The night grew heavier still.
A fine, cold rain fell silently onto the shattered bluestone streets, scattering in faint splashes.
Amid the ruins of the prefecture compound, Li Fang stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
The hem of his black robe was soaked through, clinging to his legs and swaying slightly in the breeze.
Before him lay utter devastation.
Lu Huaide knelt on the ground, hair disheveled, face pale as death, gasping for breath.
The residual aura of blood rituals still lingered around him, but under the suppression of the City God's seal, he could no longer resist.
On the surrounding shattered walls, traces of dried blood remained visible—on closer inspection, those bloodstains formed the outlines of an enormous array. At its sunken center lay shriveled human skins and scattered bones.
This was the remnant of the Blood Pool Array.
They had exploited the chaos within the city to secretly perform sacrificial rites, using the souls of common folk in a twisted bid for power.
Li Fang gazed quietly at Lu Huaide, his expression indifferent, his voice low and grim:
"To defy the heavenly mandate, to slaughter innocents, to consort with malevolent spirits for personal gain…"
"Do you admit your guilt?"
Lu Huaide lifted his head, bloodshot eyes filled with madness.
He grinned, the curve of his mouth twisted with hopelessness and spite:
"Guilt? Ha… what guilt?"
"Laizhou has long been abandoned—no one rules it. The court sits a thousand miles away, the Underworld watches with cold indifference. If I hadn't used these rites, how would I have survived? How would I ever rise?"
Struggling to his feet, he spat through labored breaths:
"Li Fang, you think becoming City God makes you righteous? You'll see soon enough—the so-called 'heavenly will' is nothing but the will of the strong!"
As his words fell, Lu Huaide suddenly bit through his tongue. Blood sprayed out, and the forbidden runes hidden within his body ignited. In an instant, he transformed into a cloud of blood mist, soaring skyward in a desperate escape.
But Li Fang did not move.
He merely raised a hand, and a strand of black silk slipped from his sleeve, silently wrapping around the blood mist.
The mist froze mid-air, then was violently dragged down, as if by an invisible hand, and slammed into the mud with a resounding crack.
Water and filth splattered everywhere.
Lu Huaide writhed on the ground in agony, terror and despair flooding his eyes.
Li Fang stepped forward, his voice calm yet bone-chilling:
"The City God holds the Book of Life and Death—recording sins, judging souls, severing reincarnation."
"You defied fate with forbidden arts, disrupted the balance of yin and yang—you shall suffer the torment of a hundred lifetimes, imprisoned in the Hell of No Gate."
He raised his hand, and a black scroll of fate emerged, glowing faintly in the rain.
Lu Huaide's name appeared clearly upon it. Beneath, a new line slowly formed:
[Grievous sins. No salvation. Condemned to the Hell of No Gate for a hundred lifetimes.]
Li Fang flicked his fingers, and a dark chain shot from the scroll, piercing Lu Huaide's chest and binding his soul.
A horrific scream rang out as Lu Huaide convulsed violently, dragged down by the chain—his body swallowed by the ground, pulled into the Underworld.
Only a faint bloodstain remained, quickly washed away by the rain.
—
The rain-soaked night fell into an eerie silence.
The remaining evil cultivators, their courage broken, collapsed to their knees, kowtowing frantically:
"Mercy, Lord City God! We were forced into this—we never meant to go astray!"
Li Fang's gaze swept over them.
Their names appeared on the scroll too—each bearing different weights of sin.
He paused in thought, then slowly spoke:
"The ringleader has been judged. As for the accomplices—three years imprisonment. Families searched, properties seized."
"If you show remorse, perhaps there is still a path back to humanity."
At his words, the men collapsed in relief, prostrating themselves again and again as if granted divine amnesty.
Li Fang closed the scroll and turned his gaze toward the distant, mist-shrouded city wall.
The blood rite had been broken, but Laizhou remained deeply scarred—haunted by death and conspiracies.
The storm was far from over.
—
In the depth of night, Li Fang walked alone down the silent streets.
Rain pooled on the stone slabs, mixing with smears of half-dried blood.
Wherever he passed, wisps of forlorn spirits emerged, drifting timidly toward him.
They were innocent souls—victims of the blood sacrifices, unjustly slain.
Li Fang paused.
He extended his hand, and the City God's seal glowed with a warm, gentle light. The wraiths calmed, dissolving into the radiance, expressions finally peaceful.
He murmured softly:
"This city… I shall protect it."
The quiet words echoed across the empty street, lingering long after his voice had faded.
—
The rain grew heavier still.
In the distance, beneath a dead, gnarled tree, a faint shadow stood motionless, coldly watching Li Fang's back.
That figure was vague, barely distinguishable—ready to merge into the darkness at any moment.
A raspy, eerie voice whispered beneath the rain:
"…A new City God, is it? Heh… this is only the beginning…"
The wind stirred. Dead leaves danced into the air—and the shadow vanished with them.
Li Fang turned slightly, a faint furrow between his brows.
But he did not pursue.
He knew—
This city… this storm… had yet to truly end.
In the deeper darkness, the real enemy was only just baring its fangs.