As he approached me, our blades collided again, steel grinding against steel, sparks hissing through the air like dying stars. I stared into his eyes — wide, trembling — the pure, instinctive terror of death burning inside them.
But unlike the other two I had already cut down, this one had courage.
Real courage.
And it was obvious he held Luo Xianling's favour. Even now, with fear crushing his breath, he forced himself forward, desperate to prove himself worthy.
It changed nothing.
He would die all the same.
For a brief moment, I glanced at her. She watched him burn — truly burn — and for the first time I saw genuine concern on her face. She cared for this one more than the other two.
I looked back at him and let my flames rise.
Dark black fire roared across my body, then surged into him at a far higher temperature. The air trembled as the flames swallowed him whole, skin blistering, flesh cracking, his entire body turning into a figure of living, screaming fire.
And still, he fought.
Screaming in agony, he slammed his blade toward me again and again, each strike fuelled by nothing but adrenaline and the stubborn instinct to live.
"I— won't die— dammit!" he shrieked, voice torn apart by pain. "I can't—! I won't let you beat me— you bastard!"
Even as the flames hollowed him out, he refused to fall.
But I was already raising my blade to end it.
I whispered the name of my cultivation technique — my favourite one.
Final Turn.
At once, my blade transformed, its steel swallowed in complete darkness as pure black flames wrapped around it. The air warped under the heat, and for an instant, even the god-domain seemed to shrink away from me.
He was still fighting, still screaming, still trying to strike through the agony.
But it was already over.
With a single swing, I cleaved through his neck.
His head tore free in a burst of dark fire, the scream dying half-formed. I summoned it before it could fall, the burning skull hovering in my palm, flames licking at my hand harmlessly. His body, still trying to fight, staggered toward me blindly, swinging at empty air even without a head.
Then the body collapsed.
And vanished.
No ash.No smoke.Nothing remained — I had burned him so completely that existence itself could no longer claim a trace of him.
But I made sure his head did not disappear.
Holding the flaming skull in one hand, I turned toward Luo Xianling. Her eyes widened just slightly — enough to betray her attachment.
I tossed the burning head into her lap.
The flames did not harm her; my intent bent around her, and her own water-element cultivation suppressed what little heat remained. The head lay there, burning silently, its last expression frozen in terror.
And she accepted it without a word.
She looked down at his burning skull…and for once, she didn't smile.
He was one of her favourites.One of the few she actually valued — in her own twisted way.She truly hadn't wanted this one to die.
A rare flicker of something crossed Luo Xianling's face — not grief, not sorrow, but a cold calculation mixed with an irritation she almost never showed.
She wondered, briefly, what her children would think when they learned their father was gone.Of course… she would have to tell the children of her other two husbands the same thing.Death was common for her men.But this one… this one she had liked.
She crushed the flaming skull in her hand.
Bones cracked, fire burst outward, and the last remnants of him disintegrated between her fingers. Ash fluttered down over her silks.
Then she lifted her gaze to me — cold, serious, unblinking.
"I can't even sense a bit of his soul left," she said quietly."He's completely gone."
Her foot moved — effortless, graceful — and she pressed down on the other severed heads at her feet, crushing them one by one. Soul fragments clung to them, like faint dying sparks.
"You let the other two linger," she murmured. "Purposely."
She wiped those souls from existence with a single, precise movement of her bare foot, erasing them as though they were nothing more than dust on her floor.
She exhaled softly — disappointed, but accepting.
"I really didn't want him to die. Such a shame."A pause."I suppose he was weak compared to you."
She sat up straighter, brushing ashes from her lap.
"I'll simply send another one—"
But before she could, another husband moved on his own.
One of the countless men at her disposal stepped forward, fury shaking his frame. His eyes burned, trembling with both grief and rage as he stared at the place where his senior brother had died in flames.
He didn't wait for permission.He didn't ask.He just screamed — voice raw, breaking.
"You bastard!" he roared."You deserve death for killing my friend!"
Luo Xianling watched him charge at Shen, fury twisting his features. This one was another of her favourites—one of the few she had ever felt even a sliver of sentiment toward. She had been preparing to send one of her least-favoured husbands next, but this one had thrown himself forward before she could speak.
She remembered, fleetingly, the night she had lain with both him and the senior whose burning skull now sat crushed to embers beneath her palm. Those two had always been close—closer than mere friends, perhaps something more tender, more loyal. She had never minded; after all, they both belonged to her.
For a moment she considered stopping the fight, pulling him back before Shen's blade reached him. But she dismissed the thought. He had already committed himself, and she could always intervene at the verge of death. She would not allow him to fall so easily.
Still… she could tell. Shen intended to kill them all.
A quiet thought slipped into her mind—dangerous, tempting. If Shen truly wished to stand above the rest… would it be so terrible if he became the only husband left standing? It would prove he was the strongest among her countless consorts. Worthy. A favourite not merely by whim, but by strength.
She could always take more husbands later. That had never been a difficulty.
But for now, she pushed the notion aside and watched the two men clash—one out of devotion, and the other out of unshakeable resolve.
I glanced at the man hurtling towards me, weapon of choice in hand — a folded fan that glimmered with spiritual light. With a sweep of his sleeves, flowers burst forth, countless petals shaped like delicate butterflies. They fluttered towards me in a whirlwind, an elegant storm meant to shred flesh from bone.
I did not move.I let them come.
The petals struck, swirling around me, twisting faster and faster until they formed a spiralling tornado of colour and slicing wind. The air howled. Spiritual force crashed against my skin like a tide trying to erode stone.
He didn't stop.
Through the storm I could hear him — frantic, broken, his voice cracking with the raw, ugly crying of someone who had just lost more than a friend. His wrist snapped in desperate motions, fan slashing patterns in the air as more petals shot forward. His tears mixed with fury, his shouts shaking with rage and grief as he watched the one he loved burn to nothing in my flames.
He screamed again, voice hoarse:
All of it — his sorrow, his fury, his devotion — hurled at me with every desperate strike.
But even as the storm tightened around my body, even as he gave everything he had…I knew it would not be enough.
When his frantic outburst finally burned itself out, he froze.
Through the drifting petals, he saw me — or rather, what looked like my lifeless body lying still on the ground.
Confusion twisted across his face.
He didn't trust it — not completely — but grief and rage had already fractured his judgement. Step by uneven step, he approached, fan trembling in his hand, breath shaking. He reached out—
Luo Xianling's voice sliced through the air, furious and sharp:
"You fool! How could you be so stupid? It's an obvious trap! How could someone of his bloodline die so easily?"
Her warning came a heartbeat too late.
The "corpse" dissolved into smoke — then exploded.
A violent shockwave ripped across the hall. The blast hurled him backwards like a broken doll, smashing him into the gleaming wall of her domain. The wall — woven from her spiritual power — groaned, cracked, and then shattered under the impact, collapsing over him in a storm of shimmering fragments and choking dust.
For a moment, silence.
Then the debris shifted.
He burst free with a ragged gasp, blood streaking down his cheek. His long hair fell in wild, dust-laden curtains across his eyes. His robes were torn open, exposing the tight lines of a physique pushed far beyond its limits.
But even bruised, bloodied, and barely standing…
He still lifted his fan.
He still glared at me with raw, murderous fury.
And somehow —he still intended to fight.