"Have they already begun?"
Jiang Dao's eyes flickered with a cold, predatory light as he gazed toward the horizon. He tilted his head, listening intently to the wind. Through the dense canopy of the forest, the sounds were unmistakable—low, rhythmic thuds that vibrated through the earth, sounding less like battle and more like the rolling thunder of a rapidly approaching storm.
Accompanying the noise was a surge of energy so potent it felt like a physical weight pressing against the chest. Even Jiang Dao, a man who rarely felt intimidation, felt his pulse quicken. The air in front of him shimmered, warping as if a small, invisible volcano were erupting just beyond his vision.
"Is that the signature of the Sacred Artifact?" Jiang Dao asked, his voice low and gravelly.
Beside him, Han Ming's face had drained of color. The Left Guardian looked like a man walking to his own execution. "Yes, my Lord," he whispered. "The Master of Spirit Child Palace controls the Heavenly Demon Heart-Crushing Claw. It is an object of nightmares, reputed to possess the sharpness to sever anything in the material world. Its full power is… well, it is beyond imagination. My Lord, are you certain we can withstand it?"
Jiang Dao narrowed his eyes, ignoring the tremor in his subordinate's voice. "This Heart-Crushing Claw—can he spam it? Or does it have a cooldown?"
Han Ming blinked, adjusting to Jiang Dao's direct terminology. "It is not unlimited. All Sacred Artifacts in this world are parasitic; they require an immense intake of energy to function. Typically, this means a blood sacrifice. The Palace Master recently performed a ritual, but it was rushed. The window of time he has to wield the Claw is narrow. Once the blood price is paid and the time expires, it becomes dormant."
"I see," Jiang Dao muttered, processing the tactical intel. "A battery that runs on blood. Simple enough." He turned his gaze westward. "You mentioned another Dharma King. Where is he positioned?"
"Just past that ridge, in the western woods. Do you intend to eliminate him first?"
"Correct. Lead the way."
"Follow me, my Lord."
Han Ming moved instantly, launching himself into the dense thicket with practiced agility. Jiang Dao followed, but where Han Ming moved like a breeze, Jiang Dao moved like a landslide. His massive, broad frame tore through the air with the aerodynamic grace of a hunting leopard, closing the distance with terrifying speed.
It didn't take long.
Bursting through the final line of trees, the duo emerged into a clearing. Standing there, draped in emerald silk, was a figure radiating confusion.
The Green-Robed Dharma King spotted Han Ming and frowned. "Left Guardian? Why have you abandoned your post? And who is this outsider you've brought—"
BOOM.
The question died in his throat.
Jiang Dao didn't waste breath on introductions. The moment his boots hit the clearing, the ground beneath him cracked. He utilized a technique that seemed to compress space itself, crossing the fifty meters between them in a heartbeat. The air screamed as he displaced it.
A massive hand, wreathed in dark energy, thrust forward like a battering ram.
"You—"
The Dharma King's pupils constricted to pinpricks. He had no time to weave a spell, no time to dodge, no time to even regret his life choices.
There was a wet, sickening thud, followed immediately by an explosion. The Dharma King didn't just die; he detonated. His body shattered under the kinetic force, reducing him to a spray of bone shards and shredded meat.
Before the gore could even hit the ground, Jiang Dao's signature Fire Poison energy flared. The flying debris ignited in mid-air, consumed by a toxic, scorching heat. In seconds, what was once a high-ranking martial artist was nothing but drifting ash.
Han Ming, watching from the periphery, felt a chill run down his spine that had nothing to do with the weather. He had been away from Jiang Dao for only a few days, yet the man's strength seemed to have compounded. That strike wasn't just powerful; it was efficient, brutal, and utterly overwhelming. It was a level of violence that rivaled the Spirit Child Palace Master himself.
Jiang Dao stood amidst the falling ash, his expression placid. He shook his hand casually, as if flicking away water, and looked toward the distant tree line.
The booming noises were louder now. Mingled with the explosions were piercing, ghostly wails—the sound of Yin energy reaching a boiling point.
"It sounds like the main event is wrapping up," Jiang Dao said, his voice dropping an octave. "We move. Now."
"Yes, My Lord!"
They sprinted toward the source of the chaos: a massive, abandoned mountain villa that had seen better days. Now, it was being systematically leveled.
Walls crumbled into dust. Debris flew through the air like shrapnel. Inside the courtyard, a desperate last stand was taking place.
A towering elder with wild white hair was roaring in defiance. He was a bloody mess, his clothes reduced to rags, revealing muscles and veins that bulged to the point of bursting. He stood over three meters tall, a giant among men, swinging his palms frantically to create a wall of force.
But against the Spirit Child Palace Master, he might as well have been fighting a ghost.
The Palace Master moved with supernatural fluidity. A spectral claw, manifested from pure kinetic force and shadow, bypassed the elder's defenses entirely. It pierced through space, ignoring the laws of physics, and slammed into the old man's chest.
Splatter.
The sound was wet and final. The old man's scream was cut short as his chest cavity collapsed. The force didn't just break ribs; it excavated him, blasting a clean hole through his torso. Organs, muscles, and spine were obliterated in a spray of crimson mist.
