Immortal Paladin

[POV: Ru Qiu]

The battlefield trembled beneath a suffocating stillness as Ru Qiu faced the monstrous fox that towered like a small mountain. Every motion of the creature made the land quake, its nine colossal tails ending in jagged maws, whipping and curling in perpetual motion. Frost glimmered across the battlefield, freezing the sand into layers of solid ice.

Ru Qiu’s breathing was calm. His black robes rippled under unseen heat, his hair further darkening under the blackness of his own flames. The sword in his hand hummed, a low and almost sentient sound that resonated with his heartbeat.

He was holding back.

The immense aura he carried was restrained to the size of a whisper, and his flames, black as the void, burned quietly instead of devouring the sky. ‘Know your opponent before you strike,’ he reminded himself. The monstrous fox’s name, if he remembered correctly, was Jia Sen, a Perfect Immortal, perhaps stronger, with something called “layers of immortality.”

Ru Qiu didn’t truly understand what that meant, but his instincts told him it meant the creature could not be easily killed.

A massive paw descended from above, reality-bending around it. Frost coiled through the air like silk. Ru Qiu saw ten, no, twelve paws strike at once, illusions layered upon the real one.

He moved without hesitation.

With footwork that defied the wind, he blurred through the barrage, leaving afterimages of dark flame in his wake. The fox’s claws tore through mountains of sand and shattered rock, but Ru Qiu had already vanished each time, his body flowing like a shadow between the gaps.

‘He’s testing me,’ Ru Qiu thought. ‘Just as I am testing him.’

The temperature plunged. Jia Sen’s enormous maw opened, exhaling a blizzard that drowned the land. His tails, each one ending in a grinning fox head, released synchronized beams of frost that illuminated the battlefield with ghastly light.

Ru Qiu raised his black sword, feeding it quintessence until the blade stretched, bending and twisting like a serpentine whip. Each flick of his wrist deflected a frost beam, the collisions erupting into shards of crystalline mist. With precise control, Ru Qiu allowed the frost to accumulate before him, letting it harden into an icy barrier that cloaked his form.

In that brief concealment, he vanished.

The next instant, he was under the canopy of the frozen forest. His sword dissolved into a black orb that pulsed in his palm, shrinking and spinning. Drawing back his arm as though drawing a bowstring, he whispered:

“Hellflame Retribution.”

The orb ignited. The world warped. A streak of darkness shot forth like an arrow, spiraling through the air before erupting mid-flight into a colossal hand of black fire.

The fiery hand, wreathed in screams of distorted flame, crashed down upon Jia Sen.

The fox howled, staggering back as his fur ignited. Steam hissed from his frozen hide where flame met frost. Before he could recover, Ru Qiu was already moving again. His black sword reformed in his grip, now burning with an inner brilliance that bent space around it.

“Hellflame Severance.”

He leaped skyward. The swing that followed did not merely cut. Instead, it was divided. Space itself fractured, a single perfect line carving through the horizon. The blow struck true.

Jia Sen’s roar shattered the clouds. A massive portion of his shoulder split apart, burning from within as the black fire crawled through his veins. His immortality faltered, the air trembling as his divine essence dimmed.

[Level 17 → Level 16.]

“YOU WILL PAY FOR THAT!” the fox thundered, voice echoing across the world.

His form convulsed, flesh splitting from crown to tail. From the wound in his body, rows of monstrous teeth unfolded like petals, forming a horrific vertical maw. The air itself was devoured by its suction, pulling flame, frost, and light alike into its depths.

“IMMORTAL ART: WORLD DEVOURING MAW!”

The sky turned pale from the pressure of it. Mountains shattered. The heavens screamed.

Ru Qiu, however, merely lifted his sword once more, the black fire dimming to an ember. His voice was quiet and resolute.

“Then let’s make it even.”

He drew a circle with his sword tip. The world dimmed. The sun blinked out.

“Immortal Art—Defying the Heaven’s Decree.”

An eclipse spread across the land. Day turned to endless dusk. The laws of Heaven faltered; gravity and light bent toward him as the black flames erupted once more, this time not from his sword, but from within his flesh.

The pressure of pure quintessence surged, infinite and oppressive, refilling every pore of his being. It was a power that spat in the face of divine order, that mocked the stars themselves.

He took one step forward, and the world darkened further.

“...Heavenly Demon Series—World Ending.”

Dark fire poured from his body, a cosmic inferno swallowing all light and color. The sky became his flame; the air itself screamed as reality trembled between creation and destruction.

