The shattered fragments of Liu Feng's sword clattered to the ground, ringing like the toll of a funeral bell.
The villagers stood frozen, their eyes darting between the Azure Cloud Sect disciples and the boy who radiated an aura darker than night.
Liu Feng stumbled back, disbelief etched across his face. "Impossible… How can a wretched orphan wield such power?!"
His junior disciples, trembling but defiant, drew their swords. "Elder! Together!"
They surged forward, blades glowing with azure qi, their shouts echoing with forced courage.
Shen Zong's gaze remained calm, cold, unwavering. The phantom lotus at his back pulsed once, and the world seemed to dim.
"Fools." His voice was steady, carrying the weight of a verdict. "You mistake righteousness for strength."
He stepped forward. The lotus bloomed fully, petals unfurling into tendrils of writhing darkness. They lashed out with unnatural speed, weaving between sword strikes as if alive.
One disciple screamed as his blade was wrenched from his hand, the tendrils wrapping around his chest. His body convulsed, qi and blood draining into Shen Zong like water into dry earth. Within moments, he was nothing but a husk.
The second disciple froze in horror, but hesitation was death. A black tendril pierced his throat, silencing him forever.
The last disciple's eyes filled with terror. He turned to flee—
But Shen Zong's voice stopped him, calm and final.
"You came with your sword. Leave with your bones."
The tendrils struck. Another husk fell.
Silence.
Only Liu Feng remained, face pale, sweat dripping down his brow. He staggered back, the weight of fear pressing down on him like mountains.
"Monster… You're no cultivator—you're a beast wearing human skin!" he roared, summoning every drop of his qi. Azure light blazed around him as he formed a sword of pure energy, his last desperate strike.
Shen Zong watched, calm as the eye of a storm.
"You call me beast. Yet was it not you who drew first blade? You who sought to kill without knowing truth?"
The phantom lotus surged, petals unfolding into a storm of black mist.
Liu Feng's azure sword struck down—only to be devoured, swallowed whole by the abyss. His scream tore through the square as the lotus engulfed him, draining qi, blood, and even the light from his body.
When it was done, nothing remained but another withered husk.
---
Shen Zong lowered his hand. The phantom lotus faded, leaving only silence and the stench of death. His aura, however, had grown heavier, stronger, pulsing with a power that made even the air tremble.
The villagers stared, terror and awe mingling in their eyes.
One old man fell to his knees. Then another. Soon, the entire square bowed as though before a god—or a demon. None dared to meet his gaze.
Shen Zong looked upon them, his face unreadable. He did not revel in their fear, nor did he offer comfort. He simply turned away, walking back toward his hut.
For him, this was no triumph. It was necessity.
The scripture whispered within his mind, its voice rich with satisfaction.
Blood nourishes the roots. Fear strengthens the stem. Suffering blooms the lotus.
Shen Zong sat once more in solitude, his hands steady as he wiped the crimson from his arms. His calm voice broke the silence, directed not at anyone, but at the heavens above.
"If this is what it takes to climb beyond fate… then I will drown the world in lotus petals."
The black lotus mark on his chest pulsed, seven petals glowing brighter.
The Demonic Path had claimed its first offering of the righteous. And the heavens… had taken notice.