"This task is of great importance. There must be no mistakes. Kill those two young Taoists, capture Wu Qingying alive, burn the temple to the ground—erase all traces. Even if their master returns, he may not realize that it was the Scorpion Sect behind it."
The blue-faced brute steeled his resolve and shouted, "Leave no one alive!" Drawing his blade, he charged toward Zhang Qingxi with over twenty followers.
Sun Yanwan, worried for his senior brother, quickly tossed the Demon-Slaying Sword to him, then gripped the hilt of another blade himself. He took a deep breath, not panicking in the slightest. He had already killed someone earlier that day and now understood the might of the Demon-Slaying Sword technique. It was vastly superior to ordinary martial skills—this group only had numbers, not true strength.
Zhang Qingxi caught the Demon-Slaying Sword and unsheathed it with a smile. He charged straight at the blue-faced man and called out, "Second junior brother, watch carefully!"
The blue-faced man's blade technique was far superior to the leader Sun Yanwan had killed earlier. Determined to silence witnesses, he attacked without holding back—his blade light flowed like a silken ribbon, full of force and momentum.
Sun Yanwan's eyelid twitched, his sweaty palm gripping the sword tightly. He cursed inwardly, "This guy's no joke! I couldn't block even a single strike of his!"
Zhang Qingxi took a step forward—his positioning was flawlessly precise. With a calm motion, he sidestepped, causing the powerful strike to fall harmlessly. Then, with the illusion-like grace of his sword, he slightly altered the blade's path, and in a swish, cut the blue-faced brute diagonally in half from shoulder to ribs.
Sun Yanwan's heart skipped a beat. He muttered, "Senior brother's character is kind of terrifying!"
This blue-faced brute had been a known figure in the martial world. According to the Da Lang Dynasty's nine-grade martial ranking, he was a strong Grade Eight, having unblocked five or more meridians. He was a branch leader of the Scorpion Sect and wielded significant authority. Unfortunately, he picked the wrong opponent—Zhang Qingxi.
Though young, Zhang Qingxi was one of the top talents among the third generation disciples of the Songyang Sect. Many older disciples with decades of training were far inferior to him.
He was the disciple of Grandmaster Zhang Yuanqiao, one of the Five Great Grandmasters in the world and the founder of the Songyang Sect's lineage. A mere common martial thug could never be compared to him.
Having slain the blue-faced man, Zhang Qingxi showed no mercy. With the sword in hand, he cut down five or six more in a blink—and that was him intentionally slowing his strikes, using the opportunity to demonstrate their sect's swordsmanship to his junior brother. Had he gone all out, these thugs would've been chopped to bits already.
Sun Yanwan strained his eyes to study the swordplay. He could only vaguely follow the movements—it was as if the sword in Zhang Qingxi's hand had come to life. He thought, Senior brother's martial skill might rival Master Miao's! Our Songyang Sect's sword style is in no way inferior to the Demon-Slaying Sword!
In truth, the Demon-Slaying Sword technique relied heavily on internal energy, emphasizing power-driven blade control over refined technique. That's why, after unblocking just one meridian, Sun Yanwan's swordplay had already improved. But when it came to intricate technique and majestic form, it couldn't compare to the Divine Sword of Mount Songyang used by Zhang Qingxi.
The Divine Sword of Mount Songyang consisted of nineteen sequences, the most majestic of the sect's styles—brutal and swift like lightning. A dedicated practitioner could earn great fame in the martial world with this technique alone.
Initially, six or seven men had charged at Sun Yanwan, but Zhang Qingxi's ruthless efficiency in killing their comrades—especially the one-strike slaying of their leader—shattered their will. They fled in panic.
However, most of these common gangsters didn't even know lightness techniques. How could they outrun the Wind-Riding Technique, passed down by the sect's founder?
Zhang Qingxi soared like a blue phoenix, leaping into the air, catching up to them one by one and cutting them down without hesitation.
Sun Yanwan watched in awe, thinking, Senior brother's lightness skill might also rival Master Miao's…
Suddenly, he remembered something and shouted, "Senior brother! We need to go to the town! There might be more of them there causing trouble!"
Zhang Qingxi, with more worldly experience, sighed inwardly, These men are already bloodstained. I fear the townsfolk have already met misfortune. But there's no need to tell my junior brother just yet. Let's go confirm first. He said aloud, "Go get the horses!"
Sun Yanwan quickly came to his senses and brought over two strong steeds. The two brothers mounted and galloped toward the town.
From a distance, they saw the town aglow in red. Sun Yanwan's eyes turned red with rage. He spurred his horse into the town, hoping to save someone—only to be met with carnage. Corpses lay everywhere. The entire town—hundreds of people—had been slaughtered.
A surge of fury rushed to Sun Yanwan's head. He let out a primal roar. As a transmigrated soul from the modern world, he was used to online debates over injustices—but seeing such senseless bloodshed in real life, his inner rage boiled over. He nearly fell into darkness on the spot.
Zhang Qingxi approached and patted his junior brother's shoulder. "That woman in the red dress must be hiding some great secret. That's why they wouldn't spare the townsfolk, and why they're now targeting us."
Suddenly, a voice rang out from the night sky:"Did you kill Sun Qingjiao?"
Sun Yanwan looked up and saw a woman in black standing on a nearby rooftop, looking down at them.
Her black clothes were thin and form-fitting, outlining her alluring curves. She was strikingly seductive, slightly weathered by experience. About twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old—at the peak of feminine charm. She stood atop the burning rooftop with a sway that was both graceful and mournful, as if she'd just suffered some great personal tragedy.
But Sun Yanwan had no thoughts of mercy. He drew his blade and shouted, "Demon woman, your time is up!"
The woman sneered coldly but frowned slightly. She knew Sun Qingjiao wasn't weak—one of the stronger branch leaders of the Scorpion Sect, leading over fifty men. The fact that he hadn't returned meant these two Taoist brats had real skill.
But that wasn't her main concern—what truly worried Lao Ai was their master returning.
"If these two could kill Sun Qingjiao, they must be strong—and probably disciples of a prestigious sect. Kill the juniors, and the elders come calling… now that's a headache."
Sun Yanwan was about to charge forward but was stopped by his senior brother.
Zhang Qingxi whispered, "This woman's lightness skill is impressive. Her martial arts are likely formidable. You're no match for her."
Sun Yanwan sobered up. He had only trained for a few months, and while he had unblocked three meridians and mastered the seventy-two moves of the Demon-Slaying Sword, he knew his limits. That blue-faced man, slain in one strike by his senior brother, was called Sun Qingjiao by this woman—he'd clearly been far stronger than Sun himself.
"Damn it. I swear I'll train like mad from now on—never again will I let myself be too weak to face our enemies."
Zhang Qingxi pressed down on the Demon-Slaying Sword and said calmly, "We had no past grudge nor recent enmity with you people. And yet you come to our doorstep with blades drawn? This is sheer bullying."
"State your name and origins. Let our elders judge the matter."
Sun Yanwan nodded inwardly. "Senior brother really is experienced… knowing to extract their background before wiping them out!"