Li Xuanyi's sword was deceptively simple.
No flamboyant techniques.
No dazzling sword aura.
Not even the whistle of air being torn apart.
Just a plain, unadorned thrust.
Yet the instant the blade moved, the air within the Eight Trigrams Heaven-Locking Formation congealed. The spiritual spring ceased to bubble. The wind froze mid-breath. Even the distant leaves were locked in a single suspended moment.
Time itself seemed sealed by that sword.
Lu Chen's pupils shrank to pinpoints.
He watched the tip advance inch by inch. He felt the sword intent pierce into his bones like glacial frost. He heard his own heart hammering wildly inside his chest.
But he could not move.
It was not the formation suppressing him—though the Eight Trigrams Array did indeed strip away thirty percent of his strength. It was the momentum of the sword itself that bound him.
Like a rabbit before a venomous serpent.
Like an antelope before a prowling tiger.
A suppression rooted in the hierarchy of life itself.
Li Xuanyi's cultivation stood at Level 38. Combined with Qingyun Temple's supreme sword art, The Annihilation Sword Formula, and amplified by his innate sword talent, this strike had already brushed against the threshold of Level 40.
Lu Chen was only Level 33.
A five-level gap might be bridged with skill and hidden trump cards at lower tiers. But the higher one climbed, the more each level became an unbridgeable chasm—especially beyond Level 35, where every advance marked a qualitative transformation.
Under normal circumstances, a Level 38 cultivator killing a Level 33 opponent required only a single sword.
But Lu Chen was not normal.
He was a transmigrator.
A System host.
A terminal villain who had plundered the fortunes of multiple Chosen Ones.
When the sword tip was still three feet from his throat, the Demon-Suppressing Stele within him suddenly trembled violently.
The Stele Spirit's Guardian Protocol—fully activated.
A dark-golden barrier bloomed around Lu Chen's body, ancient runes densely woven across its surface. Each pulse of those symbols peeled away a portion of the sword's oppressive force.
"Hmm?"
For the first time, surprise surfaced in Li Xuanyi's eyes.
His sword momentum… had been blocked?
Even if only thirty percent of the pressure was neutralized, it was enough.
Lu Chen could move again.
Now!
Instead of retreating, Lu Chen surged forward, charging directly into the blade.
At the same time, the Demon-Slaying Saber swept upward from below, its edge aimed not at the sword—but at Li Xuanyi's wrist.
Besiege Wei to rescue Zhao.
If Li Xuanyi did not change his move, his sword would pierce Lu Chen's throat—but his wrist would be severed.
Trading injury for life was worth it.
Trading a limb for life was not.
A flash of frost crossed Li Xuanyi's eyes. The sword tip shifted, striking the flat of the saber.
Clang!
Metal rang sharply.
Lu Chen staggered back seven steps, each footprint gouged deep into solid stone. His grip split open, blood streaming down his wrist.
Li Xuanyi retreated only one step.
The difference was unmistakable.
"Interesting," Li Xuanyi said, eyes lingering on the dark-golden barrier. "What kind of protective art is this? I've never seen it."
Lu Chen said nothing, merely adjusting his breathing and suppressing the surging blood in his chest.
That single exchange had cost him dearly. Without the Stele Spirit's protection, the residual shock alone would have shattered his internal organs.
"Suit yourself," Li Xuanyi said coolly, raising his sword again. "I'll study it after you're dead."
The second sword thrust followed.
This time, the momentum changed.
If the first strike embodied stillness—freezing time—this one was pure motion, tearing everything apart.
Sword light split into nine phantoms, stabbing toward Lu Chen from nine angles. Each was vivid, each carried lethal intent.
Qingyun Temple's ultimate technique—Ninefold Shadow Severance Sword.
Lu Chen inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.
[Ancient Ring Soul Perception]—Maximum Output.
Within his perception, the nine sword shadows transformed into nine energy clusters of varying intensity. The brightest one lay directly ahead; the remaining eight were dimmer—feints.
Yet Li Xuanyi's mastery was complete. Any feint could instantly become real. Defending only the brightest cluster would invite instant death from the others.
What now?
Within Lu Chen's mind, the millennium of martial comprehension plundered from the Ancient Ring Patriarch began to whirl violently.
Countless battle experiences, sword analyses, counter-techniques cascaded through his thoughts like a waterfall.
Got it.
He opened his eyes.
Instead of retreating, he advanced.
The Demon-Slaying Saber stabbed straight toward the brightest energy source, appearing to clash head-on.
A flicker of mockery crossed Li Xuanyi's gaze.
So crude. So easily fooled.
His wrist trembled. The frontal sword shadow dimmed instantly, while the third phantom on the left flared brilliantly—becoming the true killing strike.
But at that precise instant, Lu Chen's saber intent shifted.
Mid-thrust, the blade twisted sideways.
Not a slash.
Not a stab.
But a smack.
Like swatting a fly with a wooden plank—plain, inelegant, devastating.
Smack!
The saber struck the side of the third sword shadow with uncanny precision—right at its weakest point.
The phantom shattered.
Li Xuanyi let out a muffled grunt and staggered back three steps, disbelief flooding his eyes for the first time.
"How did you see through it?!"
Lu Chen, of course, had no intention of explaining the fusion of millennia-old martial insight and soul perception.
"I guessed," he said.
Li Xuanyi's expression darkened.
Two strikes.
Two reversals.
Though Lu Chen was clearly outmatched, surviving two exchanges beneath his blade was already nothing short of monstrous.
Qingsong and the others stood stunned.
They had expected Li Xuanyi to annihilate Lu Chen instantly.
Instead, it had come to this.
"Xuanyi, stop playing!" Qingsong shouted. "End it!"
Li Xuanyi exhaled slowly, his expression returning to icy calm.
