The night was heavy over Minghe Village, shrouded in smoke and the coppery tang of blood. The villagers had long since hidden behind barred doors, but the clash of steel, the screams of the wounded, and the thunderous roars of cultivators made it clear that hiding alone would not save them.
The bandits poured in from the forest like a flood, their torches blazing, their weapons flashing. At their head, Iron Wolf Bao stood calm and still, a mountain of muscle draped in dark iron armor, his massive saber strapped across his back. He did not move, but his lieutenants were already carving their way into the battlefield. Scar-Eyed Duan, with his grotesque scar twisting his face into a perpetual grin, swung a curved blade that seemed to drink in the moonlight, while Three-Arms Lei, his monstrous mutation giving him a third arm jutting from his side, wielded a broadsword in each hand and a spear in the third, a whirlwind of brute strength and speed.
"Look at these fools," Duan sneered, his voice rough as gravel. "Royal lackeys and self-righteous sect disciples. We'll butcher you all before dawn."
Three-Arms Lei barked laughter, spinning his weapons in a blur. "I'll split that pretty jade sword of yours in half, little girl."
Wu Sheng stepped forward, his halberd gleaming cold under the torchlight. His expression was proud, unyielding, his qi rising in waves. "Bandit filth. You've chosen the wrong village to prey upon."
Beside him, Liu Qingyue drew her sword, her movements precise and elegant, her aura calm yet cutting. "Your arrogance dies tonight."
The two forces crashed together, steel ringing against steel. Wu Sheng's halberd struck against Duan's curved blade, sparks raining like fireflies. Duan's strength was vicious, each slash seeking to tear flesh from bone, but Wu Sheng's halberd swept wide arcs, holding the line with both power and discipline. Liu Qingyue clashed with Three-Arms Lei, his triple weapons overwhelming in number, but she wove through his storm like flowing water, her jade sword darting in for cuts that forced the brute back step by step.
Elsewhere on the battlefield, Zhang Wei gripped his sword so tightly his knuckles ached. His heart pounded as bandits rushed toward him, faces twisted in cruelty. Pan Qiang stood beside him, fists raised, sweat dripping from his brow. Both young men had trained hard, both had fought in wars—but always as support, always behind the lines. They had healed, defended, and aided others. They had never taken lives with their own hands.
"Here they come!" Pan Qiang shouted, swinging his fist into the face of a charging bandit. Bone cracked under the blow, the man collapsing like a sack of grain. Pan Qiang froze, staring down at the lifeless body. His breath caught. His stomach twisted. I… I killed him.
At the same moment, Zhang Wei parried an axe, his sword thrusting forward almost on instinct. The blade sank deep into a man's chest. Warm blood spurted over his hands, and the bandit screamed before crumpling lifeless at Zhang Wei's feet. Zhang Wei staggered back, eyes wide, sword shaking in his grip. No… no, this is…
The battlefield continued to roar around them, but both young men stood dazed, their minds blank, their hearts seized by horror. In that single instant of hesitation, death came for them. Two more bandits rushed forward, blades slashing toward their necks.
"Move!"
Han Yu appeared in a blur, his sword intercepting the attacks. Sparks burst as he shoved the bandits back, then his blade flashed in two clean arcs. One throat opened in a spray of red, the other chest split deep. Both men collapsed before the stunned Zhang Wei and Pan Qiang. Han Yu's glare was sharp enough to cut.
"Do you want to die here? Wake up! If you falter again, you'll drag us all into the grave!"
His words struck them harder than the sight of blood. Pan Qiang grit his teeth, forcing the bile back down his throat, and raised his fists again. Zhang Wei steadied his sword, gripping it with white knuckles. They had no choice. This was war.
Wu Sheng and Scar-Eyed Duan clashed again, their auras exploding in violent waves. Duan laughed, spittle flying from his mouth. "You're strong, boy, but your power is nothing against my blade!" His strike carved a deep gouge into the earth, sparks leaping as metal scraped metal.
Wu Sheng roared, qi flooding into his halberd until it blazed with violent power. "Raging Tiger Strike!" he bellowed. The weapon surged forward, a spectral tiger leaping from its arc, fangs bared in a phantom roar. The strike smashed through Duan's guard with overwhelming force. His curved blade cracked, then shattered into fragments, and the halberd drove straight through his chest.
Blood sprayed across the ground as Duan staggered back, his mocking grin twisting into shock. He coughed, choking on crimson, disbelief burning in his fading eyes. "Y-you… a brat like you…?" He had never imagined the youth he mocked could unleash such a devastating technique. His body gave a final shudder before collapsing to the dirt with a guttural choke, lifeless.
