Fang Yuan began with Feng Lishen.
With a casual flick of his fingers, the patriarch's body dissolved into ash and dust, the remnants of a life erased as if it had never existed.
Next came Feng Rin and her child, Fang Yuan's hand moved swiftly, leaving nothing but fading wisps of spiritual energy where their forms had been.
He did not pause. Step by step, hall by hall, Fang Yuan searched for any survivors.
A faint heartbeat here, a flicker of qi there, he found one or two hiding in corners, cowering behind collapsed walls, trembling in disbelief.
Most of them were mere mortals, not even worth being sacrificed in the eyes of Feng Lishen.
But to Fang Yuan, their value, or lack thereof, did not matter. None would escape.
A swing of his sword, a flick of his wrist, and even their feeble attempts at resistance ended instantly.
Bodies disintegrated, screams silenced and their hopes extinguished. Slaves, captives, everyone none were spared.
