Duan Jian pledged himself to a master

Nie Li said, "It should be about time."

Not long after his words fell, the door to the secret chamber was pushed open from within.

When Duan Jian walked out, he seemed like a different person. His wounds were still there, every lash mark and blade wound remained, yet he stood there.

His back was ramrod straight, and the aura around him was like a freshly unsheathed blade, exerting a pressure so sharp that no one dared look directly at him. It was nothing like when he had been chained to the stone pillar.

Back then, he had been nothing but a shell that still lived. Now, he seemed to have just awakened from a long slumber, his bones, sinews, and flesh all brought to life anew.

He stood there, his gaze sweeping across the room before settling on Nie Li.

Then he took two steps forward and dropped to one knee.

There was not the slightest hesitation in his movements. The sound of his knee striking the floor rang out distinctly in the quiet chamber.

He bowed his head, his voice low but carrying the weight of iron. "Thank you, Master, for granting Duan Jian a new life. From this day onward, my life belongs to you. If you command me to live, I will live. If you command me to die, I will die."

Nie Li looked down at him, his eyes calm.

He did not speak immediately. Only after watching him for several seconds did he say, "Fold your wings away. The mark is still there, so don't let anyone notice. Your body's strength is already on par with a Legend rank expert's, but you're still no match for a true Legend rank master. You can't reveal your strength yet. Put the chains back on."

Duan Jian answered and rose to his feet. He folded the black wings on his back tightly against himself, then wound the chains around his wrists and ankles again.

Metal clinked as he fastened the chains. His expression never changed, as though he were merely putting on a piece of clothing.

His movements were practiced. Once the chains were fastened, he lowered his head to glance at his arm. The Sealing Mark branded there remained, its color and pattern exactly as before, but whatever it had sealed within was now gone.

Nie Li murmured a few instructions into his ear, and Duan Jian agreed to each one. He lowered his head again, returning to his former, barely breathing state. He concealed his aura completely, as though that fierce, oppressive presence had never appeared.

Nie Li turned and walked out, with Shen Fei following behind him. They passed through the corridor one after the other. When they passed Sikong Hongyue, she was standing beneath the covered walkway, watching them with a barely perceptible smile at the corner of her lips. She asked no further questions, merely nodding in greeting.

Nie Li walked ahead, with Shen Fei half a step behind. They passed through the Silver Wing Family's stone-built lanes in single file, left through the estate's main gate, and headed toward the mine.

The farther they walked, the more remote the road became. The neat bluestone courtyards on either side gave way to crude stone shelters. A faint smell of dust began drifting through the air, mingled with sour sweat and the metallic tang of ore.

The outline of the mine was visible from afar. Countless tunnels riddled the exposed rock faces, their pitch-black entrances like gaping mouths.

Several thick wooden posts stood at the mine's entrance, with iron chains and rings attached to them. The ground had been trampled hard, its soil mixed with broken ore and dark brown stains that made it painful to walk on.

Several bare-chested miners crouched beside a pile of rubble, their heads lowered as they hammered at the ore. Their movements were mechanical and numb, their faces expressionless.

Several armored guards stood nearby, whips tucked at their waists. Every so often, they paced a few steps, their gazes sweeping across the miners' backs.

When Nie Li and Shen Fei entered, the guards froze briefly at the sight of them, then stepped aside to clear a path without stopping them.

The people at the mine were already familiar with Nie Li. Sikong Yi had personally declared him an honored guest, so no one dared stop him casually. At most, they gave him a few extra looks before watching him head deeper into the mine.

After they had walked some distance, the sound of a whip suddenly came from ahead. It cracked sharply, followed by a dull echo as it struck flesh, then a stifled grunt.

Nie Li paused, and Shen Fei stopped with him.

They rounded a huge boulder piled with ore, and the scene came clearly into view.

A soldier wearing the Silver Wing Family's standard leather armor stood on a slope of broken stone. He gripped a jet-black whip, swinging his arm in a wide arc to lash out at someone opposite him.

The whip landed on an old man kneeling on the rubble. His coarse cloth shirt had been torn open in several places across his back, and strips of fabric clung to his split flesh. Blood streamed down his spine, soaking the waistband of his trousers.

His body trembled slightly with every lash, yet he never collapsed. Both hands braced against the ground, his knuckles white as he dug his fingers desperately into the broken stones.

A child of seven or eight crouched beside the old man. The child was little more than skin and bones, dressed in a ragged jacket several sizes too large. Even after being rolled up several times, the sleeves still hung over the wrists.

The child clutched the hem of the old man's shirt, huddled into a tight ball with a face buried behind his arm. Small shoulders jerked with sobs, but the child dared not cry aloud.

Yet tears had already smeared the child's entire face, mixing with the dust and running down in filthy streaks.

The soldier kept whipping him, cursing, "Useless trash! You can't even do something this simple! I told you to move the ore, and you dawdle. Who do you think you are? You're asking to die!"

As he spoke, he raised the whip again. It sliced through the air with a shrill whistle, about to fall once more, when the child suddenly lifted a tear-streaked face and cried, "Don't hit my grandpa!"

The voice was thin and high, choked with tears, as though the cry had taken every ounce of strength the child possessed.

The soldier paused, glancing down at the child. His angry expression twisted into an even crueler grin. "Little bastard, what's it to you? Shout again and I'll whip you too!" He did not pull back the whip. Instead, he turned it toward the child.

Just as the whip was about to fall, a hand reached in from the side, its five fingers spread, and caught the middle of the lash in a firm grip. The whip snapped taut in midair with a dull, strained sound.