Chapter 256: Release

In the obscure darkness, the unusually tall and slender silhouette, like a thin curtain, was abruptly torn apart, so lightly that it shook one's perception of its weight and volume.

Its already abnormal physique bent further unnaturally, its upper limbs curving as if boneless, its ribcage collapsed like a crushed empty box.

The soft tissue tearing and bone-end friction, compressed into a single instant, were so distorted that it was impossible to form an intuitive grasp of what had occurred.

Within an extremely brief span, the wielder of that terrifying hammer lost the ability to swing it further, allowing it to slip from his lax grip as his body fell to the ground like a heavy coal slag extruded from an unending nightmare.

Yin Feng stood frozen, feeling her thoughts stagnate in that instant. She moved her fingers, recalling the sensation of throwing an object.

Her consciousness, still half-trapped in the fading dream, remained weary, immersed in the strange freedom of the departed dream and its stark contrast with reality, acting on instinct and reflex, even yet unaware of what she had just done.

Long-term adaptation had gradually conditioned her body to accept change, often causing her to forget what lurked beneath seemingly ordinary appearances, revealing itself involuntarily when uncontrolled.

Standing there, she took several deep breaths to comprehend the sequence of events. First came the habitual fear—just as before—realizing too late that a mistake had already been made: shards of window frame, pen barrel, or glassware embedded in her palm.

But gradually, logical thought prevailed: there was no need to feel remorse for the fellow whose face screamed "abnormal," and the brass candlestick likely wouldn't mind this minor collision.

Similar scenes surged forth—mostly tied to night and doors—noisy or silent things moving and pounding against flimsy shelters, all one could do being to find a safe corner within limited space.

But this time, she stood outside the door. The darkness, thick as deep water, filled every space, enveloping her and harboring unknown forms and numbers of malice.

The instinct encoded in her bloodline stirred faint fear, like saltwater choking the back of her throat, bringing sharp pain and a sense of danger and insecurity. Behind her stood the solid wooden door, secured with a metal latch two fingers wide.

She took a step forward—easier than she'd imagined—and then moved faster, more freely, until she stood before the fallen body, gasping weakly in ragged, failing breaths.

Unlike in Vesterminster, she could sense his movements, faint though they were; this man, altered by some force, still clung to consciousness despite losing one hand and a quarter of his ribs, futilely trying to salvage his life on the brink of collapse.

Suffocation and pain prevented him from focusing his thoughts; with his remaining hand, he groped toward his injuries, seeking the embedded object.

Yin Feng saw in his deeply sunken eyes the reflection of what had been hidden by darkness and frenzy: survival, pain, confusion, and her own silhouette—stretched long and dark under the dim light by the curvature of the eyeball.

【I've done this once before. It's nothing.】

Thinking this, she gripped the exposed base of the candlestick and slowly pulled it free.

The brass structure was never designed for piercing, nor was it as hard as steel; under violent impact, it had deformed and lodged between hard objects, and this motion lifted his entire upper body.

Like pulling a shovel stuck in soil, she twisted the handle left and right. The slightly damp metal surface slipped slightly, but the looseness was insufficient—it seemed entangled with more, and came to a complete stop.

She didn't know what it was, didn't think about it, and instinctively avoided thinking about it; she planted her foot beside the candlestick and increased her force.

The resistance vanished quickly; something brittle yet resilient snapped, and the rhythmic tremors beneath her foot gradually faded, then ceased entirely.

The candlestick broke free, returning to her control; streams of liquid pooled at the tip where the candle had been fixed, dripping slowly onto the floor.

Logically, Yin Feng felt she should have been terrified, recoiling, or at least nauseated. But in reality, she had simply completed it all, like a detached observer, puppeteering her limbs.

Her inner self was not calm; some intense emotion surged, unfamiliar only because it had been so long absent.

Fragmented whispers hissed incessantly, growing sharper, screeching like needles scraping. They clearly asserted their presence—not only in her mind, but in her body; they were one and the same.

For the first time, Yin Feng discerned something within it: a direction. She turned and looked behind—the open door revealed a new, furtive shadow.

The intruder, realizing his concealment had failed, charged decisively, raising his weapon high. He doubted his companion's ineffectiveness, but didn't ponder what had happened—only felt that no one should stand here to block them.

Perhaps in his expectation, he could swiftly overpower with his physical advantage; his greatest fear was this witness fleeing and summoning more reinforcements.

The girl clearly sensed what had been carried over from the illusory dream—a presence full of aggression, forced into compromise under suppression, part of her yet not wholly hers.

Before the unknown cost arrived, the vessel rooted within her also produced unintended side effects—power, power sufficient to bring change—and now was the moment to use it, appropriate and justified, even if her mentor would approve.

That emotion still poured forth, growing stronger with each reckless swing of the heavy object, lifting her spirit.

It burst forth like a flood, tearing through thick barriers from the sealed depths of her heart, scattering oppressive gloom, shattering self-doubt—it was not any processed emotion, but pure release.

She unleashed this power fully, deliberately and firmly wielding it, and deeply understood why her guardian disliked anyone touching it—things that defy reason possess an irresistible allure, even when one knows such pursuit invites negative consequences.

Before it, the seemingly towering, invincible obstacle shattered—steel blades curled, finger bones snapped, skin tore.

He screamed and staggered back, clutching his mangled limb, hunched in agony—the situation reversed.

She couldn't make out specific words, only scattered exclamations, incomprehensible curses, and desperate pleas. These half-understood fragments were too loud, vibrating through every muscle, echoing in her mind, leaving her no time to hear his final, tedious curses.

The hard bone plates shattered; the brass fell silent, silencing the voice of the one who bore this power, granting him release.

No other form dared make a sound.

The corridor fell still; in the air thick with the smell of rusted iron, a strange yet familiar laugh of satisfaction echoed softly.

Yin Feng stood for a moment, found a clean spot to set down the candlestick, lifted the limp cultivator who showed signs of possible concussion, and waited for a cluster of hurried footsteps to climb the stairs.

"It's nothing. I handled it." She had long wanted to say those words.