Before the monstrous fox’s maw could close, the flames met it head-on, black swallowing white, annihilation devouring devourer.

Under the eclipsed heavens, it seemed as if the world itself had ceased to exist.

…

..

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[POV: Hei Mao]

The world was burning.

Hei Mao moved like a whisper through the smoke, half spirit, half man. Before him stood the bronze-skinned giant, Wei Qigang, whose every swing of his massive sword sent out ripples of force that shattered trees and churned the air. The parasol woman, Deng Wuying, was no less terrifying; her winds were sharp enough to flay steel and precise enough to strike between breaths. Together, the two were overwhelming.

In the heavens, the eclipse deepened. The sky dimmed into a reddish hue as black flames engulfed the monstrous fox in the distance, Jia Sen, burning in his own rage and ruin. It was a sight of apocalypse, but Hei Mao had no time for awe. His world had narrowed to survival.

His crimson scarf and imperfect immortal treasure snapped and twisted like a living serpent, its threads cutting through the storm of swordlight and gale. Every flick of Wei Qigang’s blade rang against the scarf’s threads, each clash a thunderclap. Hei Mao’s shadow moved before he did, flowing like ink to intercept the woman’s hidden runes that ignited midair. Wind blades sliced through the forest canopy, howling.

He vanished.

In his place appeared a small blot of darkness, his familiar. In the same breath, Hei Mao reappeared behind Deng Wuying, his scarf extending like a hundred bloody strings to sever her neck. But she had anticipated it. A sign formed in her fingers, and in a shimmer of air, she swapped places with Wei Qigang.

Hei Mao’s pupils constricted. Using Abyss Sight, he predicted the switch an instant before it happened. His foot crashed down, pinning the bronze man’s shadow to the earth. Wei Qigang froze for the briefest second just long enough for Hei Mao’s scarf to tighten around him in a net. The threads bit into skin, cutting deep.

But the man roared, muscles swelling with Qi as the sword in his hand pulsed with divine light. The threads snapped apart.

Deng Wuying’s voice followed like a storm’s whisper. “Wind Array: Severance Gale.”

Dozens of invisible blades shrieked through the trees. Hei Mao folded his scarf around himself, forming a cocoon of writhing threads that absorbed the attack. The bronze sword struck the cocoon a moment later, its glow splitting through layers of defense. Hei Mao retreated through his own shadow, the blade grazing his side and leaving a burning welt of divine energy.

He reappeared several paces away, clutching the wound. His expression was calm, almost detached.

They were strong, being immortal treasure wielders both. His scarf, for all its lethality, could only delay them. The truth stung. In terms of cultivation, he was merely a fledgling [Level 4] of the Ascended Soul. Unlike Alice, whose long existence fed her power, or Da Ji, who had lived countless lives as an Ancient Soul, Hei Mao had barely begun to carve his history into the fabric of reality. He was young, and the Heavens did not yet fear his name.

But that did not mean he was weak.

He exhaled softly, his eyes narrowing as his essence changed. His form blurred, growing translucent. The air around him grew colder, the light itself dimming. His presence became a song of silence.

Then he began to sing.

It was not a melody meant for mortal ears. Instead, it was a dirge, a whisper from the void. The song resonated through the air, crawling into the hearts of those who heard it. It was Shadow Song, a bloodline ability born from his heritage.

The red strings of his scarf shimmered with darkness, then flared like veins of molten blood. Wherever they touched, wounds deepened. Cuts that had been shallow tore open.

Wei Qigang staggered, clutching at his chest as blood burst from invisible fissures beneath his skin. His bronze flesh split in jagged lines. The parasol woman widened her eyes, her parasol spinning as a defensive gale formed around them.

Hei Mao’s voice was steady, the song rising and falling like waves in a midnight sea.

“Sleep, warrior of bronze. Fade, storm of the wind. The shadow calls all things to silence…”

Through Abyss Sight, Hei Mao saw beyond mere flesh. Shadows became his reality; each line, curve, and flicker told stories older than blood. In its earliest stages, the Abyss Sight could only reveal the size of one’s shadow, a crude measure of strength, and the weight of one’s past. But Hei Mao’s had evolved beyond that. He could now glimpse fragments of memory, the whispers of skill, even the abstract ‘meaning’ behind a soul.

He gazed upon his enemies, Wei Qigang, the bronze-skinned warrior, and Deng Wuying, the parasol woman.

Their shadows burned brightly but hollowly. They were warriors forged, not born, creations of purpose, not will. Their meanings were fading. Hei Mao didn’t fully understand this concept, but instinct told him one truth: they didn’t have long to live.

