Hearing Wu Dingbei's words, Daoist Changming couldn't recall who he was. But in the face of the current chaos, the past no longer mattered.
"Xuan Dang stands in Guzhou and is revered by its people. Even if it means stepping into endless ruin for their sake, we do so without regret."
His voice was firm. He raised his left hand and tapped three times on his arm. In an instant, his right arm regained strength. He gripped his sword tightly and stepped forward again, ready to continue the fight.
Wu Dingbei turned slightly, a flash of irritation flickering beneath the mask.
"Since you refuse the easy path, I'll show you what true hell looks like!"
He roared and leapt, spear thrusting like a lightning bolt toward Daoist Changming.
On another street, the Divine Monk of Chanding Temple, Taixing, was surrounded by dozens of Demonic Sect warriors. Corpses littered the ground—both monks and demons alike. Blood stained the cobblestones and splashed across the courtyard walls.
Taixing had been battling for a long time. His kasaya was torn, his strength nearly spent. He could no longer lift the massive bronze bell and could only fight around it, using it as cover while he fended off the relentless assault from all directions.
The monks of Chanding Temple were fewer in number than the disciples of Xuan Dang, and more and more found themselves outnumbered and cornered.
But not a single one showed fear. Their eyes burned with fury, unflinching even in the face of death.
Meanwhile, Jiang Kuatian and the other prisoners were still being driven forward. They could see the battle raging in the distance—familiar faces among the warriors who once fought beside them. The sight felt close enough to touch, yet impossibly far away.
Their cultivation crippled, they could do nothing but watch helplessly as the heroes of the martial world fell one after another.
"Don't stop! Instead of worrying about them, you'd better think about what's coming for you next."
A mounted Demonic Sect warrior cracked his whip, his tone dripping with killing intent that chilled the heart.
But the prisoners no longer cared about threats. They trudged on, their eyes fixed on the distant battle, each step heavier than the last.
Then suddenly—
Jiang Kuatian heard faint shouting from afar. He raised his head. The sound grew louder—war cries, and then, unmistakably, the blaring of war horns.
That was…
The sound of an army!
A spark of life surged within him. The thunder of battle in the distance reignited a desperate hope that even Xuan Dang or Chanding Temple could not provide.
No sect, no matter how mighty, could compare to the imperial army.
He wasn't alone in that thought. The other prisoners' eyes began to light up as well. Their crushed spirits stirred, realizing this might be their only chance to escape alive.
Even the Demonic Sect guards were startled by the sounds from outside the city walls. For a moment, panic flickered in their eyes—they too thought the Great Li Dynasty's army had arrived.
To occupy a prefectural city was one thing.
To defy the entire empire was another.
Just then, a figure shot out from a narrow alley nearby—a young monk, his face resolute and his movements sharp. He wielded a wooden staff and rushed forward like a shooting star.
With one strike, he smashed a mounted Demonic Sect warrior off his horse, sending both man and beast crashing to the ground.
"Run!"
The young monk shouted, his voice low but commanding. Then he swung his staff again, striking down the other guards who were herding the prisoners.
Each blow sent a man flying. His strikes were swift, precise, and filled with immense power.
The prisoners snapped out of their daze. They quickened their pace toward the city gate. They could barely move fast, their bodies ravaged by torture and starvation, but they forced themselves forward.
Jiang Kuatian had barely taken ten steps when he looked back and saw the young monk had already felled all nearby Demonic Sect fighters.
He recognized him.
This monk had once come to the White Emperor Mansion when the Five Sects were invited. Back then, he followed the abbot of Chanding Temple. His name was Xu Hong. Jiang remembered he hadn't displayed any skill then—quiet and humble at the time.
Now, Jiang's heart trembled with awe.
As expected of Chanding Temple.
Even among the younger generation of the White Emperor Mansion, there had never been one this powerful.
He turned back and kept moving forward while Xu Hong, staff in hand, guarded their rear.
Demonic Sect warriors came leaping over walls and rooftops like ghosts in the night, but each one that approached was struck down by Xu Hong's wooden staff—rendered unconscious or crippled before they could swing their weapons.
Xu Hong didn't display any overt burst of internal energy or flashy martial technique. He fought with pure movement and skill, and no opponent lasted more than three strikes against him.
His strength filled the prisoners with renewed courage. Their pace quickened again.
Street after street, Xu Hong kept fighting. He had already defeated more than two hundred enemies. His breathing had grown heavy, his robe torn, sweat and blood soaking his shoulders. These weren't weaklings—they fought back, forcing him to put his full focus into every single blow.
The closer they got to the gate, the more desperate their eyes became. Every prisoner's heart pounded in their chest.
The torment they had suffered flashed in their minds like burning coals. That shattered city gate—opened earlier by Xuan Dang's charge—was now the only hope before them, like a piece of floating driftwood to drowning men.
But just as they neared the gate, two figures dropped down ahead of them, blocking the path.
Each held a massive saber, blades heavy and glinting coldly in the sunlight. The air around them seemed to shiver with killing intent.
Xu Hong's brow furrowed. He could tell instantly these two were no ordinary foes. But he had no choice.
He gripped his staff tightly and stepped forward.
That staff would sweep away all the demons of this world.
…
At Qingxiao Sect's new courtyard, Yang Jueding was teaching over a dozen young disciples martial arts. Their movements were uniform, every swing practiced to perfection—it was clear they had trained long and hard.
One disciple couldn't help but ask, "Elder Yang, Sect Master and the others have been gone for half a month now. Have they reached the prefectural capital yet?"
Li Qingqiu had led nearly three hundred disciples down the mountain, leaving Yang Jueding and a few novices to guard the sect. During this time, they had even hired farmers from below to tend the fields and gardens on the mountain.
