"Another expert?!"
Yue Guan, Ghost Douluo, and Devil Bear Douluo all paled, chills crawling down their spines.
Heaven and earth convulsed—
the winds reversed, fallen leaves swirling like countless blades.
The pools of blood on the ground rippled,
as if the tip of a great sword was being drawn from its sheath,
its killing intent silencing all life within the Seven Treasures Mountains.
"Not good—Ghost Leopard is in danger!"
Catching sight of the petrified Ghost Leopard Douluo,
Yue Guan, Ghost, and Devil Bear's faces all changed violently.
Spirit Power surged like the tide as they moved to rescue him—
But how could Chen Xin and Gu Rong allow them to escape?
With a flicker of motion,
the two cut them off.
Wuuuuu—
Wuuuuu—
A mournful wind-song pierced the clouds.
Countless streams of sword qi converged midair,
taking the form of an old man in a tattered gray robe.
His eyes were covered with a strip of silk,
an ancient longsword hung at his waist,
and that weathered right hand rested upon its hilt.
"The old man—Wind Sword…"
"…greets you all."
Feng Bailong's fingers tightened around the hilt.
Zheng—
Zheng—
Between heaven and earth,
only the sound of steel slowly leaving its scabbard remained.
His motion seemed unhurried—
yet the very winds and clouds moved with him.
With every inch the blade emerged,
the air grew sharper,
the killing intent heavier.
Nine Spirit Rings rose beneath his feet,
and the ninth flared,
unleashing a tempest that howled to the heavens.
"Ninth Spirit Ability—"
"Ride the Wind and Tread the Clouds for Three Thousand Miles;
Before My Blade, All Mountains Bow Low!"
"—Slash!"
The sword leapt forth like a rainbow.
Heaven and earth's raging winds gathered into a single edge—
a hundred-meter cyan sword light cutting across the sky,
so bright that even the moon's glow faded.
This was Feng Bailong's Sword Dao!
Not as pure and merciless as Chen Xin's Seven Kill Sword,
nor as vast and unfathomable as Li Zhexian's Ten Thousand Forms Sword Dao—
But it was his own path,
born from both, and beyond both!
The wind has no form—thus, the sword has no fixed stance.
Let the wind guide the blade—flowing without resistance, cleaving through all things!
That hundred miles wind blade, brimming with unbounded sharpness,
streaked toward the petrified Ghost Leopard!
Before it even struck,
the ground below buckled beneath its pressure—
dust bursting skyward as a massive fissure split the earth!
Crack—
Crack—
A thin line appeared across Ghost Leopard Douluo's stone-turned head.
And at that instant—
the petrification dissolved.
Flesh and blood returned—
just in time to feel pain.
Fragments of stone and torn flesh drifted down like rain.
"AAAHHHH—!"
Ghost Leopard Douluo's eyes bulged wide in horror—
as that vast wind blade cleaved straight through his reforming skull.
It was a scene too dreadful for words.
"Wind Sword — you dare?!"
"Does the Wind Sword Sect seek erasure from the continent?!"
Yue Guan, Ghost, and Devil Bear Douluo shouted in fury,
their roars shaking the heavens.
But Feng Bailong's gaunt face remained still as an ancient well.
He had sat cross-legged for more than a decade upon Listening Wind Cliff,
tempering both heart and sword against the frost, the rain, and the snow.
Now that he had drawn his blade—
drawn himself into this war of life and death between two sects—
did they truly think mere threats could stay his hand?
How they underestimated Feng Bailong.
"Slash."
His grip steadied—
his swing descended.
Chi—
Chi—
From crown to groin,
Ghost Leopard Douluo was split cleanly in two.
BOOM—
BOOM—
Both halves fell to the earth,
his immense Spirit Power bursting free in a final explosion.
At the instant of death,
the life force and Spirit Power of a Titled Douluo—
released in full—
Swept the land in a crimson tide.
A storm of blood spread for hundreds of li,
falling as a torrential rain upon the mountains.
A Titled Douluo…
Had fallen.
Heaven and earth fell silent.
