The scarred woman watched as Soho staggered away, Hao's limp body slung across his shoulders. Her crimson eyes narrowed. Then, slowly, she turned toward the unconscious son and daughter of the City Lord.
"Carry them," she ordered, her voice calm but dripping with venom. "It's time to settle old grudges."
Her retainers obeyed immediately, lifting the two unconscious captives as the woman began walking toward the Second Gate — the place where the battle still raged.
At the same time, Linghui and the monks were running toward that same gate, breath ragged, dust rising beneath their feet. They needed to reach the City Lord — to tell him the truth.
"They're targeting the civilians!" Linghui shouted as soon as the walls came into view. "The shelter! It's in danger!"
His voice echoed through the battlefield like a crack of thunder. Soldiers turned mid-fight, disbelief flooding their faces.
"What… what did he just say?" someone muttered.
"The shelter? Our families—" another choked out, his sword lowering.
In an instant, the morale that had barely held their exhausted lines together shattered. The soldiers who had fought with every ounce of strength for the hope of protecting their loved ones… now saw that hope crumble.
Linghui's eyes widened as he realized the mistake. He hadn't meant to crush their spirits — only to warn them — but the words had already done their damage.
The City Lord turned, pale and trembling, his blade heavy in his hand. "My children…" he whispered.
The enemy forces pressed forward again, sensing weakness, and the sounds of steel and death filled the air.
Linghui clenched his fists. No… not now. We can't fall apart here. But his voice trembled when he shouted for the men to stand.
The tide of despair was already spreading like wildfire.
Then, from atop the city walls, a calm voice echoed through the chaos.
"Enough."
Heads turned. There stood Shen Yue — the Third Blood, his crimson cloak fluttering in the dying wind, his expression serene as if the battlefield beneath him was nothing more than a stage. Slowly, he rose to his feet and looked down at Linghui with a faint smile.
"It's time," he said softly, "to end this."
He stepped forward — and leapt.
The ground shook when he landed. Dust rippled outward like waves from his boots. Without hesitation, he drew his blade, its edge glinting red under the moon light, and pointed it toward the City Lord and Ye Chen, who were still locked in battle against his retainers.
"Fall back," Shen Yue ordered.
At once, every red-cloaked figure froze mid-fight. Then, one by one, they retreated behind him and knelt. The field fell silent except for the crackle of flames and the rasp of steel returning to scabbards.
"I alone will enjoy this feast," Shen Yue said, his voice almost gentle — but carrying the chill of death.
The City Lord's exhausted soldiers exchanged glances. Their limbs trembled, armor dented and splattered with blood, yet desperation sparked in their eyes.
"He's just one man," one of them muttered. "If we all attack together—"
The City Lord gritted his teeth. "All units—!"
But Linghui, watching from afar, felt his stomach twist. Something was wrong.
Why would someone face five hundred soldiers alone… unless…
The thought hit him like ice. His breath caught.
He spun toward the four monks beside him. "Run. Now. We're leaving this place immediately."
The monks didn't argue; they saw the fear in the eyes of linghui. Without another word, they began to slip away through the smoke.
But not everyone shared Linghui's instincts. The soldiers tightened their grip on their weapons, anger pushing aside fear.
"It's just one person!" someone shouted. "He bleeds like anyone else!"
Shen Yue smiled — calm, elegant, almost kind. Then he lifted his sword slightly and whispered,
"Then try me."
Shen Yue paused, as if savoring the moment. "First, I must clean something up," he said softly. Then he moved — faster than a gust of wind — and closed the distance to Linghui in an instant.
"You had a very good intuition," Shen Yue murmured as he neared, "but you should have run. Coming here to warn them was your last mistake."
Everyone froze. Even the City Lord and Ye Chen could not track his movement; Shen Yue vanished from one place and reappeared in another before their eyes. Ye Chen's face went ashen—his heart plummeted into his stomach. The speed was familiar and terrible: the signature of someone from the Wodeng Sect, an expert of the Heaven Realm.
"The Heaven Realm?" the City Lord breathed, his mind going blank at the implication. The Heaven Realm stood above all others — feared even during the age of the First Emperor. Only ten Heaven Masters and twelve generals had ever ascended to this realm.
Shen Yue's lips curved. "You are clever, or merely reckless. Either way, I will not let you leave." He lunged.
Four monks hurled themselves between Shen Yue and Linghui, palms blazing with protective arts. A massive golden hand, shimmering like a wall, rose to block him. But Shen Yue sliced through their defenses as effortlessly as a blade through paper. In an instant, his sword pierced Linghui's chest. The monk's eyes widened in shock — and then he crumpled to the ground.
The monks screamed and rushed him, but the gap between them was like earth and sun. With a single sweep, Shen Yue slaughtered them all. The field fell deathly quiet, the only sound the scrape of steel and the ragged breaths of the living.
He sheathed his blade slowly, a terrifying smile on his face. "Now," he said, and the single word carried the weight of finality, "shall we begin?"
Every soul present understood, with a cold, sudden certainty, that they were meeting there the end.