"You're right," he said. "This ends now."
He sheathed his sword, pressed his palms together, and began forming seals.
Complex sigils bloomed between his fingers. With each completed seal, his aura surged higher. Simultaneously, the Heaven-Locking Formation began to quake as vast streams of spiritual energy flooded toward him.
"That's—Qingyun Temple's forbidden art, Nine Heavens Thunder Sword!" Lingque cried. "It burns blood essence and lifespan to cast! Has he lost his mind?!"
Wang Meng and the others tried to rush forward, only to be blocked by Qingyun disciples and allied cultivators.
Iron Shield charged again and again, only to be repelled by the formation of eight disciples, new wounds opening across his body.
Hawkeye attempted to fire—but an energy barrier had already formed around Li Xuanyi. Bullets struck it, rippling uselessly.
Lingque's drones fell from the sky, crushed by the formation's suppression.
Everyone could only watch.
Li Xuanyi completed the final seal.
Above him, storm clouds gathered. Violet lightning split the heavens, crashing down into his sword.
The blade turned fully purple, crackling with thunder.
"To die by this sword," Li Xuanyi said coldly, "is your honor."
He raised the blade.
"Nine Heavens Thunder Sword—Sever!"
The sword fell.
Lightning transformed into a roaring thunder dragon, tearing toward Lu Chen. Air ionized. Stone scorched. Rock melted.
This strike had reached Level 40.
Absolute death.
Lu Chen stared at the oncoming thunder dragon.
No escape.
No defense.
Only one option remained.
He closed his eyes.
"System. Exchange for Rule-Class Ability Trial Card—Time Stop. Duration: 0.5 seconds."
The System's most expensive item.
Five thousand villain points.
Single-use only.
He had never dared to use it before.
Now, not using it meant death.
[Exchange successful. Villain Points -5000. Remaining: 3120.]
[Rule-Class Ability Activated. Duration: 0.5 seconds.]
A profound, ineffable force surged from Lu Chen's core.
Within a ten-meter radius—
Time stopped.
The thunder dragon froze mid-air. Li Xuanyi remained locked in his striking pose. Qingsong's mouth hung open. Despair was still frozen on Wang Meng's face.
Everything halted.
Lu Chen moved.
He walked up to Li Xuanyi, raised the saber, and aligned its tip with his brow.
Time resumed.
Pfft.
The blade pierced straight through Li Xuanyi's forehead, emerging from the back of his skull.
The cold detachment still lingered on Li Xuanyi's face, but his eyes had already gone dull. He tried to speak—only blood bubbled out.
The thunder dragon detonated without control, dissolving into scattered lightning.
Thud.
Li Xuanyi collapsed.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Everyone stared, minds blank.
What had just happened?
Moments ago, Li Xuanyi had unleashed Nine Heavens Thunder Sword.
And now… he was dead?
So abruptly. So inexplicably.
As if time itself had skipped a frame.
Qingsong stood frozen for five full seconds—then let out a piercing scream.
"Xuanyi—!"
He lunged for the corpse, but it was far too late.
The brain was destroyed. No miracle could save him.
"You—what did you do?!" Qingsong roared, eyes bloodshot. "What kind of demonic art was that?!"
Lu Chen knelt on one knee, leaning on his saber, gasping for breath.
That half-second of time stop had drained not only points, but his spirit, vitality, and will. He had nothing left.
But his presence could not falter.
"Take a guess," Lu Chen grinned, blood staining his teeth.
"I'll kill you!" Qingsong snapped, charging madly.
But Wang Meng and the others reacted instantly.
"Protect Lin Xiao!" Wang Meng roared, intercepting Qingsong.
Iron Shield, Hawkeye, and Lingque broke through at last, surrounding Lu Chen.
They didn't understand what had happened—but one thing was clear.
Li Xuanyi was dead.
They had won.
"Withdraw," Lu Chen forced himself upright. "Toward the Mist Marsh."
"Run?!" Qingsong snarled. "Seal the area! None of them leave alive!"
The Eight Trigrams Formation flared to full power, a cyan barrier sealing the clearing completely.
"You're trapped!" Qingsong laughed savagely. "When the formation closes fully, it'll crush you into paste!"
Lu Chen surveyed the barrier, then the frenzied enemies.
There would be no peaceful end today.
Live—or carve a path out.
He took out a crimson pill—the Bloodburn Pill plundered from Bai Yunsheng.
Triple power.
Burning lifespan.
Total collapse afterward.
But survival came first.
"Do you trust me?" Lu Chen asked quietly.
"Always," Iron Shield answered instantly.
"Yes," Hawkeye and Lingque nodded.
Wang Meng met his gaze and nodded heavily. "Yes."
"Good."
Lu Chen swallowed the pill.
The heat exploded through his body. Blood ignited. Muscles swelled. Power surged.
Level 34.
35.
36.
37.
Temporary—but enough.
"Charge!"
Lu Chen struck first. The saber became a blood-red arc, cleaving into the barrier.
Crack.
The barrier fractured.
The eight disciples vomited blood.
"Again!"
Second strike.
The barrier shattered.
Formation backlash crippled them all.
Qingsong tried to retreat.
Too late.
The third strike arrived.
This blow carried everything—Bloodburn power, Stele Spirit amplification, pure killing intent.
The blade shone like a crimson moon.
All defenses shattered.
"No—!"
The blade passed.
A head flew.
Qingsong—dead.
The remaining cultivators broke instantly.
"Kill them all."
Lu Chen's voice was ice.
Ten minutes later, silence returned.
Sixteen corpses lay scattered, blood soaking stone.
Lu Chen knelt, vomiting blood.
The backlash had begun.
But the hunt was over.
And the real danger—
Had only just begun.