The Seven Demon's Tamer

Master Dwang Sung rested on his plush leather couch, his weathered hands folded across his chest as he stared at the ceiling of his private quarters.

The expensive golden patterns that adorned the ceiling showed thunder whisker kois intertwined with lightning bolts crackling around them.

He had purposefully dismissed everyone from his presence today, not even allowing his regular companion and bodyguard, Ming Fan, to remain by his side.

The action was intentional, necessary even. There were thoughts that required the kind of silence that only complete isolation could provide, and today was filled with such thoughts.

Ming Fan—though that wasn't quite the right title to use for him anymore, given his recent promotion into the prestigious Tian section of the Red Eastern Guild hierarchy. The man had completely bypassed the Luo rank, jumping straight to Tian status, which he had undoubtedly earned through his years of faithfulness.

It wasn't that Ming Fan lacked the skill or capability for promotion—far from it. The man was a formidable fighter in his own right, possessing abilities that earned him respect from even senior Red Eastern members.

Master Sung had purposely held back on promoting him, keeping him close for reasons that even he sometimes questioned. Perhaps it was selfish, this desire to keep such a loyal and capable person within arm's reach.

But just three days ago, something had shifted in Master Sung's perspective. Without warning or apparent reason, he had suddenly decided to grant Ming Fan the promotion he had long deserved. The decision had surprised everyone, including Ming Fan himself.

Ming Fan had been working for over a decade as Master Sung's personal attendant and protector, but still he didn't receive even a single advancement in rank or recognition.

Ming Fan wasn't by any means weak, but still, Master Sung refrained from promoting him, until this moment when Master Sung suddenly changed his mind for no reason.

Immediately after giving the promotion, Master Sung had sent Ming Fan away on a two-day leave—the first extended break the man had taken in years. It was during this brief period of separation that Master Sung found himself alone with his thoughts.

His head was rested on the sofa, his long black hair tied in a ponytail, sprawled on the soft armrest.

The room around him was a modest one, but exquisite—not too big, but containing just enough space for a king-sized bed, this leather sofa that he had made his thinking spot, several shelves lined with ancient texts and scrolls—probably the kind containing several hidden martial arts techniques—and a collection of carefully chosen furniture including a reading desk at the corner of the room.

The silence in the room was so deep that he could hear his own heart beating in his chest. He had been maintaining this position for nearly an hour, lost in thoughts about his next moves. He had successfully made Ryder his ally, which was a huge step, but...?

He remained deep in thought, his mind wandering through countless possibilities, until suddenly...

*Swoosh*

The sound was subtle but unmistakable—the displacement of air that only accompanies extremely fast movement. Master Sung's body responded unconsciously before his mind had fully processed the threat.

His body moved with fluidity to his feet, rising from the couch in one fluid motion and taking a defensive stance. A stance no other Red Eastern members could assume—his legs spread out, knees slightly bent, keeping him in firm balance. His hands moved into position—one extended forward as a guard, the other pulled back and ready to strike. His red eyes, now sharp and alert, quickly observed his surroundings.

But... there was nothing. Absolutely nothing visible in his field of view that could have caused the disturbance. The room appeared exactly as it had moments before—unchanged, undisturbed, and completely empty of any new figure or intruder.

He swept his gaze cautiously across every corner, scanning every tiny detail. His enhanced senses, which he had attained due to his familiars, helped him scan with superhuman precision, but still, there was nothing in the room.

For several long seconds, he maintained his defensive posture, ready for action. He simply trusted his senses too much to let his guard down. Had it been an assassin with stealth affinity?

"Show yourself now!" His voice boomed with authority, but no response came.

The sensation he had felt moments ago—that unmistakable awareness of another person materializing nearby—had completely vanished, leaving him questioning whether it had been real at all.

"Hmm," he murmured to himself in a low tone in the quiet room. "Perhaps I'm becoming paranoid even in my youth."

He kept his gaze alert as he slowly relaxed against the couch once more, though this time he remained in a position that would allow for quick movement if necessary.

It was then, as his eyes swept across the room for what felt like the hundredth time, that he noticed something that made him freeze.

"Oh, now I see it." Master Sung spoke to himself and walked towards the reading desk. On the table, he found a cream-colored envelope.

"So this was what that presence came for," he murmured, reaching out to pick up the mysterious delivery. "To deliver this letter."

As his fingers made contact with the envelope, he immediately noticed that it felt slightly wet.

Raising it to eye level for closer examination, Master Sung felt his expression harden as he realized why. The envelope was stained with what was unmistakably blood—not fresh, but recent enough that it had left dark marks on the cream-colored envelope.

"Blood-stained envelope!" Master Sung reasoned. "It must mean one of two things: either a message of extreme urgency from an ally or guild member, or a letter of threat from an enemy that is out for blood." Given the way the letter was delivered, Master Sung suspected the latter more.

"It's been far too long since I last received such a letter," he said with a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The smile held no warmth—it was the expression of a man who had faced countless threats like this over the years and had survived them all.

The way the blood had been applied was more like seemingly random splashes rather than any intentional design—could clearly be the work of amateurs he shouldn't fear.

It could probably be members of some nameless guild seeking to build their reputation through threats and intimidation against greater guilds to intimidate whoever falls for their plot, but this is only an assumption.

Without wasting any more time on inner thoughts, Master Sung carefully opened the envelope. The blood had not seeped through to the letter inside, which was written on matching cream-colored paper in what appeared to be black ink.

As his eyes read through the first few lines, the smile that had been playing on his lips began to fade. By the time he reached the heading that identified the sender, his expression had transformed completely.

The letter read:

**[FALCON GUILD]**

**Hand over your little trump card within the next twenty-four hours, and we will not find it necessary to eradicate your guild's existence from this world.**

**The choice is yours. We would prefer to avoid unnecessary bloodshed, but our patience has limits.**

**Signed: Yutia Nakamura**