The warlord outpost sat on a ridge overlooking the trade road like a steel fang driven into the earth.
Stone walls reinforced with Qi arrays. Watchtowers manned by armed cultivators. Blood-stained banners snapping in the wind—symbols of dominance meant to instill fear in anyone who passed below.
To Liang Feng, it looked like a feeding ground.
Night fell without warning. Clouds smothered the moon, and the valley descended into darkness thick enough to choke on. Liang Feng stood at the edge of the forest, cloak torn, eyes calm.
Too calm.
His Blood Qi no longer roared.
It listened.
"Remember," Master Shen whispered beside him, hidden in the shadows. "This is not revenge. This is testing."
Liang Feng nodded once. "I won't waste it."
He stepped forward.
The first sentry never saw him.
Liang Feng moved without sound, body flowing like liquid shadow. His hand clamped over the man's mouth, and his fingers pierced flesh and bone with frightening ease. There was no struggle—only a brief shudder as blood was drained, not spilled.
The corpse collapsed like an empty sack.
Liang Feng inhaled softly.
The Blood Qi absorbed the essence smoothly—no backlash, no frenzy. Just quiet growth.
"So this is control," he murmured.
The second guard noticed something was wrong.
"Hey—"
Liang Feng looked at him.
That was enough.
The man's blood froze mid-flow, veins bulging grotesquely before bursting from within. He collapsed screaming, clawing at his own chest as his organs ruptured under internal pressure.
Liang Feng walked past him as he died.
Inside the walls, alarms began to ring.
Too late.
He stepped into the outpost courtyard as torches flared to life. Cultivators poured out of barracks, weapons drawn, Qi blazing.
"Enemy cultivator!"
"Kill him!"
Liang Feng raised his hand.
Not to attack.
To claim.
The ground beneath the courtyard darkened as blood seeped upward—from old executions, from buried corpses, from forgotten victims. The Blood Qi answered.
A pressure wave rippled outward.
Men screamed as their legs collapsed, bones snapping under invisible force. Qi shields shattered like glass. Those who tried to flee slammed into walls as space compressed violently.
Liang Feng stepped forward, each footfall measured.
One cultivator charged him head-on, roaring, sword blazing.
Liang Feng caught the blade with two fingers.
The sword crumbled.
He drove his palm into the man's chest.
No explosion.
No mess.
The cultivator simply deflated, his blood and Qi ripped from him in an instant, absorbed completely. The corpse fell dry, skin gray and cracked.
Panic spread.
"This isn't Blood Qi—this is—!"
Liang Feng flicked his wrist.
A line of crimson pressure sliced through the crowd.
Six bodies fell apart at the waist.
Blood did not spray.
It flowed toward him.
He felt it—each life joining the circulation, reinforcing bones, hardening meridians, thickening Qi density. His heart beat once… twice… each pulse heavier than the last.
An elite captain stepped forward, armor engraved with warlord sigils.
"Hold formation!" the man roared. "He's alone!"
Liang Feng smiled faintly.
"Yes," he said. "I am."
He vanished.
Not speed—
Erasure.
He reappeared behind the captain, fingers closing around the man's skull.
"Your warlord," Liang Feng whispered, "should have come himself."
He crushed.
The captain's head collapsed inward like wet clay.
The remaining cultivators broke.
Some begged.
Some ran.
Liang Feng did not chase.
He pulled.
Blood Qi surged outward like hooks embedded in flesh. Fleeing bodies were dragged backward, screaming, their blood torn free mid-stride.
The courtyard became silent again.
Too silent.
Liang Feng stood in the center, surrounded by corpses that looked ancient—drained, hollowed, desiccated.
He exhaled.
No madness.
No loss of control.
Just power.
Master Shen emerged slowly from the shadows, eyes filled with something close to fear.
"You massacred a warlord outpost," he said quietly. "Without frenzy. Without backlash."
Liang Feng looked at his hands.
"They deserved it."
Master Shen did not argue. "Luo Zhen will hear of this within days."
Liang Feng nodded. "Good."
He turned toward the inner keep.
"What are you doing?" Master Shen asked sharply.
Liang Feng's eyes glowed faintly.
"Finishing."
Inside the keep, a final survivor hid—an administrator cultivator shaking behind a desk, soaked in sweat and terror.
Liang Feng entered slowly.
"Please—! I'll tell you everything—!"
Liang Feng placed a finger against the man's chest.
"I don't need information."
The man screamed as his blood tore free, flowing like a living ribbon into Liang Feng's body.
When it was done, the keep fell silent.
Liang Feng stepped outside.
The warlord banner fluttered weakly.
He tore it down.
Crushed it beneath his foot.
Far away—
Luo Zhen opened his eyes.
"A controlled Blood Qi user…" he murmured.
His lips curved into a thin smile.
"Now this is worth killing."
Above the ruined outpost, clouds churned.
Liang Feng stood beneath them, blood soaking into the earth, aura heavy and oppressive.
The warlords had noticed him.
And the hunt had truly begun.