Legend of the Divine Archer

The morning after the disaster, Pine City awoke to an eerie calm. The storm that had ravaged the city had passed, but it left behind a tension that clung to the air like a heavy mist. The sky was a muted gray, and a light rain continued to fall, more a persistent drizzle than the torrential downpour of the previous night.

The rain was a blessing and a curse—it washed away the dust and soot from the shattered buildings, but it also mixed with the blood that had soaked into the streets, turning the stagnant water in the gutters a deep, unsettling red.

Despite the somber atmosphere, there was a sense of relief among the survivors. The storm had passed, and they were still alive. The rain, though tainted with the memory of lost lives, also seemed to cleanse the spirit of the people, as if washing away the fear and despair that had gripped them so tightly.

It was a bittersweet cleansing, the kind that left a hollow feeling in the chest but also a flicker of hope.

Many of the city's inhabitants had slept fitfully through the night, their dreams haunted by the echoes of battle and the faces of those they had lost. When they awoke, it was with a sense of grim determination. There was work to be done, and the living had to carry on, if not for themselves, then for the memory of the dead.

The streets were soon filled with the sounds of activity, muted but purposeful.

People emerged from their homes, their faces drawn with exhaustion but set with resolve. They moved in groups, some clearing debris from the streets, others collecting the bodies of the fallen.

The city's once-bustling marketplace had been reduced to a wasteland of broken stalls and scattered goods, but even here, people worked together, salvaging what they could, scavenging for anything that might be of use.

The patrols were a constant presence, groups of armed men and women moving through the streets, their eyes sharp for any sign of danger. They were vigilant, but their movements lacked the tension of the night before. The worst had passed, and now it was a matter of ensuring that the city remained safe in the days to come.

Conversations were hushed, but they carried a mix of emotions—grief for the dead, anger at those who had abandoned them, and a quiet gratitude for those who had stayed behind.

"Did you hear that we have to gather at the center? For an announcement?" one man asked as he helped a neighbor clear rubble from what had once been a thriving shop.

"Yeah," his companion replied, her voice tired but steady. "The Meng family really stepped up this time."

"They even gave us food and drinks last night," another added, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"It's so sad that the previous city lord died," someone else murmured, and there was a ripple of agreement among the group.

"Those Golden Guard scoundrels! They left us to die," a voice spat out angrily, the bitterness palpable.

"I'm going to sign a petition to the emperor," a woman said firmly, her face set with determination.

"Me too," another agreed, nodding along.

The mention of the Golden Guard brought a collective frown to the group, a shared sense of betrayal that hung in the air like a dark cloud. But there was also a sense of unity, a collective resolve that had been forged in the fires of the disaster. They were survivors, and they would rebuild, no matter what it took.

As the morning wore on, the rain began to taper off, the droplets growing lighter and less frequent until they finally ceased altogether. The air was cool and fresh, the scent of wet earth mingling with the lingering traces of smoke and blood. Pine City was a wounded place, but there was life here still, and the people who remained were determined to see it through.

In the distance, the sound of hammers and saws could be heard as the survivors began the slow, painful process of rebuilding. The city had lost much, but it had not lost everything. The spirit of the people, embodied in their late city lord's compassion and sacrifice, lived on. And for now, that was enough.

Yan Jin emerged from the hidden spot, with Wei Xi trailing behind like a shadow. The boy seemed even more dejected than he had the day before. The sight of the city moving forward, oblivious to the sacrifices made just hours earlier, weighed heavily on him. It was as if the world had decided to continue without acknowledging the dead, and that realization struck Wei Xi's spirit with crushing force.

Guilt gnawed at him, a deep, festering wound. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had no right to be sorrowful, not when those who had given their lives would have wanted a better tomorrow. But beneath the guilt, anger simmered, a slow, burning rage. Why did they have to die, only for these ungrateful people to carry on without even thinking of offering them a decent funeral?

Yan Jin, on the other hand, was focused on maintaining appearances. He knew he had to project an image of strength for as long as possible. The moment he showed even a hint of weakness, the Meng family—like a dragon waiting to pounce—would swallow him whole. His body might be crippled, his cultivation sealed, but his mind was sharp, and his instincts told him that the game was far from over.

The survivors began to congregate towards the largest open area in the city. The square, which had once been a place of bustling markets and lively gatherings, was now filled with the low hum of murmured conversations and hushed questions.

Fear and uncertainty hung in the air like a thick fog, but there was also a faint undercurrent of hope—hope that someone would step forward and lead them out of this darkness.

Yan Jin and Wei Xi blended into the crowd, keeping their heads down as they watched the spectacle unfold. Yan Jin's senses, heightened by necessity, caught snippets of conversations around them—words of doubt, fear, and anger. But he remained silent, his expression unreadable.

A few moments later, the new leaders of Pine City made their way to the stage, flanking a middle-aged man dressed in regal purple. His presence commanded attention, and as he stepped forward, the crowd fell into a tense silence.

"Good morning, survivors," the man began, his voice steady and authoritative. "As many of you know, I am Purple Pen Meng, patriarch of the Meng family. You might not be familiar with me because I am crippled and rarely appear in public. But I believe that in the face of troubles, you have to stand tall and take leadership. This is why I am here today."

Yan Jin listened closely, noting the measured tone of the man's voice. Purple Pen Meng was no ordinary leader; he was a tactician, a man who knew how to play the game of power. And today, he was making his move.

"Unfortunately, we lost our respected City Lord yesterday," Purple Pen Meng continued, a note of sorrow in his voice that rang hollow to Yan Jin's ears. "Our Meng family rose to the occasion, and with the help of the Council of Elders, I have become the new City Lord.

We are going to organize and rebuild Pine City very soon, but we face one major issue: the celestial vein has been destroyed by the corruption, so we have no protection against the blood beasts."

The last statement sent a ripple of shock through the crowd. Gasps and whispers filled the air as the full weight of the news sank in. The celestial vein, their lifeline, their shield against the horrors of the blood beasts, was gone.

"But I have sent an S.O.S. message to Northern Central City," Purple Pen Meng continued, his voice rising to cut through the panic. "Help will be here in a day or two. We just have to last until then. Here are the things I want to implement."

With that, Purple Pen Meng launched into a monologue about his policies and rules for the new Pine City. Yan Jin listened, his expression neutral, but his mind was racing. This was a power play, pure and simple. Purple Pen Meng was positioning himself as the savior of Pine City, the man who would rebuild it from the ashes. But Yan Jin knew better.

He knew that this was about control, about solidifying the Meng family's grip on the city in its most vulnerable moment.

As the speech dragged on, Yan Jin's thoughts drifted to Wei Xi. The boy stood beside him, his eyes dull and lifeless. The Meng family had taken control, and they would not hesitate to use Wei Xi as a pawn in their game.

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