The wind carved through the jagged ridges of Xianwei's southern foothills, carrying the faint tang of ozone and scorched earth. Black Dragon's convoy surged forward with the fluid precision of predators. Fire-drakes' crimson scales shimmered like dying embers under the morning sun, claws striking stone so fast that the mountains themselves seemed to tremble.
Lu Mao rode at the head, Moonveil Dagger strapped to his side. One dagger, but his martial techniques made it seem like two, weaving illusions and strikes that could confound even seasoned War Blood practitioners. He inhaled the sharp mountain air, letting the scent of danger sharpen his senses.
Chen Yuan and Bao Fu had warned him: Jade Owl Syndicate scouts prowled these ridges. Intelligence hinted at a confrontation. Lu Mao's grin was faint but sharp. Boredom had never survived long in his veins.
Ahead, six figures emerged from the rising mist, their War Blood energy coiling like serpents ready to strike. Muscles tensed, golden qi streaming from pores, the very air thrumming with lethal intent. Behind them, deliberate, immovable, strode the Elder: Gao Xian, Martial King Stage Three. His aura pressed upon the mountains themselves, bending the wind, making the trees tremble. Even the fire-drakes slowed, sensing a danger far beyond ordinary cultivators.
Lu Mao's shadow danced across the ridge. One glance at Gao Xian and the younger War Bloods, and he assessed the battlefield like a chess master, already three moves ahead.
The first War Blood, a brute, lunged. His strike blurred, but Lu Mao vanished, reappearing behind him in a crescent of silver light. Moonveil struck, grazing Han Lie's shoulder. Sparks of qi rippled outward, and Han Lie staggered, clutching his wound.
"Your qi's sloppy," Lu Mao said, voice low, almost playful. "Try again."
The brute roared, swinging again. Lu Mao's phantom doubles converged, slicing illusions that made the brute stumble. Another War Blood, a lithe and precise fighter, lunged from the side. Her palm strikes carried the chill of frost qi.
"Two against one?" Lu Mao's grin widened. "I was hoping for more."
He twisted, Moonveil arcing, Ways of dagger strikes tearing through fighters defense. Sparks of power flared as her qi erupted in disarray. She fell back, cursing under her breath, but alive. Lu Mao's movements were liquid—dodging, striking, misdirecting, all while assessing the other attackers.
From the ridge, Yan Mei moved in tandem. Phantom Veil, Coil-Lock strikes, her whip snapping to disrupt enemy openings. Lu Mao's eyes flicked to her, approving, but never breaking his own rhythm. "Keep them guessing," he murmured, almost to himself.
War Blood cultivators Shi Yuan and Liu Feng lunged simultaneously, testing his endurance. Moonveil danced, Phantom doubles striking from angles unseen. Lu Mao's feet barely touched the stones; his body flowed through attacks like water around rocks. He parried Shi Yuan's heavy palm strike with one hand while slashing Liu Feng's side with Moonveil, sparks dancing where qi clashed.
"Impressive for a youth," Shi Yuan hissed, "but we will crush you."
"You love to talk," Lu Mao replied, spinning away as another fighter clawed at his back. "Words don't hurt… yet."
Gao Xian stepped forward, his Martial King aura rolling like a storm over the ridges. The wind bent to his will, rocks levitating briefly before smashing into the ground, splintering like glass. The mountains seemed to bend away from him, shadows stretching unnaturally under his power.
"You dare defy the blood of ancient gods?" Gao Xian's voice thundered. "Foolish boy. Your tricks will not save you."
Lu Mao's grin sharpened. "And yet, here I am."
He leapt, shadow steps scattering phantom doubles to distract the War Bloods and darted like lightning using Phantom Veil and circled Gao Xian. Each strike of Moonveil seemed doubled, tripled, leaving silver arcs cleaving the air. Gao Xian countered, wind slicing like blades, but Lu Mao twisted through the storm, slicing qi streams, fracturing shadows, forcing the Elder to retreat fractionally.
The brute named Han lie recovered and charged again, but Lu Mao was already three steps ahead. One Moonveil crescent struck his wrist, snapping bone with a hollow crack. Han Lie fell to the ground, writhing, blood steam rising from golden qi streams evaporating in sparks.
"Two down," Lu Mao said softly, surveying the battlefield. "Only four to go."
