The synchronized footsteps of fifteen soldiers echoed ominously from the depths of the Forbidden Forest. Gu Cheng and his unit had finally returned—completely intact, without a single scratch. In his right hand, he carried a large sack that twitched and squirmed, as if something—or someone—was trapped inside.
Wasting no time, Gu Cheng led the way toward the gates of the Blood Sect.
The gatekeepers quickly noticed the arrival of the Guild of the God of Sword, an elite division under Gu Cheng's direct command. One of them immediately activated a magical communication formation to report the news, while the others rushed to greet the commander.
The massive gate of the sect slowly creaked open. Its doors were engraved with ancient runes and forged from a rare fusion of black steel and worldwood. Beyond it stretched a grand corridor leading to the main hall, where the sect elders awaited.
"Reporting in, Sect Leader," the guard said through the communication spell. "The Guild of the God of Sword has returned. They've captured Princess Lyria—bound and stuffed inside a sack."
"Are you certain? Have you confirmed it?" The Sect Leader's voice was skeptical but firm.
"Yes, Leader. I checked it myself. Her screams haven't stopped since their arrival." The guard bowed respectfully.
"Bring her to me. Have them proceed to the meeting hall. The elders are on their way."
"Understood, Leader."
The communication formation faded into nothingness.
Soon, Gu Cheng and his men arrived at the massive doors of the hall. They paused briefly before one soldier called out boldly,
"Greetings, Sect Leader. Greetings, honored Elders. The Guild of the God of Sword has returned—and we bring an offering."
"Enter," replied the Blood Sect Leader coldly, devoid of emotion.
The fifteen stepped into the hall. But instantly, the atmosphere shifted. A chilling cold swept across the room, creeping into every corner. The air grew heavy, unnatural—something unseen was watching.
The elders began to feel uneasy. Goosebumps rose on their arms; their eyes darted to one another in silent alarm. Even the inner and core disciples stationed around the hall felt the oppressive weight—cold, suffocating, and deeply unsettling.
> [System] Host, something is wrong.
"What do you mean?" the Sect Leader asked in his mind, not moving his lips, his gaze narrowing on Gu Cheng's sack.
"Gu Cheng, what exactly are you carrying? Open it, now," the Sect Leader ordered with growing suspicion, determined to see what was inside the mysterious bag.
But suddenly, Gu Cheng and his soldiers' expressions went blank. All emotion vanished from their faces, as if their consciousness had been wiped away. Just moments ago, they had appeared perfectly normal.
All eyes turned to Gu Cheng's hand, which slowly began untying the sack's knot with eerie precision. With deliberate movements, he reached inside... and pulled something out.
Silence consumed the room.
The Sect Leader's eyes widened. The elders trembled. The disciples gasped in horror. Fear spread like venom through bone and blood. Some lost control of their bodies, wetting themselves in terror.
It wasn't Princess Lyria inside the sack.
It was the severed head of Gu Cheng—and the heads of all his men.
Their bloodied faces stared blankly outward, frozen in death, as if still cursing the world from beyond the grave.
One of the elders, hands trembling, looked toward the upright figure of Gu Cheng in the center of the hall. He focused his gaze—and his pupils dilated in shock.
Gu Cheng and his subordinates… had no heads.
From the stumps of their necks, fresh blood spewed out, forming a growing crimson pool beneath their feet. The nauseating stench of rot and decay filled the air—suffocating and unbearable.
"Hkk—!" one inner disciple couldn't hold back and vomited on the spot. Others fainted, unable to endure the crushing dread that now hung in the hall like a curse.
The sect elders instinctively drew their swords, their survival instincts screaming at them to be ready for anything.
Elder Luo of the Peak Council stepped forward, eyes burning with grim resolve. He activated one of the Blood Sect's forbidden techniques—a blood-forged strike, a deadly sword art that sacrificed the user's own life essence for a single devastating slash, strong enough to cleave dragon-scale armor in two.
With a cry infused with soul-force, Elder Luo swung his sword at Gu Cheng's leg.
The strike connected cleanly. But instead of slicing through flesh, Gu Cheng's leg dissolved into thick black shadows. It melted into smoke—formless, untouchable—vanishing into a vortex of darkness.
"What… what in the world are we facing…?" whispered one elder, his face pale as ash.