. Two hundred rats. If I'm not back in four days, someone cleaned up my mess.*
Then he walked out of the sect's main gate and headed southeast.
---
Redmud Village was exactly as miserable as the name suggested.
Cain arrived at dusk on the second day, cutting travel time by half through blood-qi-enhanced speed. The village sat in a shallow valley. From a ridge half a li out, he could see the damage.
The outer buildings were skeletal—thatch roofs collapsed, walls torn apart. The villagers had retreated to the grain storehouse at the valley's center, a solid stone building the rats hadn't breached. A perimeter of burning brush kept the rats at bay. Temporarily.
The rats massed in the grass like a living tide—red-black fur, eyes like drops of blood. Cain counted at least three hundred from his ridge. More were emerging as the perimeter shrank.
The *sound* of them was worse than the sight: layered chittering that rose and fell, the wet scrape of hundreds of claws on packed earth, and underneath, a subsonic pulse that Cain felt in his chest—the Blood Rat King's controlling signal.
*They're not just feeding. They're being called. A Blood Rat King.*
He'd read about them in Ao Lie's memories. Blood Rat Kings were rare—decades of growth, significant blood accumulation. They were attracted to high-quality blood.
*My blood. Mid Blood Refining stage, Ancestor's lineage. I walk into that valley, and every rat in a half-li radius will know exactly where I am.*
*Elder Kong didn't send me on a suicide mission. He sent me on a calling mission.*
Cain descended the ridge.
---
He entered the village from the north, where rat density was thinnest. Dozens of small heads turned in unison. The nearest rats advanced.
*Here we go.*
He released a controlled burst of blood-qi—enough to announce his presence. The effect was immediate. Rats surged forward in a wave. The synchronized pulse from the Blood Rat King intensified.
Cain stood at the village's center and waited.
The first wave hit from three directions simultaneously. He manifested a blood blade and cut through the front rank with mechanical precision. Rats died in groups of three and four. Their blood—thin, weak—sprayed across his coat.
*Low-grade blood. Practically useless. But there's so much of it...*
He adapted. Instead of killing efficiently, he killed messily. Each strike opened vessels. He began refining the blood mid-battle—Blood Gathering applied in combat. The yield per rat was pathetic, but there were hundreds of them. The cumulative effect was significant.
His blood origin expanded. His stamina increased. His regeneration accelerated.
*Volume over quality.*
The second wave hit. Blood splattered up his trousers, his coat, his face. He absorbed it between strikes, but new blood replaced absorbed blood with every kill. He was never clean, never dry, perpetually coated in a fine red mist that was both fuel and badge.
---
The battle lasted three hours.
Cain lost track of kills around the one-hundred mark. The rats kept coming—the Rat King's control was absolute. His blood control manifested in increasingly creative forms: blades, shields, needles. His coat shredded. His left arm took a bite that healed in seconds.
By the third wave, the rats were thinning. The Rat King ordered a partial retreat, consolidating its forces at the village's eastern edge.
Cain pursued.
He found the Rat King behind a collapsed farmhouse, coiled on a mound of dead villagers. It was the size of a large dog, fur black-red, eyes glowing with pale luminescence. *Foundation stage equivalent.* Enough intelligence to command, not enough to flee.
*Decided to fight instead of run. That's going to be your last decision.*
The Rat King lunged. Cain sidestepped, caught its throat with a blood-formed hand, and squeezed.
The fight was shorter than the battle had been.
He drained the Rat King's blood with the same technique he'd used on the dragon. The creature's consciousness flooded into him: hunger, rage, the dull satisfaction of accumulated power. But unlike the dragon's ancient personality, the Rat King's psyche was *fractured*—hundreds of smaller impulses fighting for dominance. It was like drinking from a cup full of broken glass. He filtered it, purified it—the Ancestor's blood burned through the contamination.
His blood origin expanded by a measurable fraction.
*Mid Blood Refining stage. Peak.*
The remaining rats, suddenly without a director, scattered into the grass. The infestation was over.
---
Cain sat on the mound of corpses and took inventory. His coat was destroyed. His left arm had regenerated three times; the fourth bite—from the Rat King—had left a scar that would take days to fade. His blood origin was full of refined rat blood that needed time to integrate.
*Recovery time: one night. At this rate, I'll reach Blood Refining peak within weeks.*
He stood, searched the Rat King's corpse for anything useful, and found a single low-grade blood stone. He pocketed it and walked to the grain storehouse.
"Infestation is cleared," he said. "Collect your dead. Burn them. The rats won't return—their controller is dead."
The storehouse door opened. An old man peered out, saw the Rat King's corpse, and opened the door fully.
"Sect cultivator. We sent word three days ago. We didn't think anyone would come."
"One did."
The old man studied Cain's bloodstained face. "You don't look like a sect cultivator."
"Looks can be deceiving."
Cain turned and walked out of the village.
*He wanted me dead. I came back stronger. That's going to make him creative.*
The road back to the sect was quiet. The night air carried the scent of grass and distant rain.
Cain walked faster.
He had a cultivation breakthrough to consolidate, a sect to survive, and an Elder Kong to outmaneuver.
The night was long, and the work was just beginning.
---
*In the elder's hall, Kong read the report that had just arrived by messenger bird. His face was expressionless, but his hands had gone white around the paper.*
*"Three hundred rats," he murmured. "A Blood Rat King. And he walked away."*
*He set the report down and stared at the wall.*
*"What are you?"*
*There was no answer. But Kong made a decision: the next test would not be a beast. The next test would be a man.*