My Xianxia Harem Life

Chapter 370: Chapter 370 Hawk

”What happened?!” one of the million cultivators in the sky cried out in alarm, his voice breaking the eerie stillness that hung over the battlefield.

A heavy mist had descended without warning, engulfing the heavens and earth alike.

Even the radiance of their spiritual lights dimmed within it.

No one could see beyond a few feet; it was as if they were trapped inside an endless sea of clouds.

”What is this?!” another shouted, panic rising. ”I can’t see my comrades!”

They could only make out the vague silhouettes of their own bodies, but nothing else—no enemies, no allies, no horizon.

The air was thick and cold, carrying an unnatural weight that pressed against their chests.

Then, before anyone could regain their composure, a chorus of screams tore through the fog.

”Ahhh—!”

”Stay together! Don’t separate—!”

The cries were swallowed by the mist one after another, until only silence remained.

”This is...” Elder Harren’s eyes narrowed as he turned his head sharply, his divine sense spreading outward—yet it was immediately suppressed.

Even his perception, sharp enough to stretch across mountains, could barely extend a few paces.

The cries of his subordinates still echoed faintly, but he could not pinpoint their locations.

”What kind of formation is this?” he muttered through clenched teeth. ”Could this be Elder Adam’s doing?”

But even as he said it, doubt crept into his voice. Elder Adam was no formation expert; his sword dao was sharp and pure, not deceitful or hidden.

Most of the Sacred Heart Sword Sect’s elders were the same—warriors of blade and spirit, not schemers who dealt with illusions and tricks, formation and cowardly.

A faint chill ran down Harren’s spine. The mist around him swirled unnaturally, moving as if alive.

He could feel it probing at his defenses, sapping the edges of his spiritual power.

”I don’t have time for this child’s play!” he roared, his patience shattering.

His spiritual pressure erupted in a blinding wave, the ground below trembling under his might.

The sheer force of his cultivation distorted the mist, pushing it back for a brief instant.

With a cold glint in his eyes, Elder Harren drew his sword.

The weapon hummed, resonating with his fury as countless sword shadows flickered into existence around him.

”Break!” he commanded.

He swung his blade forward in a devastating arc, his sword intent cleaving through the fog like a storm tearing through the sky.

The sound of the slash echoed endlessly—yet when the light faded, the mist only thickened, swallowing his attack whole as though mocking him.

Elder Harren’s eyes widened slightly. For the first time in centuries, a trace of unease appeared on his face.

”What... kind of power is this?” he whispered.

”I don’t believe this!” Elder Harren roared, his voice echoing through the endless white void.

His fury shook the heavens themselves as his spiritual pressure exploded outward, splitting the air like thunder.

His long robes whipped violently around him, the sheer force of his aura forming a vortex that tore at the mist.

His sword gleamed with blinding brilliance, its edge humming with the resonance of countless years of cultivation.

Without hesitation, Harren poured every ounce of his spiritual essence into his blade.

”Sacred Heart—Nine Heavens Severing Slash!”

He swung.

A crescent of pure sword light erupted from his weapon, its power vast enough to split mountains and seas.

The shockwave sent ripples through the formation, but the white mist merely trembled—and then swallowed the attack whole.

”What—?!” Harren’s teeth clenched. Not accepting defeat, he unleashed a barrage of sword strikes in rapid succession.

Each strike carried the weight of a peak expert’s wrath, enough to shatter space itself.

The fog resisted everything, its calm almost mocking him.

Minutes passed. His breath grew heavy. His aura, though still immense, wavered slightly.

And yet... the formation stood unbroken, pristine and undisturbed.

”This can’t be happening!” he bellowed, his voice cracking with rage. ”Show yourself, coward! What kind of sorcery is this?!”

The mist gave no answer—only a cold silence that pressed against his heart like a suffocating hand.

***

Outside the formation, the world had become a vast, glowing expanse of white.

It was as though heaven and earth had merged into one colorless realm.

Even the strongest spiritual senses could not penetrate it.

Still, a crowd had gathered. Dozens of cultivators hovered in the air, whispering in awe and unease.

They were enemies, allies, and opportunists alike—people who had come to witness the Sacred Heart Sword Sect’s wrath fall upon Riley and his people.

They had expected blood. They had expected screams. But not this.

”What kind of formation is that?” a young cultivator muttered, his voice trembling. ”I can’t sense anything inside.”

An older man beside him narrowed his eyes. ”Careful. Don’t get too close. It looks like fog, but something that can trap Elder Harren and a million cultivators... that’s not something mortals should touch.”

He took a cautious step back, glancing over his shoulder.

The grand silhouette of the Sacred Heart Sword Sect’s mountain still loomed proudly in the distance, untouched.

But when he turned back, Riley’s camp—once filled with thousands—was gone.

In its place was only a rolling sea of white clouds that stretched into infinity.

Not even the sky above could be seen anymore.

The crowd murmured uneasily.

A few turned pale, feeling a strange pull from within the mist, as if something alive was watching them from inside.

Then, without warning, a faint violet glow shimmered in the air.

A soft hum followed, calm and commanding.

A woman descended from the heavens.

Her long violet robes flowed like silk in the breeze, and her beauty was so otherworldly that even the most hardened cultivators fell silent.

Her eyes gleamed like amethyst—cold, distant, and filled with immense power.

