The sky above the Azure Sword Sect did not gently transition into dusk. It turned the sickening, suffocating color of dried blood.
A heavy, putrid wind swept across the eastern mountain ranges, causing the spiritual beasts in the surrounding forests to flee in absolute terror. The sheer density of the malicious Qi rolling toward the sect was enough to wilt the ancient pine trees and turn the mountain streams black.
The proxy army of the Central Continent had arrived.
They did not march in a disciplined formation like the Righteous Alliance Enforcers. They arrived on massive, floating warships constructed entirely from human ribcages, and rode upon swirling clouds of screaming, vengeful phantoms.
These were the remnants of the ancient demonic path—the Blood-Bone Valley, the Phantom Blade Sect, and a dozen other slaughter-factions that had spent the last century hiding in the desolate borders of the mortal realm. The Karmic Blood Writ and the promise of the Heavenly Dao Relic had dragged them out of their caves, their eyes burning with centuries of suppressed greed.
At the forefront of the armada, standing on the prow of a massive bone-ship, was Old Man Blood-Bone. He was a terrifying, skeletal figure in crimson robes, radiating the suffocating aura of a Peak Nascent Soul Grandmaster.
"The Azure Sword Sect!" Old Man Blood-Bone cackled, his voice echoing like grinding tombstones. He looked down at the seven layers of glowing defensive arrays protecting the mountain. "They seal their gates like frightened turtles! Break the arrays! Find the youth with the heavy foundation! The Heavenly Dao Relic belongs to the Blood-Bone Valley!"
Tens of thousands of slaughter-cultivators roared, drawing rust-colored sabers and bone-whips, ready to unleash a bombardment that would turn the mountain into dust.
But as the armada descended toward the main gates, the roaring army suddenly fell into a confused, eerie silence.
They didn’t need to break the arrays to find the youth.
He was sitting right outside the front gate.
A hundred paces beyond the safety of the Azure Sword Sect’s grand defensive barrier, a small, elegant pavilion had been set up on the grassy plateau.
Yan Shuo sat comfortably in a carved mahogany chair. He wore his pristine white silk robes, a gentle mountain breeze fluttering his dark hair. He was not holding a weapon. He was holding a delicate porcelain teacup.
Standing faithfully by his side, holding a jade teapot, was Tantai Zhi. She wore her majestic crimson robes, her beautiful face the picture of perfect, domestic serenity as she gently poured a fresh cup of steaming spirit tea for her husband.
Hiding behind a large boulder about fifty feet away, completely trembling in her burlap sack, was Su Mei.
Old Man Blood-Bone narrowed his sunken eyes. He signaled the armada to halt, staring down at the bizarre scene.
A youth at the Core Formation stage and a single woman, having a tea party directly in the path of a ten-thousand-strong demonic army. It was either a profound, heaven-defying trap, or absolute, suicidal arrogance.
"You!" Old Man Blood-Bone’s voice boomed from the sky, carrying the heavy, crushing weight of his Peak Nascent Soul aura directly toward the pavilion. "Are you the anomaly mentioned in the Blood Writ?!"
Yan Shuo didn’t look up. He took a slow, appreciative sip of his tea.
"The temperature is perfect, Zhi’er," Yan Shuo praised softly, completely ignoring the booming voice from the heavens. "You have truly mastered the art of brewing Spring Cloud Leaves."
Tantai Zhi’s cheeks flushed a brilliant, delighted pink. She completely ignored the ten thousand slaughter-cultivators hovering above them. "Thank you, Husband! I infused a tiny bit of my Yin Qi to cool the boiling water, just the way you like it."
Old Man Blood-Bone’s face twisted in sheer, unadulterated fury. He was a slaughter-king who had bathed in the blood of empires! To be ignored by a Core Formation junior was a disgrace to his Dao heart!
"Insolent brat!" the old man roared. He raised his skeletal hand, condensing a massive, fifty-foot-wide hand of boiling blood-Qi in the sky. "I will crush your bones and sift through the ashes for the Relic!"
He brought his hand down. The massive palm of blood plummeted toward the tea pavilion with the force of a falling meteor.
Tantai Zhi’s sweet, blushing smile vanished.
Her golden eyes snapped upward, instantly transforming into bottomless voids of apocalyptic murder. She didn’t even draw her crimson sword. She merely raised two pale fingers and pointed them at the falling blood-hand.
SCREECH.
A singular, thread-thin wave of crystallized sword intent shot upward. It didn’t just pierce the blood-hand; it completely froze the chaotic Qi, turning the fifty-foot attack into solid, crimson ice before shattering it into harmless, glittering snow that drifted softly down over the plateau.