“Your shadows are thin,” Hei Mao said softly. “How pitiful.”

His scarf came alive, blood-red strings unraveling and coiling through the air. From them spread a faint mist, the essence of his Life-Draining Technique. Every heartbeat, every motion of his enemies fed into his strength.

Wei Qigang staggered, his bronze skin dimming as the red strings sapped him of his life force, while Deng Wuying trembled in anger as she provoked him. “Is this all that the disciples of Da Wei amount to, relying on a demonic technique of all things?”

“Demonic? I digress…”

He raised a hand, and from his scarf, strings wove together, forming a ukulele, reminiscent of the one his master once played by the campfire under a full moon.

He strummed.

The first note echoed like a whisper in the soul. Then came the Shadow Song.

♪

Beneath the moon, I wait alone,

A shadow cast where light has flown.

All that I loved has turned to dust,

And all that I am fades with rust.

I call your names, but none reply,

The stars have left, the winds just sigh.

If loneliness could take a form,

It’d sing this song—a heart forlorn.

♪

Deng Wuying froze mid-motion. Her parasol slipped from her hand. Her eyes dulled as tears rolled down her cheeks without her knowing why.

The shadows around her trembled, listening.

Shadow Song was an ancient bloodline art, forgotten even among the Shadow Clan. It was not a technique that struck the body; it struck the shadow. If one’s shadow could be made to listen and to believe, it would experience agony beyond imagining, dragging its owner’s soul with it.

Hei Mao’s voice was calm and mournful as he played. The woman fell to her knees, clutching her chest. Her shadow began to twist, crying without sound.

Wei Qigang roared in anger, charging forward, his sword blazing like the sun; however, the strings connected to the scarf only tightened around him.

Hei Mao’s melody shifted.

♪

Steel and blood, I’ve danced too long,

Your blade meets mine, the final song.

Cut me down, or fall apart,

Each wound a verse, each death an art.

The bronze shall break, the flesh shall weep,

The shadow begs—eternal sleep.

♪

The threads of Hei Mao’s scarf pulsed violently. More of them coiled around Wei Qigang, glowing crimson, humming in rhythm to the song.

Each note plucked was a cut. Each verse was a blade.

The bronze man howled as the threads sliced into him. They were clean, precise, and merciless. His semi-immortal body tried to regenerate, but the strings drained his vitality faster than he could recover.

“Die well, warrior,” Hei Mao whispered. “You fought beautifully.”

He strummed one final, mournful chord. The threads snapped inward. They were sharp and swift. Wei Qigang’s body split apart into countless pieces, scattering like petals of copper. His sword fell into the dirt, its light extinguished.

The parasol woman screamed with despair as her reason returned. She crawled toward the remains of her comrade, her tears cutting streaks through the blood and dust on her face.

Hei Mao lowered his head, the ukulele dissolving back into red mist.

“If you wish to live, then surrender. Or you die.”

…

..

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[POV: Lu Gao]

The forest burned in streaks of gold and violet. Trees snapped, ash scattered, and qi roared like the sea.

In the heart of it all, Lu Gao and Yuen Fu fought together against one man… Xun Li, the Sword Pilgrim.

Each exchange between them resounded like thunder. With one good arm, Xun Li parried their strikes effortlessly, every movement deliberate, refined, and efficient. His left arm, no longer flesh but forged wood, glowed with solar light, discharging bursts of searing brilliance. When the light struck the air, it warped space, scorching both earth and spirit.

Lu Gao and Yuen Fu circled him like twin storms.

In Qi Speech, Yuen Fu grunted between clashes, “In terms of martial ability, he’s not even completely at my level as a Supreme Master… but that cultivation and that damn arm make him impossible to corner. His sword too—it’s unnatural. Nothing should endure this long against both of us.”

Lu Gao’s expression remained calm, his tone clipped and practical. “How’s the durability of your sword?”

Yuen Fu deflected a strike, sparks bursting as his lightning wrapped around his blade. “It’ll hold. It’s New Willow steel… Lady Jie’s enchantments make it nearly indestructible. It’s me I’m worried about.”

“The two of you,” came Xun Li’s voice, cutting through the tension, “should pay more attention to your enemy.”

Lu Gao blinked, realizing his folly. The sword strike that should have hit Xun Li’s ribs met empty air.

“Told you so,” said Xun Li. “You have to do better than that.”

It was an afterimage!