Not far away, Liu Qingyue and Three-Arms Lei were locked in a brutal dance of steel. His three weapons weaved together like a storm, spear thrusts, blade slashes, and club strikes raining down in a relentless torrent. The ground split and cracked beneath each blow, dust rising in choking clouds.
"Hahaha!" Lei's mocking voice boomed as he swung his spear downward, splitting the earth into a jagged scar. "You can't keep dodging forever, little jade doll! When I crush your body, I'll string your sword on my belt as a trophy!"
But Qingyue's eyes remained steady, her breathing calm. Her sword was like flowing water—measured, graceful, yet carrying the inevitability of a river carving through stone. Each parry sent sparks dancing, each sidestep turned the tide of his power against him.
Then the moment came. Lei, drunk on arrogance, overextended with his third arm, swinging wide with a brutal arc. In a flash of silver, Qingyue's blade severed the grotesque limb at the elbow.
"AGHHHHH!" Lei's howl split the air, blood spraying from the stump as his weapon clattered uselessly to the dirt. His eyes widened with fear as he stumbled back, clutching the bleeding wound.
"No… no, this can't—!" He turned sharply, abandoning his stance, and staggered toward Iron Wolf Bao, desperation twisting his features. "Great Brother! Save me! Don't let this bitch kill me!"
For the first time, Qingyue's lips curved into a faint, merciless smile. She surged forward, her sword raised, every step radiating lethal intent.
Lei's scream turned frantic. "Great Brother, help me! Please!"
Iron Wolf Bao, who had been watching with cold eyes, finally barked a single word, his voice booming across the battlefield. "Halt!"
For an instant, Lei's eyes lit with hope—he believed salvation was at hand. He turned slightly, relief breaking through his terror.
But Qingyue did not stop. Her sword fell like judgment itself, a silver flash slicing through his chest cleanly.
Lei's body stiffened, blood bubbling from his lips as his final cry died in his throat. His three weapons fell with a hollow clatter, and his hulking form crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap.
Iron Wolf Bao's gaze darkened as he watched his sworn brother fall, his aura swelling with restrained fury. "So… you dare," he muttered, voice low and heavy, his calm demeanor cracking with a trace of killing intent.
Two lieutenants lay dead.
The bandits wavered, their confidence faltering. Shouts of fear rippled among them. But Iron Wolf Bao finally moved. His eyes narrowed, his steps heavy, each one cracking the ground beneath him. His saber gleamed as he pulled it free from his back.
"My brothers, they're all dead," he said softly, his voice carrying across the battlefield. "Then I'll bury you all with them."
He moved faster than the eye could follow. Yan Mo met him head on, his sword raised high. Bao's saber came down in a brutal arc. The impact thundered like a collapsing mountain. Yan Mo was hurled back through a wall of rubble, blood spraying from his mouth as his sword barely held together.
"Yan Mo!" disciples cried in despair.
Bao sneered. "This is all? You kill my brothers, and still none of you can stand before me." He lifted his saber again, pointing it at the shaken disciples. "You'll all die here, i'll use your blood and life to comfort my brother's souls in the afterlife."
Wu Sheng and Liu Qingyue exchanged grim looks. Even together, facing Bao felt like standing before a tidal wave.
Then, from the rubble, a surge of qi exploded outward. Dust scattered, stones rolling. Yan Mo rose slowly, his body battered, his face bloodied, but his aura burned with a new radiance. His eyes gleamed with determination, and a faint smile curved his lips.
"I didn't think… I'd break through like this," he muttered, his qi spiraling higher and higher. The ground trembled beneath his feet. He had stepped beyond Qi Gathering—his cultivation had broken through to the Foundation Establishment Realm.
Gasps spread among disciples and bandits alike.
But Bao only chuckled, his saber resting casually against his shoulder. "So you advanced. And what can a newborn do to me? I am already at the middle of Foundation Establishment. Compared to me, you're nothing but a cub roaring at a wolf."
Yan Mo raised his sword, aura blazing, his confidence unshaken. "Then let's see if the wolf still dares to hunt."
Their weapons clashed in a storm of light and sound, the shockwaves tearing across the battlefield.
Meanwhile, Zhang Wei and Pan Qiang fought on, each kill still heavy on their hearts, each strike a struggle between survival and horror. Blood stained their clothes, their blades, their fists. But with Han Yu beside them, they stood firm. The villagers huddled behind, their eyes wide with both fear and hope, watching the cultivators battle for their lives.