Damon's Ascension-Chapter 108: War in Xiangyang 9

The next morning came with pale sunlight stretching through the bamboo slats of Crane Ridge Villa.

Damon rose early and refreshed, silent in thought after cleaning up as he stood by the open courtyard pond for a moment, watching the koi break the surface of the water. When his trio of subordinates joined him, he turned to them without preamble.

"We’re heading to the Sect Square," he said simply.

The group departed shortly after, dressed in the attire Damon had purchased for them the day prior.

As they stepped out of the villa’s main gates, a few local villagers who had caught wind of the villa’s new ownership whispered behind cupped hands. Some made signs of reverence, others of warding disaster, but Damon paid them no mind.

The Sect Square, located at the spiritual and economic center of Xiangyang County, was essentially just a raised plaza surrounded on all sides by tall banners with slogans, intricate pavilions for disciples to squat in the whole day, and colorful booths where they could excitedly press your name only to squeal after recruiting you for their KPI.

Each section bore the crest of one of the major sects, with the canopies beneath them sheltering recruiters, mostly young outer disciples, alongside outer sect elders acting as instructors. Amidst them were also wandering martial artists eager to offer their skills or be assigned to regional tasks in exchange for coin and merit.

Chen Yuan gestured to the various pavilions. "This is where young martial enthusiasts come to try their luck. This is the place to sign up with a sect’s local outpost, take on basic missions to prove their worth. As long as they are deemed capable enough, they might get invited to train at their headquarters."

Sun Liang muttered, "Or used as cannon fodder. Depends on the sect."

Damon nodded as he moved through the square, drawing eyes but no open hostility yet. He passed under a canopy bearing silver lotuses where robed disciples of the Heaven Dew Sect sat gracefully, offering leaflets and reciting mantras to a small crowd.

"They really do project serenity well," Damon murmured.

Chen Yuan chuckled dryly. "Don’t be fooled. The Heaven Dew Sect has the most refined exterior and the most vicious politics. Their elder’s daughter was once engaged to the heir of Iron Banner Hall—"

"But she annulled the engagement a year before it was to take place," Sun Liang cut in.

He glanced left and right to make sure no one was listening before continuing. "Rumors claim that the Iron Banner Hall’s heir was too... crude for her sensibilities."

Xue Rou snorted. "Meaning he didn’t wear perfume or write poetry."

Damon raised a brow. "How did they react to the annulment?"

Chen Yuan sighed. "The Iron Banner Hall took it as a direct insult. The marriage was mostly political, meant to unite two sects with rival legacies. The bride being the one to call it off meant they lost face."

Sun Liang added, "And because of that, the next generation is now locked in subtle vendettas. Every tournament or martial conference has turned into a proxy war between the two sects."

"The Iron Banner Hall disciples have been known to pick fights during Heaven Dew lectures, and Heaven Dew disciples have poisoned tournament drinking water," Xue Rou added casually.

"At this point, it’s practically tradition," Sun Liang muttered under his breath.

Damon gave a casual nod of understanding, his gaze scanning both camps with sharpness.

The Heaven Dew’s pavilion was subtle, painted in sky-blue and white while tended to by elegant men and women with calm expressions.

In contrast, the Iron Banner Hall’s booth was loud and bold, lined with racks of training weapons and shirtless disciples hammering at sparring dummies while roaring slogans.

He paused between the two and studied the camps briefly. "Well, one offers finesse, the other brutality."

"Both offer headaches," Sun Liang muttered.

Just then, a loud voice cut across the square.

"—I said, back away, you southern fool! This is Heaven Dew territory, not a pigsty!"

The commotion came from a small alley near the Heaven Dew booth, where a thin disciple in pale robes stood with arms crossed, glaring at a barrel-chested Iron Banner recruit who had stepped too close. The larger man, dressed in a leather vest with a red iron symbol pinned to his chest, cracked his knuckles.

"Your sect’s banners don’t grow roots in the ground, flower boy. This is public ground."

The Heaven Dew disciple’s eyes narrowed. "Your stench is public too. Doesn’t mean we all have to tolerate it."

