The steel groaned under Wuji's fingers. He poured the black lightning straight from his awakening Yang meridians into the blade. The metal heated from dull grey to cherry red, then to a blinding white before Zhao could even think about loosening his grip.
Zhao finally let go of the hilt, scrambling backward. His expensive purple robes caught fire just from the ambient heat radiating off the sword. Wuji didn't let him retreat. He snapped the superheated blade with a casual twist of his wrist, grabbing the broken, glowing shard of metal out of the air.
He stepped forward, closing the distance in a single, fluid motion. He drove the molten steel straight into the center of Zhao's chest.
Destruction Fire didn't work like normal flames. It didn't need oxygen to burn. It needed Qi, and as a Core Formation expert, Zhao was absolutely full of it. The fire found the fuel and devoured it instantly.
Zhao didn't even get to scream. The Extreme Yang energy flash-boiled his blood and turned his internal organs to ash in a fraction of a second. The bright orange glow shone right through his skin, lighting up his ribcage from the inside like a paper lantern. A second later, the Elder crumbled. He collapsed into a pile of fine, grey dust, leaving nothing behind but a scorch mark on the stone floor and the faint smell of ozone.
In Wuji's mind, the obsidian monument pulsed. Blood-red text scrolled across his vision.
[THREAT NEUTRALIZED. FIRST BLOOD REWARD: +500 DESTINY POINTS.]
[WARNING: EXTREME YANG OVERLOAD. CELLULAR DAMAGE AT 12%.]
Wuji breathed out a cloud of hot, grey smoke. His internal pathways were screaming. The Yang energy had successfully vaporized the Seven-Step Soul Rot, but now it was eating away at his own ruined foundations. It was like running a racecar engine without oil. He had to finish this fast and establish absolute control before his legs gave out. He shoved the pain into a mental box and locked it. No one could see him bleed.
He walked past the pile of ash and stepped through the splintered remains of the heavy oak doors.
The stone corridor outside was a mess. A dozen inner disciples stood frozen in the hallway, their swords drawn. The air was thick with the copper smell of blood. Three loyal guards lay dead on the floor, their throats cut. The surviving twelve disciples all wore white cloth armbands tied over their dark sect robes. The mark of the Orthodox Alliance. Cheap traitors trying to buy a few extra days of life.
They stared at Wuji. They looked at the glowing black tattoos crawling up his bare chest. They looked past him, into the isolation chamber, trying to find the Third Elder. There was nothing to see but a smoking pile of dust.
"Where is Elder Zhao?" one of the older disciples asked. His voice cracked. He held his sword in a two-handed grip, the blade shaking enough to rattle against his own scabbard.
"I stepped on him," Wuji said.
He didn't stop walking. He moved down the hallway with a slow, deliberate pace. The ambient heat radiating from his skin began to melt the centuries-old frost coating the cavern walls. Water dripped onto the stone, hissing as it hit the floor near his bare feet.
The older disciple took a step back, bumping into the guy behind him. "You're poisoned. You're supposed to be dead. It's a trick. He's bluffing!"
Wuji didn't argue. Arguing was for politicians. He just closed the distance. The older disciple swung his sword in a desperate, wide arc aimed right at Wuji's neck.
Wuji didn't even bother catching the blade this time. He ducked under the swing, stepped inside the guy's guard, and slammed his open palm against the disciple's sternum. He didn't use the Destruction Fire. He didn't need it. The raw, physical kinetic force of the Extreme Yang physique was enough.
The sound of shattering ribs echoed down the tight corridor like a gunshot. The disciple flew backward, crashing through a solid stone pillar and collapsing into a broken heap twenty feet away. He didn't get back up.
Wuji lowered his hand. He looked at the remaining eleven traitors.
"Drop the swords," he said. The tone was perfectly flat. No yelling. No dramatic pauses. Just an order from the top of the food chain.