Old Man Blood-Bone violently recoiled, clutching his chest as the backlash of his shattered technique hit his spiritual sea.
"What in the Heavens?!" the old man gasped, his sunken eyes widening in horror as he stared at the stunning woman holding the teapot. "That... that is supreme sword intent! Who are you?!"
Tantai Zhi’s lips curled into a terrifying, blood-chilling smile.
"I am his wife," she stated, her voice a melodic, demonic hum that made the souls of the ten thousand cultivators physically shiver. "And you interrupted his tea time."
She stepped forward, her aura erupting like a dormant volcano. The absolute peak of the mortal realm crashed over the demonic armada. The sheer, suffocating weight of her killing intent began to physically crack the hulls of the bone-ships in the sky.
She prepared to draw her sword and slaughter every single living soul in the armada to fertilize her husband’s peach trees.
But a gentle hand lightly caught the hem of her crimson sleeve.
"Wait, Zhi’er," Yan Shuo murmured softly, setting his teacup down on the mahogany table.
Tantai Zhi paused instantly, the world-ending pressure freezing in place. She looked back at him, her eyes softening into absolute obedience. "Yes, Husband? Do you wish to spare them? Or should I just cripple their cultivation so you can execute them yourself?"
"Neither, Wife," Yan Shuo smiled, standing up from his chair.
He casually smoothed the wrinkles from his white robes and picked up his paper fan. He stepped out of the pavilion, walking until he was directly under the shadow of the massive demonic fleet.
Old Man Blood-Bone sneered, recovering from his shock. He realized the woman was a terrifying guardian, but the boy stepping forward was still only in the Core Formation realm.
"You hide behind a woman’s skirt, little anomaly!" Old Man Blood-Bone mocked, laughing a grinding, terrible laugh. "Did you step forward to surrender the Heavenly Dao Relic?!"
Yan Shuo looked up at the skeletal old man. His dark eyes were entirely devoid of warmth, light, or mercy. The lazy, pampered youth vanished, replaced entirely by the ancient, suffocating presence of a predator staring at a flock of very fat, very loud sheep.
"Surrender?" Yan Shuo echoed, his voice dropping into a heavy, chilling register that seemed to echo from the depths of the abyss itself. "No. I simply stepped forward because I have a very large appetite today. And my wife’s sword kills too quickly."
Yan Shuo snapped his paper fan shut.
He didn’t draw a weapon. He didn’t summon an elemental dragon.
He simply opened his spiritual sea and let the pristine, flawless golden shell of his Core Formation violently crack open.
The Heavens above the Azure Sword Sect instantly darkened. The blood-red clouds were swallowed by a pitch-black, suffocating void.
Hidden inside the golden shell, the Abyssal Star-Core awakened. It didn’t just spin; it roared with the accumulated hunger of a century of dormancy.
Heaven-Swallowing Abyssal Art: Demonic Devour.
"What... what is this gravity?!" a demonic cultivator on the lowest bone-ship screamed.
It started as a heavy pull, like wading through deep water. But within a single breath, the natural gravity in a three-mile radius around Yan Shuo multiplied by a hundred thousand.
It was not a directed attack. It was a localized black hole.
CRACK. SNAP.
The massive bone-ships hovering in the sky groaned in agonizing defeat. The anti-gravity arrays fueling their flight were instantly, violently overpowered.
"Pull up! Pull the ships up!" Old Man Blood-Bone shrieked, his Nascent Soul aura flaring desperately as he tried to resist the crushing weight dragging his vessel from the sky.
But it was entirely useless.
Like flies caught in a descending fist, the armada of slaughter-cultivators was violently ripped out of the sky. Bone-ships, phantom clouds, and thousands of screaming cultivators plummeted toward the earth, smashing into the grassy plateau with catastrophic, bone-shattering force.
Yan Shuo stood perfectly still in the center of the impact crater, untouched by the falling debris.
The surviving demonic cultivators crawled from the wreckage, their meridians screaming under the impossible gravitational pressure pinning them to the dirt. They looked up at the fifteen-year-old youth in white robes.
He wasn’t an anomaly. He was a monster.
Yan Shuo slowly raised his hands, his palms facing the groveling army. The pitch-black gravity shifted from a downward crush to an inward, violent pull.
"Thank you all for traveling so far," Yan Shuo whispered, his dark eyes glowing with a terrifying, demonic light. "Your cultivation bases will make an excellent foundation for my Nascent Soul."
The true feast had begun.