The crowd atop Yinghui Peak was unlike any gathering seen before. From every corner of the martial world, they came—Sect Leaders, wandering cultivators, disciples—each drawn by the promise of witnessing a historic clash. The Righteous Eternal Lotus Sect versus the shadowed power of the Demon Lord.
Sect Leader Lian Yu stood at the peak's center. His white robes shimmered in the midday sun, golden lotus embroidery gleaming like a divine mark. His expression was calm, yet his presence bore the weight of duty and legacy.
To the side, among the gathering of spectators, stood his younger sister—Lian Yue. Her silver sword was strapped to her back, her sharp gaze scanning the summit. Though not beside her brother on the platform, she was close, her position a reflection of her importance and readiness.
Suddenly, a chilling wind swept across the mountain.
The skies above twisted, darkening as a thick, black cloud descended over the peak. The atmosphere grew oppressive. Gasps spread through the crowd as a figure stepped through the gloom—draped in black, long hair flowing, crimson eyes glowing beneath his hood. At his waist hung a curved blade, radiating wicked intent.
The Demon Lord, Xingmu, had arrived.
At his side, a blood-drenched man staggered, nearly unrecognizable. Murmurs of horror followed as the man collapsed near the center.
Xingmu's lips curled into a cruel smile.
"A gift for the Eternal Lotus Sect," he said, his voice calm yet laced with mockery. He shoved the broken figure forward. "Your men aren't very good at their jobs."
The crowd recoiled in shock, yet no one dared speak against the Demon Lord. Among them, only Lian Yue's eyes narrowed as she watched the scene unfold—something dark stirring within her.
"Xingmu." Lian Yu's voice rang clear and steady. His gaze didn't waver from the man before him. He made no move toward the wounded subordinate. Instead, his hand tightened on his sword's hilt. "Today, you will face the justice of the Eternal Lotus Sect."
Xingmu laughed, deep and unbothered. "Justice?" he echoed, unsheathing his blade. The wickedly curved sword shimmered with black qi. "Let's see if your justice holds once this battle is over."
They moved into position.
Their auras clashed like thunder before the storm. The crowd fell silent, as if the air itself dared not breathe.
The duel began with an explosion of steel.
Lian Yu's sword arts were refined and righteous—each strike disciplined, flowing like lotus petals in motion. But Xingmu met them with brutal strength and inhuman speed. He fought like a storm, wild yet calculated.
Lian Yue watched, her fists clenched at her sides. Something about the Demon Lord's movements unsettled her. As the blades danced and qi tore through the mountain winds, a deep sense of déjà vu rose in her chest.
Then came a particular move—a spinning slash, clean and fluid. The memory struck her like a blade.
Her mind snapped back to Mount Qingya.
She had seen that move before—fighting side by side with Xingtian against a tide of ghost beasts. That technique... it was his.
Her breath caught.
No... it can't be...
Fifteen days of memories surged—his calm smile, his poised strength, the way he always moved a step ahead in battle.
Could it be?
Xingtian... is the Demon Lord?
Her heart pounded as the truth threatened to collapse everything she thought she knew.
Meanwhile, the duel grew desperate. Lian Yu was faltering—his precision giving way to forced strikes. Blood dripped from his lip, his steps growing heavy.
Xingmu pressed forward relentlessly, black qi swirling like a storm around him. Though wounded himself, his will was unshaken.
With a final blow, his blade slammed into Lian Yu's side, sending him crashing across the stone platform. The Sect Leader lay crumpled, blood staining his robes. Cries of horror erupted among the onlookers.
Then... silence.
Xingmu stood still. He looked down at the fallen Sect Leader, his expression unreadable.
Slowly, he sheathed his sword.
"Consider yourself fortunate, Lian Yu," he said coolly. "I have no interest in killing a man who can't fight back."
And with that, his form dissolved into black mist—vanishing into the wind.
The crowd burst into chaos. Some claimed the Demon Lord had fled in fear. Others whispered of mercy, but none could understand the true motive behind his departure.
Lian Yue heard none of it.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the spot where Xingmu had stood. Her brother was lifted by Sect elders and carried away. His wounds were serious, but not fatal.
She followed quietly—her thoughts spinning in turmoil, her heart split between fury, fear, and something far more dangerous.
After ensuring her brother was resting in his quarters, Lian Yue turned to leave.
"Yue-er, where are you going?" Li Hua's voice called behind her.
She paused, then answered softly, "To see an old friend."
Her tone was steady—but her expression was unreadable.