The Psychopathic Beast Emperor-Chapter 73: Outer Sect Collision

Night slowly settled in the Shadow Fang Sect, officially marking the first night for the new disciples of the sect.

This same night was the night for the tradition; some of the older members did.

The outer sect compound was quiet in the way predators prefer. Lanterns carved islands of dim amber light across stone paths. Vastness stretched in every direction in rows of identical stone residences, training yards sleeping like coiled beasts, and above it all, sect wards humming softly, as if breathing.

Bahamut sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor of their residence, his back straight, and his hands resting loosely on his knees, as he skimmed through the system.

He had yet to discover much about the world, but he had at least something about the system.

It was wicked!

The system wasn’t like the ones he’d read about as a kid in one of his lives. It didn’t give him a cheat. It just gave him stuff based on what he did or achieved.

’At least give some insane skill like Weapon Manifestation or...’

[I don’t do charity work.]

’Tch! I thought I was some young master of some sort...’

[Wow... You finally remembered! I’m surprised.]

’Fucker!’

[...]

’So, I’ve been dying to ask. What was all th..."

He stopped mid-way when he heard it... Footsteps.

That shouldn’t have worried him, but he could hear just how rushed and heavy the intentionally moved.

Six footsteps.

"Visitors," Bahamut said calmly, passing his hands through his hair.

Sel’s lips curved into a wicked smile.

"Senior outer sect members, I suppose. They’re late, which means this isn’t official."

Ren, who was sleeping on Bahamut’s bed, sighed softly and turned over as if it didn’t concern him. He knew what was coming already.

If it were to be anyone, he would have at least shown a bit of concern, but Bahamut and Ren?

He was rather concerned for these seniors who hadn’t even advanced past Tier 1: Circle of Mind. The strongest would mostly be at the Circle of Initiation.

As they waited, they heard sounds from other residences. It seemed they were going from resident to resident.

"Such a bunch of wimps..." Bahamut exclaimed when he heard someone cry out in pain.

BANG!

Their door suddenly slammed inward, opened harshly, or rather, was kicked harshly and forcefully.

Six figures stood framed by lantern light, exuding intense auras. They were older disciples, wearing black robes loosely and confidently, their collars dulled by time. They bore no crests, showing their normal positions in the sect.

The one in front stepped forward, rolling his shoulders.

He was tall, broad, and scarred; a veteran of the outer sect who had survived long enough to believe that meant something.

"So these are the new prodigies living on our land, huh?" he said, his voice thick with amusement.

Another laughed mockingly.

"Two brats and a mouse. What is the sect even thinking?"

"You’re standing three steps inside the threshold," he said. "Sect rules say visitors should announce themselves before entering a residence."

The room went quiet.

The leader’s smile twitched."...He’s blind, right?"

Sel pushed himself off the wall and took one step forward.

"You’re here to ’teach us manners,’" Sel said casually. "Or are you collecting your ego tax early?"

The man’s gaze snapped to Sel.

"Careful, junior."

Ren sat up."Careful works both ways."

The lantern outside flickered.

Bahamut’s fingers twitched once.

He felt it clearly now, killing intent, rough and undisciplined, leaking from two of them like blood from a bad wound. The others were cautious, curious, measuring.

"Relax," the leader said, raising a hand. "No killing. Just... tradition. Newcomers show respect. Kneel. Hand over your contribution stones, and we leave. Everyone sleeps happily."

Silence followed.

Then Bahamut stood.

He didn’t face them.

He turned slightly, just enough that his profile caught the lantern light.

"I survived the Trial of Survival while blind," he said evenly. His grey, blind eyes glowing slightly." If you believe forcing me to kneel is a good idea... proceed."

Something in his tone made the air tighten.

Sel felt it immediately.

Ren shifted in his sleep. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

One of the seniors laughed nervously."Tch. Bluffing."

The leader stepped forward, but that was a mistake.

The temperature dropped, not physically, but instinctively. Like the moment before a blade touches skin.

Sel’s pupils narrowed."If you take one more step," he said softly, "I’ll break your left knee. Not out of anger. Out of efficiency."

The man stopped.

For the first time, doubt crept in.

These weren’t frightened newcomers.

They were contained threats.

A long moment passed.

Then, footsteps again.

Sharper and Lighter.

A patrol lantern flared at the end of the path.