Mei Rong and Shi Yuan regrouped, trading attacks with Yan Mei. Her whip struck with surgical precision, striking at joints and limbs, creating openings. Lu Mao darted between the chaos, attacking and defending simultaneously. Phantom doubles intercepted Mei Rong's swings while Moonveil tore across Shi Yuan's defenses. Both staggered, forced into retreat by the relentless precision of the youth.
"Your tricks amuse me, Moonveil boy," Gao Xian roared, stepping forward. "But amusement will end in pain!"
With a powerful sweep, he bent the air, hurling stones like missiles. Lu Mao barely dodged, twisting his body midair, leaving one phantom double to absorb the impact in illusionary form. Stones shattered against the ridge; qi flared in sparks across every surface.
Yan Mei's whip lashed around Gao Xian's ankle, tripping the Elder slightly, but not enough. Lu Mao's eyes flicked to her, calculating. Her distraction bought him time—time he needed. He darted forward, Moonveil a silver blur, striking at Gao Xian's exposed side. Sparks clashed as golden qi met silver. Gao Xian staggered slightly, eyes narrowing.
Meanwhile, Liu Feng attempted a flanking strike, but Lu Mao twisted, Moonveil arcing across his shoulder. Liu Feng fell back, clutching a bleeding cut. Two against one, and Lu Mao moved like a whirlwind, slicing, dodging, feinting, and turning their combined strength against each other.
"Not bad," Gao Xian admitted, voice low. "But even you cannot fight eternity."
"Eternity has bad reflexes," Lu Mao replied. He darted again, combining Moonveil strikes with Ways of the Dagger martial arts, cutting across Liu Feng's arm and Shi Yuan's ribs in precise, non-lethal arcs. Qi flared, sparks dancing across the ridge.
Han Lie groaned from the ground. Mei Rong coughed, forced back by Yan Mei's whip. Shi Yuan clutched his side. Liu Feng's attacks faltered, and Gao Xian, the Elder, found himself defending against simultaneous assaults, rare openings flashing before him in silver light.
"You fight… well," Gao Xian said, eyes blazing.
He leapt, weaving phantom doubles around Gao Xian while striking simultaneously at the weakened War Bloods. One by one, the younger cultivators fell:
Brute Han Lie, broken wrist, bleeding qi, collapses with a groan.
Mei Rong, stunned by a precise Moonveil strike to her side, falters into the ridge.
Shi Yuan, defensive and stoic, taken off balance, qi disrupted and forced into retreat,
Liu Feng, the last minor threat, staggered by a combined assault from Lu Mao and Yan Mei, drops to one knee, gasping and other two dead.
Only Gao Xian remained, eyes narrowing with rage.
Lu Mao circled him, Moonveil flicking silver arcs. "Your turn," he said lightly.
Gao Xian unleashed a hurricane of Martial King qi. Stones rose, wind twisted, trees bent under invisible pressure. Moonveil struck, doubled by illusions, forcing Gao Xian to parry and retreat. Lu Mao's movements were fluid, almost teasing, as he weaved through impossible attacks.
"You—child! Tricks cannot beat experience!" Gao Xian roared, swinging qi like molten gold, twisting the battlefield into chaos.
"Experience is boring," Lu Mao replied, spinning through the storm. "I prefer excitement."
The duel tore across the ridge. Lu Mao dodged falling rocks, countered energy streams, and struck precise arcs, all while coordinating phantom doubles and Yan Mei's subtle interventions. Finally, a perfectly timed crescent strike to Gao Xian's side forced the Elder back, staggering, wounded but alive. He reluctantly withdrew, eyes flaming with fury.
The battlefield fell silent, tremors echoing across broken stone and shattered trees. Minor scratches on Lu Mao's body mattered little. The War Bloods were down, the Elder injured, and Black Dragon had proven its dominance.
Lu Mao sheathed Moonveil, scanning the ridge. Yan Mei fell into step beside him. Her chest heaved, eyes alert but alive.
Shen Mu, atop a distant ridge, observed silently, robes flapping. Only a faint nod acknowledged the victory.
Word spread swiftly across Xianwei and beyond: Six War Bloods dead. One Elder wounded. All by a single youth. The name Slayer whispered through taverns, sect scrolls, and merchant caravans alike.
Even the Jade Owl Syndicate reeled. Other factions looked to Black Dragon with newfound respect—and fear.
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the scarred foothills. Wind carried whispers of Black Dragon's rise—slayer, storm, shadow across villages, towns, and sects.
The storm had passed, but the ripples of Slayer's legend were only beginning.