The man in the bamboo hat saw the ghostlike figure closing in and panicked. He roared, channeling his internal energy to twist his body out of the way, but the blade still tore through his right shoulder, splattering blood into the air.
The shadowy figure swept forward, catching the sword mid-motion and, in one smooth motion, slashed down again.
The man flipped aside, the sword slicing just above his nose and severing the edge of his hat.
Before he could counterattack, lightning burst from the blade, engulfing him in crackling thunder. The pain was indescribable—his scream echoed through the street as he collapsed, rolling several times before stopping on the ground.
Xu Ning halted her steps. With a flick of her wrist, she shook off the lingering sparks of vital energy from the sword.
The Demonic Sect fighters nearby stared in shock at the sight of a young girl grievously wounding their leader. None dared flee or attack—they stood frozen, waiting for the man in the bamboo hat to rise.
Xu Ning stepped forward and, without hesitation, swung her sword once more—decapitating him. Then, lifting her gaze toward the others, her eyes were cold and unyielding.
That look shattered what little courage the remaining Demonic Sect warriors had. They were trapped between fear and despair, unable to advance or retreat.
Among the prisoners, Jiang Kuatian and the other martial artists who had lost their cultivation also recognized Xu Ning. Months ago, during the White Emperor Mansion's grand banquet, she had outshone everyone—her brilliance unmatched.
"It's Xu Ning from Qingxiao Sect! Her swordplay and Jiang Zhaoxia's together—there's hope for us yet!"
"What incredible speed! My eyes can't even follow her sword!"
"Her sword's even faster than before…"
"Look! There are more of them!"
Cries of excitement rippled through the group as silhouettes appeared atop the city wall—thirteen figures standing beside Jiang Zhaoxia, their sect robes fluttering, their presence sharp and disciplined.
They were the Thirteen Swords of Qingxiao's Might.
Jiang Zhaoxia looked down from the wall, his gaze sweeping over the Demonic Sect warriors below. He was about to give the order when Xu Ning suddenly charged forward with her sword.
The enemies, though terrified, didn't retreat. They roared and surged to meet her.
Jiang Zhaoxia leapt from the wall, landing with a thud on the ground below. The Thirteen Swords followed right after him. But before they had even taken seven steps, the battle was already over—Xu Ning stood among nine corpses, her sword dripping crimson.
The prisoners' eyes gleamed with newfound hope. They rushed forward to greet her, but Xu Ning simply brushed past them, vaulting over their heads and sprinting toward the heart of the city.
"What a remarkable woman," an old martial artist murmured in awe. In all his decades of wandering the martial world, he had never seen such a deadly and fearless young lady—swift, precise, and ruthless.
Jiang Kuatian, walking ahead, turned his head slightly and saw Jiang Zhaoxia and his group approaching. His heart was a storm of emotion.
He remembered the first time they met—Jiang Zhaoxia had still been a boy then. Now, he stood as a man. They had always disagreed, their tempers clashing like steel. And yet, seeing him now filled Jiang Kuatian with shame and pride alike.
As they passed each other, Jiang Zhaoxia's calm voice came from behind.
"Senior Brother was worried about you. That's why we came early."
The words struck deep. Jiang Kuatian's eyes reddened. He said nothing, only lowered his head and kept walking forward.
Xu Hong finally regained his vision. Seeing the corpse of the man who had nearly killed him, he exhaled in relief. But inside, his feelings were tangled and heavy.
He remembered Xu Ning well. At the White Emperor Mansion, she had slain two sect leaders in one strike, her strength breathtaking. He had once thought that when he roamed the martial world, he would visit Qingxiao Sect to spar with her.
Now, he realized the gap between them was immeasurable.
Footsteps echoed from within the city gate tunnel. A commanding male voice followed:
"Maintain formation. True disciples are not to act alone. Support disciples, don't fall behind. Kill the enemy first—then save the people!"
Before Xu Hong could turn, a sharp sting pricked his neck. He turned and saw a woman standing a short distance away, her hand still raised mid-motion from throwing a needle.
It was Li Dongyue.
She looked at him and said, "Your injuries are severe. Don't pull the needle out. Leave the city."
Without waiting for his reply, she walked on, followed by Liu Yan and a group of disciples who also cultivated the Secret Technique — Rejuvenation Ghost-Immortal Needles.
Zhang Yuchun, Li Sifeng, Wu Man'er, and Li Sijin each led their own teams into the city. Their formations were tight and disciplined, not chaotic in the slightest. Every disciple of Qingxiao Sect carried a solemn expression.
What they had seen along the way had burned deeply into their hearts. They knew that once they entered the city, it would be a battle of life and death—but no one hesitated.
If the Demonic Sect wasn't destroyed, their families, clans, and friends below the mountain would all be in danger. They would not allow that to happen.
Su Xiling, Li Yang, and Zhao Linglong were among those marching too. They had volunteered to join.
"Don't hold back like before. Don't hesitate to kill. Every member of the Demonic Sect is a madman—they deserve no mercy. Don't give them a chance," Zhao Linglong warned Li Yang sternly.
Li Yang didn't answer, but the fire in his eyes said everything.
Since childhood, he had practiced martial arts to serve the nation. After becoming the Martial Champion, he had carried the weight of protecting the people on his shoulders. Even when facing enemies in the martial world, he had always stayed his hand.
But not this time.
The countless corpses outside the city still haunted him. Rage and grief burned in his chest, and now his killing intent could no longer be restrained.
A total of 293 Qingxiao Sect disciples entered the city together. Not one turned back. They marched straight into the prefectural capital—a city turned into a living hell.
At the gate passage, Jiang Kuatian paused and turned to watch the disciples' backs as they advanced. His thoughts drifted to Lin Xunfeng.