"Shit," someone muttered.

The leader clicked his tongue and backed away. "This isn’t over. Direct disciple or not, you’re still in the outer sect. Remember your place."

They retreated into the night, pride bruised but intact.

The door closed.

Silence returned, but it was different now.

Bahamut let out a long breath. "...I really thought someone was going to die."

Sel exhaled slowly. "They’ll spread rumors."

Bahamut sat back down.

"Good," he said. "Rumors are warnings that travel faster than fists."

Outside, the lanterns swayed gently.

And across the vast outer sect compound, names were already being whispered, quietly and carefully.

The blind one. The calm one. The room you do not enter twice.

Tomorrow, the sect would wake as usual.

But the night had already taught it something new.

...

Bahamut waited.

Not out of mercy, but out of timing.

The moment the footsteps faded far enough that even Ren’s breathing no longer overlapped them, Bahamut rose. There was no rush, no hesitation. He just removed the sandals he’d been given, going barefoot.

Sel’s eyes sharpened."You’re not letting this go."

"No," Bahamut replied calmly. "They came to establish a hierarchy."

Ren pushed himself up. "...You’re going alone?"

Bahamut was already at the door.

"Stay," he said. "But you are free to come."

And then he was gone.

The outer sect at night was a different beast.

Lantern light thinned. Wards weakened between sections. Stone paths fractured into shadowed alleys where sound was swallowed instead of echoed. Residences loomed like sleeping beasts, stacked stone, narrow entrances, dark windows.

The six seniors moved in a loose cluster now, laughter returning, tension dissolving.

"Told you," one scoffed. "The blind brat tried to sound scary."

"Direct disciple my ass," another added. "Still outer sect trash."

They didn’t hear Bahamut because he had learned how to move where sound chose not to exist.

His bare feet touched stone once, then never again. He flowed from shadow to shadow, breath slow, senses stretched wide. The world unfolded to him in pressure, heat, vibration. Heartbeats were drums. Blood was rivers.

They turned into a darker residential strip, abandoned structures on one side, unlit training yards on the other.

Perfect.

Bahamut stopped.

Tilted his head.

And stepped forward.

The first strike landed before thought could form.

A palm, open and precise, slammed into the spine of the rearmost disciple.

There was no flashy impact.

Just a dull, wet crack.

The man collapsed mid-step, legs folding as if cut from strings, consciousness gone before pain could arrive.

"What the?!"

Too late.

Bahamut was already inside the group.

Elbow. Throat. Knee.

One senior reached for a blade.

Bahamut caught the wrist, twisted once, and the arm bent the wrong way with a sound like breaking wood.

The scream barely escaped before Bahamut’s forehead struck the man’s face.

Teeth scattered.

Blood sprayed warm.

"BASTARD!"

A fire-type technique ignited behind him

Bahamut pivoted, letting the heat wash past his shoulder, skin blistering instantly.

He didn’t stop.

He stepped into the flame.

His fist drove forward.

The punch landed squarely on the caster’s chest.

Not with strength, but with weight.

The man was lifted off the ground and slammed backward into a stone wall hard enough to crater it. He slid down, twitching, ribs shattered, breath gone.

Two left.

They finally understood.

"This isn’t a junior!"

One lunged wildly.

Bahamut sidestepped, hooked a foot behind the man’s ankle, and shoved.

The fall was brutal.

Before the body hit the ground, Bahamut stomped once.

The leg snapped.

The last one seeing this ran.

Ran like prey.

Bahamut followed.

A hand suddenly closed around the back of the man’s collar.

The senior was yanked off his feet and slammed face-first into the stone path.

Once.

Twice.

On the third impact, Bahamut stopped.

The man sobbed. "P-Please!"

Bahamut crouched.

Placed two fingers on the man’s throat.

"You came to my residence," he said quietly. "You tried to teach me how this place works."

His fingers pressed, just enough.

"Now you understand."

He released him, but the man didn’t move.

Bahamut ignored him and stood.

Around him, bodies littered the dark path, broken, unconscious, and breathing shallowly. No killing blows. No witnesses needed to die.

The lesson was complete.

He then turned and walked back into the night as if nothing had happened.

By morning, the outer sect would buzz.

By evening, no senior would "do their usual stuff" near that residence again.

Because the hierarchy had been corrected.

Not loudly, nor officially.

But absolutely.