Lu Gao reacted on instinct. “Flash Parry,” he whispered, the sword glowing pale white as he stepped through the air with Flash Step, his qi bursting behind him in a ripple.

He appeared behind Xun Li, his blade aimed straight for the spine. “Hollow Point: War Smite!”

Xun Li didn’t flinch. He twisted, letting Lu Gao’s strike slide harmlessly along the flat of his blade. “I’ve seen it once already,” he said coolly, “and I can tell… You made this technique your own. Admirable, but not enough.”

Solar fire erupted from his wooden arm, a miniature sun bursting point-blank toward Lu Gao.

Lu Gao gritted his teeth. His qi darkened with demonic taint and holy energy clashing within him, fusing into a burning violet. “I don’t think so!” he roared. “I can take it, give me your best shot!”

The purple flames devoured the solar light. He clenched his sword in both hands and absorbed the remnants into his qi pool, the fire becoming his fuel. His aura surged. “Hollow Point: Convergence!”

Lightning split the air as Yuen Fu moved. His body blurred into raw thunder, his blade a streak of light aimed directly for Xun Li’s neck. “Heavenly Thundering Flash!”

Xun Li twisted again, impossibly fast, parrying the lightning with a clean draw and a backward lean.

Lu Gao used the moment. His stance dropped low, his breathing calm. The ground fractured beneath his feet.

He raised his sword. “Let’s see how long your sword can sing, Sword Pilgrim.”

He struck.

“Big Dipper!”

Seven slashes, seven stars, each Hollow Point connected by invisible Hollow Lines, a technique forged from the extremes of assassination arts turned into pure swordsmanship.

The first star, Xun Li blocked. The second star, he deflected.

But the third?

Xun Li’s wooden arm shattered as the blade passed through, his solar core splintering into burning fragments. The arm fell uselessly to the ground, embers spilling out like blood.

Yuen Fu, panting and sparking with residual lightning, landed beside Lu Gao.

Now or never.

“Finish this!” Lu Gao shouted, eyes blazing as his purple aura flared.

Yuen Fu’s body crackled, arcs of thunder forming wings on his back. His blade rose, the edge gleaming with divine lightning.

As Lu Gao connected the fourth star of the Big Dipper, both disciples of Da Wei struck as one, thunder and flame converging upon the Sword Pilgrim, determined to end the legend of Xun Li once and for all.

…

..

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[POV: Yuen Fu]

“Heavenly Divining Smite!”

Yuen Fu’s voice cut through the storm of battle like a streak of lightning. His blade shimmered in his grip. It was thin, curved, and serpentine. When he swung, it moved like a living creature, coiling and uncoiling with precision born of obsession. The strike was meant to see through all veils, to pierce through any defense.

The sword sliced forward, radiant and sharp, only to meet something wholly unexpected.

Clang—!

Xun Li caught the blade between his teeth.

Metal shattered, teeth cracked, and blood flew from the Sword Pilgrim’s mouth. Yet even maimed, Xun Li smiled through the blood, parrying the remainder of Lu Gao’s technique with inhuman poise.

“I am not done yet,” Yuen Fu hissed, stepping back, trembling with exhaustion and exhilaration alike.

He could feel his qi fraying and his meridians screaming under the strain, but he didn’t care. Somewhere deep inside his body, beyond muscle and bone, he reached for that sensation, the one he felt when his master, Da Wei, had fought the immortal Lei Jia. The memory wasn’t his, but it was carved into his soul like lightning across a night sky.

If he could just touch it… just for a moment.

“Judgment Severance!”

His hands burned. A golden cross-shaped rift split the air in his palm. It was tiny compared to his master’s world-rending version, but it pulsed with divine authority. It was the echo of that celestial technique, incomplete but potent enough to warp reality around it.

Yuen Fu exhaled, folding the rift into the form of a sword. His aura blazed white and gold, thunder rumbling within his veins.

“Heavenly Thundering Flash!”

The sky split.

Yuen Fu vanished.

The forest was illuminated in a single stroke of divine lightning that tore through the canopy, cleaving Xun Li from shoulder to hip. For an instant, all sound died. Then came the explosion, a roar of thunder that shattered trees and hurled Lu Gao backward.

When the light dimmed, Xun Li’s severed body fell to its knees before collapsing entirely. His sword lay beside him, embedded halfway into the ground, still burning faintly with solar light.

The smell of ozone and blood filled the air.

Yuen Fu staggered. His body trembled as arcs of lightning flickered over his skin. He coughed, and crimson spilled from his mouth, staining his chin.