He remembered Lin's words: that he had once dreamed of building Qingxiao Sect into a great force, raising countless disciples who could protect the world. But fate had forced him to give up that dream, to search instead for his lost wife and child.
"Brother Lin, your disciples have fulfilled your wish. How could you not be here to see it…"
Jiang Kuatian took a deep breath and turned away from the city.
He could not stay. To remain now would only burden them.
He would not betray the kindness Qingxiao Sect had shown him.
…
On a wide street lay the corpses of countless Demonic Sect warriors. At the end of the bloody trail stood the slender back of Xu Ning, sword in hand.
She continued walking forward without once looking back since entering the city.
"Slow down! Don't charge into danger alone!"
A weary voice called out from above. Cheng Canghai, the King of Thieves, was running lightly across the rooftops, watching her with astonishment.
This girl—normally so quiet and cold—had unleashed such murderous fury that even he felt uneasy.
He was silently grateful they weren't enemies.
Xu Ning didn't answer, but her pace did slow slightly—not out of fear, but because she didn't want to make her sect worry.
"The front is where Xuan Dang and the Demonic Sect are clashing," Cheng Canghai warned. "There are stronger enemies hidden there. Stay alert—there might be an ambush nearby."
His tone grew more serious as he stared into the distance.
Xu Ning tilted her head toward him. "You seem familiar with this place. The way you pointed me earlier, I've run into more Demonic Sect fighters exactly as you said."
Cheng Canghai grinned proudly. "Half a month ago, I sneaked into the city under cover of night. Scouted everything. I know where the people are imprisoned and how the Demonic Sect's forces are spread out."
"Master sent you?"
"Of course. Your master only trusts my lightness skill for a mission like this."
It was rare that Cheng Canghai could show off before Xu Ning, and he savored it.
Xu Ning truly regarded him differently now. To sneak alone into this deathtrap of a city—she herself couldn't guarantee she'd survive unscathed. The title "King of Thieves" was clearly well-earned.
Ever since Li Qingqiu had passed the Supreme Purity and Primordial Harmony Sutra and Gale Technique to Cheng Canghai, his movement skill had improved dramatically. Combined with his second layer of Nurturing Essence cultivation, his lightness skill could indeed be said to dominate the martial world.
Suddenly, Xu Ning stopped walking. Cheng Canghai followed suit, their eyes fixed ahead.
At the end of the long street, a Demonic Sect warrior approached, holding a broad saber. His clothes were nearly identical to those of the man in the bamboo hat before.
As he advanced, more black-clad figures emerged from the alleys behind him—one after another, until the street was full of them. Each wore a demonic ghost mask, each gripped a blade. The air grew thick and oppressive. Even in daylight, their presence felt like a nightmare come alive.
Xu Ning's eyes locked on the leader. For the first time, she sensed a faint but real threat.
"Let me handle this. Take a breather," came a calm voice from behind.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jiang Zhaoxia approaching with the Thirteen Swords of Qingxiao's Might following close behind.
Xu Ning had once been saved by him. It was Jiang Zhaoxia and Zhang Yuchun who had brought her into Qingxiao Sect. But ever since her talent had outshone others, she and Jiang Zhaoxia had rarely spoken. Their rivalry was quiet but intense—unspoken yet undeniable.
If it had been anyone else, she would never yield the fight. But since Jiang Zhaoxia had spoken, she stepped aside. There would be plenty more battles to come.
Jiang Zhaoxia walked past her, the Thirteen Swords fanning out behind him.
Xue Jin, who had reached the second layer of Nurturing Essence, was among them. Every sword disciple had trained hard for years—their skills were sharp, their spirits even sharper. They followed their master without fear, their eyes burning with anticipation.
Suddenly, the Demonic Sect warriors charged forward.
The one leading them moved like a spear, his burst of energy tearing through the air with visible force.
Jiang Zhaoxia gave a cold snort. In the same instant, he drew his sword and threw it.
The long sword spun across the sky, cutting a silvery line through the air as sword qi erupted in every direction.
His sword was even faster than Xu Ning's—so fast that the leading warrior barely had time to lift his blade to block.
But it was useless.
With a flash of light, the sword shattered the enemy's saber, then his neck. The sword didn't stop—it continued its deadly flight, tearing through the ranks like a thunderbolt.
By the time it halted, hovering thirty zhang (about 100 feet) above the ground, forty-three Demonic Sect warriors had already fallen. Blood sprayed like rain. Their bodies collapsed backward in unison, like waves receding into the sea.
One sword strike—forty-three slain.
The Thirteen Swords of Qingxiao's Might gasped, their breathing ragged, eyes blazing with awe and fervor.
From the rooftop, Cheng Canghai's eyelids twitched wildly. It was the first time he had ever seen Jiang Zhaoxia fight.
'What terrifying swordsmanship!'
Xu Ning's gaze flicked toward the courtyard wall beside the street. It was covered with long cracks left by the sword's qi.
Jiang Zhaoxia kept walking forward, his disciples close behind. Behind them, Zhang Yuchun, Li Dongyue, and their teams entered the area as well, not far behind.
Wu Man'er and Li Sifeng guarded the rear, watching carefully for ambushes.
When Jiang Zhaoxia reached the point where his sword hovered, he raised a hand and grasped it. But instead of sheathing it, he stopped walking.
"Qingxiao Sect truly lives up to its name," came a deep, hoarse voice that echoed through the air. "No wonder three of my Guardians and seven of my Fiends perished at your hands."
It was the voice of the Demon Emperor.
The moment his words faded, shadows leapt from every courtyard and rooftop around them—dozens at first, then hundreds, their numbers swelling rapidly.
Cheng Canghai's expression darkened. His hand twitched toward his dagger as he prepared himself.