Chen Xin, Gu Rong, Dugu Bo, Yue Guan, Ghost, Devil Bear—
all froze in shock.
Below, the armies of Spirit Masters and the disciples of the Seven Treasures Glazed Tile Sect—
all stopped fighting,
staring blankly skyward,
letting the blood rain soak their heads.
Blood rain filled the heavens—
the sign of a Titled Douluo's death.
Such a sight had not been seen on the Douluo Continent in years.
Feng Bailong stood with hands clasped behind his back,
his gray robe billowing in the storm.
He lifted his head slightly,
his expression unreadable—grief and resolve interwoven.
"Ghost Leopard… cultivated for decades,
and today offers his soul to the heavens."
"In this battle of faiths, there is no right or wrong—
only life and death."
"Feng… merely sends a fellow Daoist home."
Across the Seven Treasures Mountains Range—
the death of a Titled Douluo stirred clouds of blood for a hundred li.
Even from afar,
the sight chilled the hearts of all who saw.
At that same moment—
On the winding official road leading to the Seven Treasures Glazed Tile Clan—
A lone, dust-covered rider yanked his reins hard.
"Whoa—!"
His face went pale as he gazed eastward,
where a crimson veil spread across the sky.
"A… A Titled Douluo…"
"Has fallen?!"
"Hyah!"
The whip cracked,
the horse surged forward like an arrow loosed from the string.
"Of course—
wherever Sword Wine treads,
peace cannot exist!"
"Following Mister back to Heaven Dou dulled my senses!"
"A Titled Douluo dead at the Seven Treasures Glazed Tile Sect…
but which one…?"
A slip of parchment at his waist fluttered with each galloping stride.
He felt a chill deep in his heart.
Even a small figure like him knew—
No matter which Titled Douluo had fallen,
after tonight—
The continent would know no peace.
"Spirit Calendar Year 684—
A Titled falls at Seven Treasures Mountain Range.
A hundred meters blood cloud blots out the sun…
The age of chaos… begins."
He pressed the parchment close to his chest,
his face shadowed with worry.
"May Sword Wine still be safe…"
"G-Ghost Leopard…"
Devil Bear Douluo muttered blankly.
His scarred, colossal hand reached out,
catching a handful of blood rain still warm to the touch.
All the savagery drained from his face.
What replaced it was disbelief—
and slowly… grief.
Within Spirit Hall, two halls stood supreme.
The Worship Hall held seven Worships—beings whose status surpassed all.
So long as that one remained,
even the orders of the Pope herself could be defied:
"Your commands do not bind me."
The Elder Hall had six elders.
Yue Guan and Ghost served as the Pope's closest confidants.
Porcupinefish and Serpent Spear answered to the Worship Hall.
Only he and Ghost Leopard existed between those two powers—
Titled Douluo in name,
but shadows in truth.
For years they had done the blood-soaked work that kept the Pope's light untarnished.
They seldom appeared in open battle.
They had shared a single dream—
to break through to rank ninety-five,
to join the ranks of the Worships.
But now…
that dream would never come true.
"Brother… my brother…"
Devil Bear Douluo, who had endured battle even through mortal wounds without a cry,
now clutched that fading warmth in his palms—
and wailed into the bloody sky.
And in that moment—
A strand of nearly invisible sword qi,
blended into the blood rain,
quietly coalesced behind him.
A Titled Douluo's senses were sharp—
almost nothing could sneak within their reach.
But Devil Bear's mind was shattered,
his senses drowned in grief.
So when the white-clad youth appeared,
silently stepping from the blood rain to stand behind him—
Yue Guan and Ghost's eyes went wide with horror.
Chen Xin, Gu Rong, Dugu Bo, Feng Bailong—
even the thousands of Spirit Masters and disciples below—
were all struck dumb.
"Do not grieve."
"I shall send you… to meet your brother."
Li Zhexian's silver-lit eyes gleamed coldly,
his entire form surrounded by a veil of invisible power—
the downpour halted before it could touch him.
His voice—
colder than the blood rain itself—
"Qinglian Sword Song, Seventh Form—"
"Boundless Thought."