Lu Gao rushed forward, grabbing him by the shoulders before he fell completely.

“Idiot,” Lu Gao muttered. “You nearly burned your life away.”

Yuen Fu coughed again, half-laughing, half-choking. His vision blurred, his heartbeat thundering like distant drums. He looked down at the dead Sword Pilgrim, one of the Seven Imperial Household’s greatest warriors and clan head.

“Holy shit…” he wheezed, then laughed louder, breath ragged and uneven. “Holy shit, we just defeated a Tenth Realm master!”

His laughter echoed in the smoking ruins of the battlefield with mixed joy and disbelief, until it broke into a fit of coughing and faded into the sound of the burning forest.

Lu Gao said nothing, only looked down at his companion, pride flickering in his eyes before he turned toward the horizon, where an even greater darkness was beginning to gather.

…

..

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[POV: Ren Jingyi]

“Big sis, you are so mean!”

Ren Jingyi wailed as she twisted through the air, narrowly avoiding a volley of frost beams and cannon fire that exploded in dazzling bursts of blue light around her. The air itself shimmered with death from fragments of ice, broken qi shells, and shards of metal, all raining down as she desperately flopped, flipped, and spun to avoid being turned into carp sashimi.

Her body was enormous with sleek scales of orange and crimson, shining like molten glass under the chaos of war. Her transformation into her beast form had always been a point of pride… until now.

Because now she was a very large, very noticeable target.

“Big sis Gu Jie, you said this was just reconnaissance!” she shrieked as another beam whizzed past her tail, leaving a line of frost that froze the tip of her fin solid. “This isn’t reconnaissance! This is suicide!”

Even if her big sis told her in confidence that she would be fine, it still scared her.

Below her, the vast battlefield stretched across the Riverfall skies with armadas of flying ships clashing with dragons, divine beasts, and cultivators. The horizon was painted in blood-red mist and flickering light. She could see the massive dragon formations leading the vanguard, Ren Xun among them, as he carved through the enemy ranks.

Her pout deepened.

“Even Ren Xun got promoted before me! How did he become a dragon so fast?!”

She huffed, bubbles forming in her qi aura. “Hmph! This little sister refuses to be left behind!”

Ren Jingyi had advanced quickly from the Sixth Realm, Essence Gathering, to the Seventh Realm, Bloodline Refinement, but that final step still eluded her. She could feel it every time she fought: that painful, burning edge where her blood screamed to transform but never quite reached the point of ascension.

And she hated it.

“I have to prove myself,” she whispered, her voice trembling between fear and determination. “That large ship… I’m taking it down!”

The target was an immense vessel, larger than a small city, surrounded by escorts. Its metallic hull was lined with glowing cannons and immortal runes, radiating power that made even the dragons wary to approach.

But Ren Jingyi was not the kind of carp to back down.

“Carp against ship,” she muttered. “Let’s see who sinks first!”

She darted forward, her fins glowing as she invoked Zealot’s Stride and Flash Step in perfect unison. Her massive carp body blurred through the air, becoming a streak of golden light weaving through the explosions. The enemy ships turned their fire toward her, mistaking her for an easy target.

“Come on! Try me, you floating chunks of metal!” she yelled.

Beams of energy streaked past her, and one narrowly grazed her belly, scorching several scales, but she didn’t stop. She laughed instead, adrenaline and qi surging in equal measure.

Behind her, several dragons roared as they dove after her, realizing what she was doing. They covered her flanks, unleashing waves of flame and frost, scattering the enemy’s formation.

Ren Jingyi gathered qi into her fins. The air around her rippled, golden-red light flooding her carp body as she began to chant:

“Searing War Smite!”

Her scales lit like molten metal as she slammed into the side of the enemy ship. The impact created a shockwave that flipped the vessel sideways. Cannons burst, the hull cracked, and spiritual engines detonated one after another.

The ship spiraled out of control, crashing into another vessel below. The resulting explosion painted the skies with blazing orange.

Ren Jingyi twirled midair, her long fins rippling proudly as she laughed, “Ha! Did you see that?! Not bad for a fish, huh?”

She dove again, ramming another ship with the knockback effect of her skill, sending it tumbling. The dragons with her howled in triumph, their morale reignited by the carp who fought like a madwoman.

“Just a bit more…” she murmured. “A bit more and I’ll be a dragon. I swear it.”

She glanced toward the horizon, where Hei Mao’s battle was raging in shadow and flame, and puffed up her chest… well, as much as a carp could.

