Legend of the Divine Archer

The doctor, a respected healer within Pine City, stood over the frail boy, his brow furrowed in frustration and concern. He examined Yan Ming's limp body and shook his head with a grave expression. "I've never seen anything like this," the doctor said in a hoarse voice. "This is sorcery of the darkest kind. His blood has been drained, and there's no natural way to recover it.

Perhaps a blood transfusion from his father could save him, but it is a gamble. The slightest incompatibility, and he will die instantly."

The third consort of the patriarch, Yan Ming's mother, was beside herself with panic. Her face was pale, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clutched her son's cold hand. "What are the side effects?" she asked frantically, her voice trembling as she tried to hold on to hope. "Will he be alright if we try?"

The doctor sighed deeply. "The risk is immense. If the blood isn't compatible, the boy's body will reject it violently. He won't just die—he'll suffer immeasurably before he does."

Alarmed, the third consort turned toward Yan Li, her voice rising with desperation. "You can't let him die!" she cried, her tear-filled eyes locking onto the eldest son. "He is your son, you have to do something! Please!"

Her words sent a shockwave through the room. The assembled family members and servants froze in place, their eyes widening in disbelief. A murmur spread through the room as everyone tried to comprehend what the third consort had just said. How could she— the wife of the patriarch—claim that Yan Ming was the son of Yan Li, the eldest?

Yan Li stared at her in stunned silence, his face a mask of confusion and anger. He shook his head, stepping back. "What are you saying?" he said, his voice cold and unsteady. "You're overwhelmed by grief. He's not my son."

But the third consort would not be silenced. She clutched at Yan Li's robes, her voice rising to a fevered pitch. "He is! He is your son! You must save him!"

The room was still, the weight of her revelation hanging over them like a dark cloud. The patriarch stood at the edge of the room, his expression unreadable, his face cold as stone. His eyes betrayed no emotion, no reaction to his wife's shocking claim. He merely turned to the doctor and gave a curt nod, a silent command to proceed with the transfusion.

The third consort screamed, trying to stop them, but it was too late. The doctor began the procedure, transferring the patriarch's blood into Yan Ming's fragile body. For a moment, there was a flicker of hope as the blood began to flow into the boy's veins. His eyes fluttered open for the briefest of moments, searching the faces of his family with a look of desperate longing.

He looked to his brother, Yan Li, the one he had always admired. His eyes seemed to plead for help, for someone to save him.

Then the nightmare began. Yan Ming's body began to convulse violently, his limbs twisting and contorting in unnatural ways. His skin darkened, veins bulging as his body rejected the foreign blood with horrifying force. He screamed, a pitiful, heart-wrenching sound that echoed through the room. His small form swelled grotesquely before, with a sickening crack, he exploded into a cloud of blood mist.

The room was filled with the iron scent of blood, and the silence that followed was suffocating. The third consort collapsed to the ground, her screams of anguish piercing the air as she clawed at the floor, her mind shattered by the loss of her son. Her cries echoed through the halls, the sound of a mother losing everything.

Yan Bai stood frozen, his face pale as a sheet. Blood dripped from his mouth as he vomited in shock, his body unable to handle the horror he had just witnessed. He stared at the spot where his half-brother had been moments ago, now nothing more than a crimson stain on the floor. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind struggling to process the gruesome reality.

He glanced at his father, expecting to see some sign of regret, some shred of sorrow in his expression.

But the man's face was as cold and emotionless as ever. His face betrayed no sign of guilt, no flicker of remorse. He turned his back to the carnage, his silence more damning than any words he could have spoken. To him, Yan Ming was nothing more than a loose end, a liability that had to be eliminated.

The gathered family members exchanged glances of shock and horror, their minds piecing together the dark truth that had been revealed. They had witnessed a tragedy, but more than that, they had glimpsed the depths of the Yan Li's cruelty. They now understood that Yan Ming was a threat to his path to power, a bastard son whose very existence could undermine the family's legacy.

And the future patriarch had chosen to eliminate that threat, no matter the cost.

The Yan patriarch let out a low, disdainful humph that reverberated through the room. His face twisted in a sneer of cold contempt as he turned toward Yan Li. With a swift motion, he delivered a powerful slap across Yan Li's face, sending him hurtling across the room like a rag doll. Yan Li crashed into the far wall, crumpling to the ground in a heap.

Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, his body trembling with the force of the blow.

"Fix this mess," the patriarch snarled, his voice icy and devoid of any warmth. "Or face the consequences." Without another word, he disappeared, vanishing into the shadows as though he had never been there.

Before Yan Li could even begin to recover from the blow, chaos erupted. The sheer horror of what they had just witnessed, coupled with the ominous threat from the patriarch, sent everyone in the room into a panic. The doctor, pale and trembling, scrambled to his feet, his hands shaking as he backed away from the corpse-strewn floor.

He, along with several other attendants who were not direct members of the Yan family, darted for the exits, fleeing in all directions. They knew all too well what awaited them—silence. Permanent silence.

Yan Li, still reeling from the slap, managed to pull himself to his feet, blood still dripping from his lip. His eyes were filled with fury, but there was also fear. He knew what his father expected of him. His gaze swept across the now-empty room, the blood splattered across the floor a gruesome reminder of the night's events.

"Kill them all," he hissed through gritted teeth, addressing the few loyal guards who remained in the shadows. "Every last witness."

The guards nodded solemnly before slipping into the night, vanishing in pursuit of those who had fled. Yan Li remained in the room, his fists clenched in anger as he tried to contain his frustration. He turned toward the lifeless remains of what had once been his half-brother and barked orders to begin preparations for a funeral.

The boy's death, though tragic, would be spun as an unfortunate accident—a tragic end to a sickly child.

Yan Bai, who had remained silent during the chaotic events, now stared at his father with a gaze filled with loathing. His fists clenched at his sides, his body trembling with suppressed rage. He could feel the bile rising in his throat as he watched Yan Li, disgusted by the heartlessness of it all.

The blood of his half-brother still stained the floor, and yet all his father could think of was preserving the family's power and erasing the evidence of their corruption.

"You are disgusting," Yan Bai spat, his voice dripping with venom. His words echoed in the empty hall as he glared at Yan Li. Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, his footsteps heavy with anger and grief.

Yan Bai walked away from the Yan Clan's territory, his heart filled with turmoil. He could no longer stomach the depravity of his family, the lies and bloodshed that tainted their legacy. For the first time in his life, he felt the need to distance himself from the darkness that had consumed his home.