The two began squaring up, but before their posturing could escalate further, Damon’s voice cut through the air like a blade of ice.

"If this is how your sects conduct themselves in public, no wonder the judge disappeared."

Both men stiffened, heads snapping toward the sound. The Iron Banner Hall disciple opened his mouth, likely to retort, but seeing Damon’s gaze, his words dried up.

There was something unsettling in the way this dark-skinned scholar stood, hands clasped behind his back, calm and unbothered like a teacher watching children squabble.

The Heaven Dew disciple looked offended but unsure. "Who...?"

"You may refer to me as Lord Arnan of Crane Ridge," Damon replied coolly, giving himself a title of appropriate weight.

"I’ve come to inquire into local sect practices, but if all this place has to offer are spoiled brats in borrowed robes, I’ll look elsewhere." Damon added with a shake of his head.

With that, he turned away, not sparing either of them another glance.

The crowd, which had gathered slightly, slowly began to disperse. The two disciples parted with gritted teeth, neither wanting to escalate things under so many eyes.

Chen Yuan caught up, shaking his head. "That was bold."

"To the contrary, that was necessary," Damon corrected mildly.

"If they think of me as nothing but a strong outsider, they’ll test me endlessly. Better to show them early that I neither care for their internal squabbles nor fear them." He said with narrowed eyes.

He continued walking, passing the Azure Sword Pavilion’s immaculate booth. A young swordsman with flawless posture greeted him with a respectful nod.

"Scholar, are you interested in joining our next demonstration duel? We seek strong martial artists of noble bearing."

Damon waved it off. "Another time, good friend."

Next, they passed a quiet section shaded by incense burners and prayer wheels. The Zen Sect’s pavilion had no attendants standing in front, only a bald monk meditating beneath a hanging bell.

No one dared to disturb him.

Finally, they reached the edge of the Ghost Valley School’s assigned area, an unmarked tent with no banners where only a single black lantern hung from its frame and no disciples stood outside. The space was deliberately left sparse, and even the nearby vendors gave it a wide berth.

Sun Liang whispered, "They don’t advertise, but anyone who wants to find them can. You just have to leave a message and return at midnight."

Damon stared at the tent, silver eyes reflecting the flickering lantern. "Then let’s give them a message worth hearing."

With that, he turned back to the square and made his way toward the City Records Pavilion where rumors, notices, and task postings were managed.

His voice was calm as he instructed Xue Rou. "Post an announcement. Offer a 200 tael reward for information leading to the whereabouts of the County Martial Judge."

Chen Yuan blinked. "That’s a lot of money."

"That’s the point," Damon replied.

He turned back toward the quiet alley housing the Ghost Valley tent.

"Sometimes... shadows only come crawling when the light grows too bright."

The trio shared a look and digested those surprisingly astute words before following Damon towards the Zen Sect’s Pavilion, and the approach to this area was like crossing into a different realm.

Where other sects boasted fancy calligraphy banners and KPI-focused barking recruiters, the Zen Sect’s space was shrouded in poignant silence. Thin trails of sandalwood incense drifted from metal braziers on either side of the entryway, curling through the air like a bellydancing beauty.

A single wooden desk sat at the center, behind which a lone monk in plain robes sat cross-legged, eyes half-lidded in meditation. Even as the group approached him, he did not acknowledge their presence nor did he speak.

Damon stopped a respectful three paces away, hands folded behind his back as he tried to get a read on this guy.

"I seek the teachings of the Empty Soul Palm," Damon stated simply.

The monk did not raise his head, nor did he reply immediately.

Then, in a tone so soft that even Chen Yuan had to lean forward to hear, the monk replied. "The palm finds the emptiness. Not the other way around."

Damon’s eyes narrowed slightly. "And if the emptiness has already found me?"

There was a silence so heavy it seemed to have weight. Then the monk extended his hand without looking, and in his palm was a weathered jade token with the Zen Sect’s eight-petal insignia engraved on its face and a bamboo scroll tied with black string.

"Take and read. Return only if you survive it."