Chapter 4: The Furnace Attack

When the old Furnace Elder noticed drops of blood slipping between the masked man’s fingers, he understood at once that the visitor’s intent was foul.

He wondered, silently, how he could possibly protect that little thing inside.

The masked man spoke in a tone as steady as iron:

“Do not fear. I will not harm you if you do not harm me. That is my oath, old man.”

The Elder’s voice trembled with suspicion as he answered, “Then why have you come in that guise, if not to do harm?”

The masked man tried to pry the furnace door with his hands. “That is none of your concern,” he replied, straining to unsettle the lock with sorcery. But the door would not yield.

He began to chant a spell—one that only a single person in the kingdom could ever manage: Jin Hai.

The Elder was puzzled, but he did not move. He decided, for the moment, to leave the stubborn door to his enemy.

The masked man tried again and again, but the door would not open—at least, not until the furnace had finished consuming what lay within.

The old man muttered to himself, voice thin as dust: Should I help him open the door so that he may help me… and then kill me? Or should I fight him now and likely die? His aura was formidable; he could not match it. What could he do to save her?

Compelled by a decision he barely trusted, the Elder stepped forward and cast a spell to assist.

The masked man hesitated, then continued—both of them racing time in the hope of rescuing what they sought.

Again they failed.

Their eyes met, and between them a language passed without a word: If you fail, I will kill you. And should the door open, I will slay you.

They tried once more—and before either could begin, the door opened on its own.

They did not know that our little girl had arranged that for them.

When they heard the furnace’s hiss, both felt a brief hope—that they might save what they desired. They also sensed that the sound had released something else: two dark wills like beasts freed from a cage, waiting to strike the head.

Before the Elder could draw his magic blade, the masked man had already plunged his poisoned dagger into the Elder’s ribs.

The Elder had known betrayal was certain from the start, that his end would be annihilation sooner or later. Still, he insisted on saving that helpless thing—even if it meant aiding the enemy.

He collapsed immediately, unconscious. The masked man took advantage without hesitation and strode into the furnace, oblivious to what truly awaited him.

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What courage—or what madness—to enter the den of annihilation so boldly, without considering the consequences.

He strode through the furnace’s darkness like a comet cutting through a black sky, ignoring the Devouring Light that now hunted him with feral intent. He searched long and found only void and emptiness.

Then, suddenly, Huo Feng appeared before him in human form.

He darted toward her and circled, again and again, trying to rouse her from sleep—asking, with frantic gestures, where her master might be.

She did not move… until a drop of blood fell onto her tiny hand.

The scent of injury reached her through that blood. Pain, then a rising hunger for retribution, ignited in her eyes. She awoke only to punish the treacherous coward who had harmed her guardian.

She flew at him like a great comet, then halted before him and demanded, cool as midnight, “What are you doing here? What did you do?”

The masked man answered with cold indifference: “That is none of your concern. Give me what you stole.”

She blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He sighed as if his patience had run out, then snapped with anger, “I want the jar—the forbidden spell inside it. It was here, and there’s no one but you who could have taken it.”

She replied with sudden confidence, “I have nothing of yours. But I will act now—and this is a warning.”

The masked man spat, incredulous. “You lie. It is the strongest spell in all the kingdoms... The furnace could not have destroyed it. Where did you hide it? Surrender or share the fate of that old man.”

She fixed him with a look as cold as frost, then murmured, “I thought so too. Then his blood—”

The masked man tried to justify himself. “I did not mean to kill him. But I read treachery in his eyes, so I struck first and punished him.”

The girl closed her eyes as if to calm the storm inside her, then said, with a voice as precise as a blade, “I also read treachery in your eyes… so I will punish you.”

The masked man laughed at the threat and lunged.

They clashed.

Inside the furnace they fought like colliding comets. With each impact, sparks—sparks of fury—rained down.

When the girl grew tired of those “fireworks,” she turned to strike with true intent.

She came to him and paused, then reached in—so deep that she entered his very soul—and found entire constellations orbiting within.

What she saw of stars and lights amazed her, but vengeance did not leave her mind.

She extended her hand without hesitation and tore two small stars from his spirit. They were actually diamond wings.

At that moment, the masked man felt a searing pain—how could he not, having lost part of his soul in execution of that promise?

His body convulsed. A violent tremor shook him to the core.

Struggling to keep himself upright, he asked with forced steadiness, “What have you done, witch?”

She answered, coolly, “You have no reason to lament. You broke into the den of the Sacred Furnace, invaded me, and harmed my master… so I only welcomed you—especially after that drop of blood sparked my appetite.”

She was silent for a heartbeat, then, voice sharpened to an edge: “Leave now, or I will not show mercy… and the Furnace will not forgive you.”

The masked man stared into her face, carving it into his memory, then snapped in a voice hoarse as dried leaves, “I admit defeat for now. I cannot face you. I will leave—but I will return for revenge.”

Huo Feng accompanied him to the door until he vanished into the mist. Only then did she notice her master—the Furnace Elder—lying at the threshold.

She wanted to help him, but she could not leave the furnace.

A voice came from the shadows: “Not yet, girl. The time has not come.”

She searched frantically for a way to save him but found none.

Then, without fully understanding what she did, a beam of light slid from the palm of her hand.

It was a magical ray—perhaps a ray of hope, perhaps a ray of life. It stretched toward the Elder and pierced the sole of his foot.

It began to weave about his frail body like fabric, sewing the old man back together until he revived.

He knew—instantly—that the girl had saved him with her light and preserved his soul with her magic.

He closed the furnace door with gratitude, then sat on his rocking chair, whispering, “Only now does my task truly begin.”

Years passed… hundreds.