“I won’t lose to that stupid Hei Mao! Just you wait… this carp will fly higher than anyone!”

With a mighty flick of her tail, Ren Jingyi soared into the storm of war, scales blazing like a comet as she chased her dream of dragonhood. Unbeknownst to her, a few dragons took pity on her and decided to babysit the naughty little carp, dreaming of draconic ascension.

…

..

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[POV: Bai Rong]

To say Bai Rong was angry would be an understatement.

He was seething. His rage ran so deep it burned through flesh and bone alike, corroding reason until all that was left was pure hatred for the man who had humiliated him so completely.

Ren Xun.

The name itself was like poison on his tongue. The memory of the humiliation festered in his mind. He wanted revenge. No… he needed it.

“Bai Rong.”

A voice broke his thoughts. Feng Shuren stumbled toward him through the haze of the battlefield. Half of his face was scorched black, and his right arm was gone, reduced to charred bone and ash. His steps were uneven, his breath ragged, but his eyes still burned with a soldier’s stubborn light.

“Kang Nuan is dead,” he rasped, stopping just short of Bai Rong. “What are we going to do with the survivors of her clan? They’re mighty warriors in their own right, but with their morale… I don’t think they can continue fighting.”

Bai Rong tilted his head slightly.

His expression was unreadable, save for the faint, twitching smirk forming on his lips.

“I got it handled,” he said softly.

Feng Shuren blinked in confusion, then the screams came from behind him.

The cries of men and women, once loyal to the Kang Clan, twisted into shrieks of agony and terror. Their qi signatures flickered, their bodies convulsing as black veins crawled beneath their skin. Their pupils dilated, then glazed over entirely.

Flesh withered, bones cracked, and a moment later, what once were warriors became undead.

Feng Shuren turned slowly, trembling. His lips parted, but no words came out. Only a dry, broken whisper.

“You—You turned them…?”

Bai Rong’s smile widened. “I told you I had it handled.”

The fear in Feng Shuren’s eyes was almost amusing. Bai Rong could feel it, the way the man’s spirit wavered. He could keep him in line, for now. But not for long. That was fine. Bai Rong didn’t need loyalty anymore. He only needed results.

With a flick of Bai Rong’s hand, a surge of dark green light enveloped Feng Shuren, and his arm regenerated. New flesh bubbled forth, sinew and bone knitting together unnaturally fast, like roots sprouting through bloodied soil. It was a grotesque process, yet Bai Rong watched it with mild indifference, as though he were merely pruning a garden.

“Healing spells,” he murmured, flexing his new fingers. “Rare… but not impossible. The Divine Physician was revered for a reason.”

He exhaled slowly, feeling the corruption within him pulse like a second heart as he immersed himself with the “seed” imbued on his chest. That cursed, alien power that had taken root deep within his soul, and it would be his secret weapon.

He could feel it gnawing, trying to rebel.

“Not yet,” he whispered. “I’m still the master here.”

Bai Rong turned his gaze upward.

From afar, the heavens split with color, with Immortals clashing in brilliance and destruction. Frost and flame collided, rending the very sky apart. He could see the faint outlines of their colossal figures locked in combat, tearing through sand, space, and sea alike.

Their power dwarfed everything. Civilizations would crumble under that scale of strength. The very air around Bai Rong trembled under the aftershocks of their battle.

And yet, he smiled.

Because he too would join that stage. One way or another.

He knelt down, pressing both his newly regenerated hands into the earth. His dark qi spread instantly, slithering through the ground like an infection. The soil pulsed, bubbled, and cracked as roots burst forth. They were blackened, twisted, and alive.

“I’ve wasted too much time already,” he muttered, his voice trembling with fury and madness alike. “If Ren Xun wants a monster… then a monster he shall have!”

He poured his life force into the ground. Veins darkened, pulsing visibly beneath his skin. Every breath cost him vitality, but he didn’t care. He wanted power.

He needed nutrients.

The earth rumbled.

From beneath the battlefield, countless treants clawed their way out. They were towering figures of rotted wood and flesh, their hollow eyes glowing faintly green. Each exuded a dreadful aura, many comparable to cultivators of the Seventh and Eighth Realm.

Their groans were the sound of trees dying.

Their presence drained the air itself of warmth.

Feng Shuren stumbled backward, wide-eyed. “B-Bai Rong… what have you done—?”

Bai Rong threw his head back and laughed, voice hoarse and wild. “Ren Xun! Do you hear me?! I’ll rip your heart out and drink the light from your veins! You took my pride. Now, I’ll take your world!”