Chapter 38: The Burning House

BOOM!

The fight turned into an absolute, one-sided slaughter.

Punches rained down on Orson in a terrifying blitz. He dragged his Storm Saint Blade up to parry, but even using the flat of his blade to intercept the incoming blows, his reactions were hopelessly delayed.

In the span of a single second, the shadow exchanged a flurry of strikes, effortlessly overpowering Orson’s guard and hammering him backward step by step.

It wasn’t a duel; it was an execution.

Despite Orson possessing the combat memory and centuries of martial experience from his past life, pure speed and raw physical power stripped all of that away.

His high-level combat instincts, feints, and spatial angling felt like cheap, pathetic tricks in the face of this entity’s overwhelming force. Every defensive stance Orson adopted was countered before he could even complete the movement.

The main floor of the condo was reduced to total ruin. The walls were riddled with gaping, fist-sized holes, and shattered furniture lay strewn across the floor, scorched with black static marks from the shadow’s electric gloves.

Orson desperately raised his blade to block a high strike—but the shadow’s hands moved as an unreadable blur.

Anticipating the block, the shadow shifted its lead hand, sweeping Orson’s sword aside while driving its second fist directly into Orson’s exposed sternum.

CRACK!

Orson felt his ribs snap like dry twigs. The kinetic wave lifted him off his feet, blasting him straight through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows at the back of the dining room.

He crashed violently onto the cold grass of the backyard, rolling through shattered glass and dead leaves before coming to a rest. A fresh mouthful of dark blood spilled from his lips. His face was so severely beaten and swollen that his own friends wouldn’t have recognized him.

Yet, as he lay battered on the lawn, Orson’s mind refused to shut down.

Something wasn’t adding up.

He stared up at the dark figure casually stepping through the ruined window frame into the cool night. The moon hung high overhead, casting a pale glow over the shadow as its suffocating, murderous aura spilled into the yard. The entity walked forward until its massive silhouette fell completely over Orson’s broken body.

"You weren’t part of the plan, you know," the shadow said, its voice distorted and flat. "It really wasn’t your fault... but you just had to marry her."

Orson stared up from the dirt, his mind piecing together three crucial realizations.

First, the man was fast, but speed alone didn’t explain this gap. When fighting a faster opponent, a seasoned cultivator’s body naturally adapted, allowing them to instinctively block or dodge based on intent.

But this entity wasn’t just outspeeding him—it was arriving at his defensive positions before Orson even finished initiating them. It was as if the shadow was reading his thoughts, predicting every breath and movement before Orson could even execute them.

Second, Orson knew this shadow.

He couldn’t see a face, but the underlying aura and presence were hauntingly familiar. Was it Corvin? No, Corvin wasn’t an Awakened. Julian? No, Julian’s Astral energy felt completely different from this cold, electric malice.

Who was this monster standing over him?

After a while, he sighed, coughing out a mouthful of blood. His eyes were already red, and his body was just broken. Orson did not know how many hits this body could take anymore. He looked up.

"Who are you? And what do you want with my wife?"

The shadow looked at Orson for a while before sighing. "You know, I really thought the Mercer family taught you how to fight, but I could read all your moves like an open book. That was sad."

The shadow looked at Orson before calling his glove away and bending down to look at him.

"Wow. You don’t even know who you married, did you? Even without being an Awakened, I’m surprised you lasted this long." He paused. "Still, do you have any idea how many lives she has destroyed for her selfish pride? A lot of people died for her to have power. And look at her—she is nothing but a broken shell."

The shadow looked away.

"You know, Orson," he said, his voice dropping. "When I lost all hope, you were always there for me. I didn’t know when it happened, but you gave me hope to continue living. I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could go on."

He paused.

"Just maybe I could move on. But no. After everything, the world will not make me forget. I couldn’t sleep with how I saw him over and over again.

Do you know how it feels every night to go to bed and the one person you love—you see that person in your dream asking how you could sleep when the killer was out there?"

The shadow’s voice cracked.

"I really thought you understood me, Orson. I thought we could be friends."

Orson looked at the shadow. Even with his face covered, a memory overlay appeared over the shadow. It was Orson. A younger Xander. A memory from his past life.

Father, look at my new sword. Mom bought it for me.

Father, you’re going to war again without kissing me goodbye.

Father, Mom is angry at you. You didn’t kiss her goodbye too.

Father. Father.

The memory was vivid and heartbreaking. Orson felt cold in his body. So cold he did not know what to do as the voice of his daughter, which had disappeared from the memory, came back.

"And after doing everything to accept it, the one friend I trusted married my woman—the woman who took everything from me."

The shadow looked at Orson and got up. His hands started to weave fire. He looked behind him at the house in front of him.

The theory about the shadow reading minds as an ability went out the window. So he could control fire, Orson thought, but he did not like where this was going.

The shadow turned to Orson. "I want her to suffer."

He moved his hand, and fire burst out toward the house.

The shadow smiled as he faced Orson, the house burning behind him. "I’m sure she is up there somewhere. And do you know why this death is more interesting?"

He paused.

"I really want to see if she will swallow that pride of hers to call for help, or burn to death with it."

The shadow smiled.

"How curious I am to see what the Storm Saint will do. Are you not?"