The Spirit Child Palace Master floated back, a sinister, thin smile playing on his lips. From within the folds of his black robe, seven streaks of dark light shot out. They materialized into thick, iron-like quills that slammed into the dying elder, lifting him off his feet and nailing him to the stone wall behind him.
The old man twitched, blood leaking from his eyes, nose, and mouth. He was a ruin of a human being. His eyes lost focus, glazing over as he wheezed his final curse.
"The Demon-Exorcising Tuoba Clan… will never… forgive you…"
His head slumped forward. Silence reclaimed the courtyard.
"Heh heh heh…"
The Spirit Child Palace Master chuckled, a sound like dry leaves skittering on stone. His face was pale, almost translucent, contrasting sharply with the dark gloom that shadowed his eyes. "I have been at war with the Tuoba Clan for years. Won't you forgive me? Did you think I intended to forgive you? Once I heal… I will hunt every last one of you down."
His monologue was interrupted by a twitch of his eyebrow. He spun around, his sensory perception flaring.
Two signatures were approaching. Fast.
One was familiar—his traitorous Left Guardian, Han Ming.
The other was unknown. It was a dense, suffocating presence, several magnitudes more terrifying than Han Ming. It felt like a walking catastrophe.
"Han Ming… you traitorous dog," the Palace Master hissed, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. He was injured, his energy reserves low. Prudence outweighed pride.
His body dissolved into a cloud of black smoke, dissipating into the shadows just as Jiang Dao and Han Ming crashed into the courtyard.
Jiang Dao landed heavily, his boots crushing the stone tiles. He scanned the ruins with electric intensity. When he found no immediate threat, he walked straight toward the main hall.
Han Ming followed, sweating profusely. He knew the stakes. He had sold out a monster to a demon. If Jiang Dao failed, Han Ming's death would be slow and artistic.
Jiang Dao stopped abruptly. He crouched, examining the scene.
"Tuoba Tenglon!" Han Ming gasped, recognizing the corpse pinned to the wall. He spun in a circle, panic rising in his chest. "The corpse is fresh, but the Master is gone. Did he flee? Did he sense us?"
"He's not far," Jiang Dao said calmly. He walked up to the corpse of the Tuoba elder.
It was a gruesome sight. The chest was a hollow cavity; the internal organs were pasty. The bones had been pulverized. It was a masterpiece of violence.
As Jiang Dao inspected the wounds, the air behind him rippled.
Swish!
Two beams of black light, silent and deadly, shot from the shadows. One aimed for the base of Jiang Dao's skull; the other targeted Han Ming's heart.
Jiang Dao didn't even turn his body. He whipped his hand back with casual arrogance, snatching the black light out of the air and crushing it into sparkles. In the same motion, he blurred, teleporting behind the terrified Han Ming.
BOOM.
Jiang Dao's fist hammered the second projectile, shattering it inches from Han Ming's spine.
Han Ming stumbled forward, whirling around with wide eyes. "The Palace Master! He's still here!"
Jiang Dao looked at his trembling subordinate with mild annoyance. "What are you panic-stricken for? Compose yourself."
He turned his gaze toward a shadowed corner of the wall. "Spirit Child Palace Master. Since you haven't fled, why not step out? Hiding in the dark and throwing darts… is this the behavior of a warlord?"
"Heh heh… Guardian Han."
The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, a slithering, icy whisper. "Who is this brute? What kind of fascinating surprise have you brought to my doorstep?"
Han Ming shrank behind Jiang Dao, terrified into silence. He knew exactly what the Palace Master was capable of.
When the enemy refused to reveal himself, Jiang Dao sighed. He reached out, tearing a chunk of stone from the ruined wall. With a flick of his wrist, the rock shattered into gravel, and he sprayed the makeshift shrapnel toward a row of crows perched on the far wall.
Pop.. Pop.. Pop.
The crows exploded into puffs of black mist upon impact.
Just as a stone was about to obliterate the final crow, the bird moved. It extended a tiny claw and caught the rock, crushing it to dust.
Its eyes flashed a deep, malevolent scarlet. It opened its beak, and a human voice emerged.
"Who are you?"
"Flame Gang. Jiang Dao."
"Jiang Dao?" The crow's pupils contracted. A dry, rasping laugh bubbled up from its throat. "Good. Very good. I didn't come looking for you, yet you deliver yourself to me. And Left Guardian… when did you decide to become a dog for the Flame Gang?"
WHOOSH.
The crow began to bloat. It expanded rapidly, feathers stretching and snapping as an eerie black light pulsed from within. It looked like a balloon that had been overfilled, grotesque and unnatural.
Then, with a wet, tearing sound, a pale hand ripped through the crow's stomach from the inside.
The bird's carcass was torn asunder, and the Spirit Child Palace Master stepped out from the gore. He was pristine in his black robes, his face beautiful and妖ic (demonic), his brow heavy with malice. He smiled, a look that promised nothing but pain.
The courtyard was silent, save for the wind whistling through the ruins. The smell of copp