”That’s... Elder Iris!” someone whispered reverently. ”One of the great elders of the Sacred Heart Sword Sect!”

Elder Iris landed gracefully before the white expanse, her boots barely touching the ground.

She said nothing at first, merely watching the fog. Then she extended her slender hand.

The mist stirred. Slowly, tendrils of white gathered around her palm, coiling like living serpents.

She frowned slightly.

”Strange,” she murmured. Her spiritual essence flared, filling the air with a deep violet glow.

The spectators felt their knees weaken beneath the crushing pressure.

Yet even with her full might pressing against it, the white mist did not waver—it absorbed her energy as if it were nothing at all.

Her eyes narrowed. ”Very strange indeed.”

She withdrew her hand, a thoughtful expression flickering across her face.

From her storage ring, she retrieved a small jade box carved with ancient runes that pulsed faintly with light.

Whispering an incantation too soft for mortal ears, she opened the box.

A gentle suction force emerged, drawing several strands of mist into it.

The air crackled as spiritual energy surged around her, but when the box sealed shut, the white fog remained utterly unchanged.

Elder Iris held the box before her eyes, her expression unreadable.

”This energy... it’s not spiritual, nor demonic, nor elemental.” She paused. ”It’s something else entirely.”

She slowly stepped back, her aura rising defensively.

Her gaze lingered on the clouded void before her—calm yet filled with suspicion.

The spectators could sense it too: a faint, oppressive presence within the mist.

Something vast, ancient, and awake.

Elder Iris’s violet eyes sharpened.

”Whatever this formation is,” she whispered, ”it is beyond the Sacred Heart Sword Sect’s understanding.”

The crowd erupted in nervous chatter.

Fear and fascination mingled in their voices as they stared at the vast sea of white that had swallowed Elder Harren’s army whole.

”What kind of formation could do this?”

”Is it a divine artifact?”

”Or a forbidden technique...?”

Speculation ran wild. The unknown was more terrifying than anything they had seen before.

A few brave cultivators—those too curious for their own good—decided to test it for themselves.

With trembling hands, they extended their spiritual energy toward the mist.

Some gathered a few strands of the strange cloud into jade bottles, just as Elder Iris had done earlier.

Others dared to prod the white veil directly, sending ripples through it.

At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then...

BOOM!

A muffled explosion burst from somewhere deep inside the fog.

The ground trembled slightly, and faint waves of energy pulsed outward.

Startled, several cultivators stumbled back, their faces pale.

Yet more explosions followed—some near, some far, each one echoing like distant thunder.

The flashes of light within the mist gave the impression of an ongoing battle, fierce and unrelenting.

”Elder Harren must be fighting back!” someone shouted, clinging to hope.

”Of course! With a million cultivators under him, how could he lose?” another agreed quickly, though his voice quivered.

The crowd remained fixed in place, eyes glued to the mist.

Time stretched painfully slow as the flashes continued, each one dimmer than the last.

At first, they assumed this storm of destruction would last for hours.

But soon, the rhythm of explosions began to falter. The bursts of light grew weaker, fewer.

Then, after a short thirty minutes... silence.

The world became still again. The kind of silence that made even breathing feel intrusive.

The cultivators exchanged uneasy glances. Some frowned. Others began to sweat.

”Why did it stop?” someone whispered.

”Maybe Elder Harren broke through,” another murmured, though he didn’t sound convinced.

”Or... maybe they all—” the man didn’t finish his sentence.

A shiver rippled through the crowd as the white fog started to move.

Slowly, like a living creature exhaling, it began to disperse.

The light of the sun pierced through in thin rays, revealing what lay hidden within.

When the haze finally lifted, the sight before them made every heart freeze.

Standing at the center of a vast clearing was Riley.

His robe fluttered gently in the faint breeze, his expression calm, composed—untouched by battle.

Not a drop of blood marked him, not even a strand of his hair was out of place.

His gaze was distant, his aura tranquil yet immeasurably deep, like the surface of a still lake concealing an unfathomable depth beneath.

But of Elder Harren and his million cultivators... there was nothing. No bodies. No weapons.

Not even spiritual residue remained. It was as if they had been erased from existence entirely.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Then, a single voice broke through the silence, trembling and raw:

”This... this is impossible!”

The words seemed to ignite the crowd’s disbelief. Murmurs swelled into shouts.

”How could Elder Harren just vanish?!”

”A million cultivators—gone?! That’s absurd!”

Some cultivators began to retreat, fear gripping their hearts.

The thought that a single man could erase the entire army of the Sacred Heart Sword Sect without even lifting a hand filled them with dread.

Riley stood unmoving amid the chaos, his calm presence like an unyielding pillar amidst a storm of panic.

His eyes briefly swept over the horrified onlookers, and for a fleeting moment, those who met his gaze felt something indescribable—an oppressive stillness, as if the world itself bowed before him.

The last traces of mist drifted away, leaving behind a scarless landscape.

No battle, no blood, no signs of struggle.

Only Riley remained—silent and alone with his people, while the heavens seemed to hold their breath.

Whispers spread through the onlookers like wildfire, their voices filled with awe and terror alike.

”What kind of monster is he...?”

”Even Elder Iris couldn’t scratch that formation...”

”Did he just... wipe out everyone inside the formation?”

No one dared to get closer. No one dared to speak too loudly.