Yang Jueding paused for a moment, then nodded slightly.
"Judging by the time, they should be arriving about now."
Yang Jueding answered calmly. He held no resentment toward Li Qingqiu for leaving him behind to guard the sect. As the oldest, he was the most suitable to maintain stability in their absence.
Hearing this, the disciples began murmuring among themselves, worry creeping into their voices as they wondered if their Sect Master and the others were safe on their journey.
Yang Jueding didn't stop them. He too felt uneasy. The opponent this time was unlike anything the Seven Peaks Alliance had ever faced.
"Not good! Not good at all!"
A young female disciple rushed into the courtyard, her face pale with panic.
Yang Jueding's heart sank. His brows furrowed. "What happened?"
Could the Demonic Sect have come up the mountain?
Li Qingqiu had taken most of the disciples with him—partly to rescue the people below, but also to prevent the Demonic Sect from bypassing them and attacking Qingxiao Sect directly.
Yang Jueding had been warned beforehand: if anything seemed wrong, he was to take the remaining disciples and escape.
The girl panted heavily and blurted out, "Senior Brother Zhao Zhen… Senior Brother Zhao Zhen turned into a dragon!"
"What nonsense is that?"
Yang Jueding almost exploded on the spot, thinking she was joking, while the other disciples exchanged confused looks.
But the girl's expression was deadly serious. "It's true! He really turned into a dragon! Senior Ku Yi and Senior Ku Er both tried to stop him but couldn't!"
Yang Jueding's anger faded when he saw she wasn't lying. He immediately ordered her to lead the way.
Zhao Zhen was Li Qingqiu's treasured disciple. Nothing could be allowed to happen to him under his watch.
…
Boom!
Xu Hong's body slammed hard against the city wall beside the gate, blood spraying from his mouth. His wooden staff flew from his hands, but before it could fall, he caught it midair. Landing on one knee, he steadied himself and avoided collapsing completely.
Only a dozen zhang away, Jiang Kuatian and the other prisoners were blocked by several Demonic Sect warriors. The flash of their blades kept them from advancing another step. They could only stare helplessly at Xu Hong, their eyes wide with fear.
All the way here, Xu Hong had single-handedly defeated enemy after enemy—foes they had thought invincible. Now, after finally reaching the city gate, he was gravely injured.
Ahead of him stood a lone man with a blade.
He was tall and straight-backed, wearing a bamboo hat. A red scarf was tied at his waist, armor gleamed beneath his robe, and his entire body radiated a killing aura. His blade dripped blood onto the stones.
Xu Hong's chest was torn and bleeding, his vision spinning. The man's figure blurred and doubled before his eyes, crushing his heart with dread.
'Is this all I can do…?'
He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to rise. His hands trembled violently as he tried to lift his staff.
The man in the bamboo hat began walking toward him. Xu Hong blinked rapidly, trying to clear the blood from his eyes and regain focus.
"The Demon Emperor wants people for alchemy! This boy is young and already so strong—if you kill him, it'll be a waste!"
Jiang Kuatian shouted hoarsely. In the past, he might have welcomed death. But now, with the sounds of battle and reinforcements echoing outside, he dared once more to believe that evil could be overcome.
The man didn't even glance at him. He kept walking.
Whoosh—
A sharp whistle cut through the air. A sword dropped from the sky like lightning, embedding itself in the ground in front of the man, blocking his path.
He froze and slowly lifted his gaze.
Atop the wall stood a figure in a blue robe. The man's face was handsome, his eyes cold, his expression calm yet commanding as he looked down from above.
Jiang Kuatian and the prisoners all looked up. When they recognized who it was, many of them cheered through their pain.
"It's Jiang Zhaoxia of Qingxiao Sect! He's here!"
Their voices trembled with excitement.
Some of them had attended the martial gathering years ago and still remembered him vividly.
Even Jiang Kuatian felt a surge of relief at the sight—but it was quickly replaced with concern.
'This brat came here too… don't tell me the others followed?'
His expression darkened. He knew Qingxiao Sect had risen to prominence, but in his heart, those young disciples were still the heirs of his old brothers. He didn't want to see them die in this catastrophe.
Still, a faint pride stirred in him.
Lin Xunfeng's disciples had lived up to his name and spirit!
Xu Hong shook his head, focusing on the sword before him. Someone had come to help—but he couldn't afford to relax.
The man in the bamboo hat sneered and raised his eyes. "Jiang Zhaoxia of Qingxiao Sect, huh? Perfect. Saves me the trouble of climbing Qingxiao Mountain myself to slaughter you."
The name Qingxiao Sect was like thunder among the higher ranks of the Demonic Sect. Since their resurgence, countless of their experts had perished at Qingxiao Sect's hands. They viewed Qingxiao as their sworn enemy. If not for their greater mission, they would have already razed it to the ground.
Jiang Zhaoxia didn't answer him. His gaze swept over the ruined city below, and his brow furrowed at the sight of its devastation.
The bamboo-hatted man scowled at being ignored. Rage flared in his chest. Just as he was about to leap forward and attack, another shrill sound sliced through the air.
This time, it came from the direction of the city gate.
A long sword shot through the gate's shadowed corridor like a streak of lightning, aimed straight at the man's chest.
He reacted instantly, raising his blade to block.
Clang!
The collision rang out like thunder. The man staggered backward, sliding across the ground. The sword pressed against his blade, the overwhelming force of its qi pinning him down. His arms trembled, unable to push back. Beneath the mask, his eyes widened in terror.
Before he could recover, a blur of motion flashed before him—swift and silent as a ghost.
Xu Hong felt a fierce gust of wind surge past him from the gate passage. A heartbeat later, he saw a figure rush forward at inhuman speed, charging straight at the man in the bamboo hat.