Cold.
That was the first thing Liang Feng felt.
Cold water soaked into torn flesh, carrying away blood that should have killed him hours ago. His lungs burned as he surfaced violently, coughing dark red foam into the moonlit river.
He dragged himself onto the bank, fingers clawing at mud and stone.
Every breath hurt.
His Blood Qi was barely circulating—slow, heavy, exhausted. His breakthrough had stabilized his core, but his body was shattered. Bones were fractured. Meridians torn. One wrong move would end him.
He rolled onto his back, staring at the sky.
And froze.
Above him, carved into a distant mountain face, glowed a massive sigil—three interlocking blades dripping crimson light.
Liang Feng's heart sank.
The Iron Cleaver Sect.
A war-aligned sect.
Known for enslaving rogue cultivators.
Known for dissecting Blood Qi users alive.
Footsteps crunched nearby.
Liang Feng forced himself still, suppressing his aura until his Blood Qi sank deep into his bones.
Lantern light approached.
"Found him," a voice said, excited. "Barely breathing."
Hands grabbed him.
Liang Feng did not resist.
Not yet.
They chained him inside an underground holding chamber carved directly into the mountain. The air smelled of rust, blood, and fear. Screams echoed faintly through the stone—some fresh, some old.
Liang Feng hung from iron hooks driven through his shoulders. Pain flared—but he embraced it, letting it sharpen his awareness.
A door creaked open.
Three figures entered.
An elder, thin and sharp-eyed.
Two enforcers, muscular, scarred, smiling.
"A Blood Qi cultivator," the elder said, inspecting Liang Feng like livestock. "Refined too. Interesting."
Liang Feng lifted his head slowly.
"Let me go," he said hoarsely.
One enforcer laughed. "This one still thinks he has choices."
The elder raised a hand. "Begin extraction."
The first blade pierced Liang Feng's abdomen.
Pain exploded.
His Blood Qi reacted instinctively—but he strangled it back, letting the blade go deeper. Blood flowed freely.
The elder frowned.
"Strange… his blood density is abnormal."
The second blade cut into his chest.
Liang Feng's vision darkened.
That was enough.
He opened his eyes.
And released everything.
The chains melted.
Not from heat—from internal pressure as Blood Qi flooded outward, compressing, slicing, consuming.
The hooks were torn from his flesh as the Blood Qi sealed wounds mid-rip, flesh knitting together grotesquely fast.
The nearest enforcer didn't even scream.
His blood was pulled from his pores in a violent torrent, flowing into Liang Feng like a living river. The man collapsed, skin shriveling, eyes popping as his body hollowed from within.
The second enforcer tried to run.
Liang Feng vanished.
He reappeared behind him, fingers piercing the spine.
"Too slow," Liang Feng whispered.
He pulled.
The spine came out with the blood.
The elder screamed, unleashing Qi techniques in desperation—blades of metal and wind screaming through the chamber.
Liang Feng walked through them.
They bent around him.
Blood Qi swallowed the techniques whole.
"You—what are you?!" the elder shrieked.
Liang Feng grabbed the man by the throat and lifted him.
"I warned you," he said quietly. "Let me go."
He crushed.
The elder's blood joined the rest.
Silence returned.
Liang Feng stood alone, chest rising slowly as Blood Qi circulated greedily, repairing damage, reinforcing structure, thickening power.
Then—
Alarm bells.
The entire mountain erupted into chaos.
Cultivators flooded the corridors, Qi flaring wildly.
Liang Feng looked toward the ceiling.
"No escape," he murmured.
So he chose another option.
Erasure.
He stepped into the corridor.
The first wave died instantly.
Blood Qi surged outward like a tidal wave, collapsing bodies inward, bursting organs, snapping bones without sound. Blood did not splash—it flowed.
The corridors filled with screams.
Liang Feng moved steadily forward, leaving behind drained husks stacked like discarded clothing.
Blades shattered.
Qi shields imploded.
The Iron Cleaver Sect had never faced a Blood Qi user who didn't lose control.
They didn't know how to fight someone who hunted calmly.
An elite squad formed a final line near the main hall—twenty cultivators, aura synchronized, formation perfect.
Liang Feng stopped.
He inhaled.
Then exhaled.
The formation collapsed inward violently, bodies slamming together as blood tore free simultaneously. The pressure crushed them into a single mound of flesh and bone.
The mountain shook.
Aboveground, disciples fled screaming as the sky darkened unnaturally.
Liang Feng emerged from the main gate soaked in blood—not splattered.
Claimed.
He stood atop the sect steps, Blood Qi rolling off him in heavy waves.
Hundreds were dead.
Maybe more.
He felt nothing.
No guilt.
No triumph.
Only hunger.
Master Shen staggered out of the forest moments later, face pale.
"What have you done…" he whispered.
Liang Feng looked at his hands.
"They wouldn't let me live," he replied. "So I chose not to die."
Far away, warlord communication arrays ignited.
Multiple.
Simultaneously.
The Iron Cleaver Sect had fallen in one night.
And the world had finally learned a name to fear.
Liang Feng lifted his gaze to the horizon.
"If this is what it takes," he said softly, "then let the world drown."
The blood-soaked path ahead had no return.