The clatter of steel hitting stone sounded like rain. Eleven swords dropped almost simultaneously. The disciples fell to their knees, pressing their foreheads against the freezing floor. A few of them were actively sobbing. They tore the white Orthodox armbands off their sleeves and threw them away as if the cloth was made of acid.
"Young Master, have mercy!" one of them begged, keeping his face pinned to the floor. "The Elder forced us! We had no choice!"
"Get up," Wuji said.
They hesitated, completely terrified, before slowly scrambling to their feet. They kept their heads bowed, refusing to make eye contact. Wuji evaluated them. The Karma Lotus interface overlay popped up in his vision, assigning numbers to the men in front of him. They were all low-level trash. Fodder. But right now, he needed hands to hold the line, and fear was a much faster motivator than loyalty.
"I don't care why you betrayed the sect," Wuji said, walking right through the middle of the group. They parted like the red sea, pressing themselves flat against the walls to avoid touching him. "If I see a white armband on any of you again, I won't kill you fast like the Elder. I'll burn you slow. From the feet up. Now grab your weapons."
They practically dove for their discarded swords.
"Follow me," Wuji ordered.
He led them out of the underground isolation ward, walking up the spiraling stone staircase toward the main courtyard of Black Blood Mountain. The higher they climbed, the louder the war outside became. The muffled explosions turned into deafening roars of raw Qi colliding. The mountain was actively shaking under his feet. Dust fell from the ceiling in thick sheets.
Wuji calculated his resources. He had 500 Destiny Points. He had a severely damaged body running purely on adrenaline and Extreme Yang fire. He had eleven terrified traitors trailing behind him. It was a garbage hand. A terrible hand. But Wuji had built a career on Earth out of bluffing billionaires with nothing but a pair of twos.
They reached the top of the stairs and pushed open the massive iron gates leading to the main courtyard.
The night sky was completely obscured by thick, black smoke. The central pavilion of the Yin-Yang Demon Sect was a warzone. The massive Blood Formation pillars that normally protected the inner grounds were flickering, sputtering out pathetic sparks of red energy. Hundreds of loyal disciples were grouped together in the center of the courtyard, fighting a desperate, losing battle against a constant wave of white-robed Orthodox soldiers pouring through the breached front gates.
Wuji stepped out onto the upper balcony overlooking the slaughter. He didn't shout to get their attention. He just tapped into his Yang sea, drawing a massive breath, and let the Destruction Fire bleed into his vocal cords.
"Enough."
The single word boomed across the courtyard, amplified by the raw, crackling power of the black lightning. It hit the crowd with physical force. Several Orthodox cultivators closest to the balcony actually stumbled, covering their ears. The fighting ground to a messy, chaotic halt. Both sides looked up.
The loyal demon sect disciples stared in absolute shock. They thought their Young Master was dead. Seeing him standing there, shirtless, glowing with dark electricity, and projecting the aura of a total tyrant, was like seeing a ghost climb out of a grave to lead an army. The morale shift was instant. The terrified whispers turned into a collective, fanatical roar.
The Orthodox soldiers backed away, forming a tight defensive wall with their shields. Their commanding officer, a guy wearing a ridiculously shiny silver breastplate, pointed a spear up at the balcony.
"Mo Wuji!" the officer yelled, trying to sound brave but totally failing to hide the shake in his voice. "Your sect is finished! Surrender the mountain, and the Orthodox Alliance will grant you a swift trial!"
Wuji leaned his forearms against the stone railing of the balcony. He looked down at the officer like he was looking at a particularly annoying bug.
"A trial," Wuji said, his voice dropping into a smooth, quiet sarcasm that somehow carried over the entire courtyard. "You break into my house, bleed on my floor, and offer me a trial. You guys really love your own jokes."
Without waiting for the officer to respond, Wuji extended his right hand over the railing. He spent the 500 Destiny Points in his head without a second thought.
[POINTS DEDUCTED. OVERCHARGING SECT DEFENSE NODE: INNER COURTYARD.]
The dying Blood Formation pillar directly behind the Orthodox squad suddenly flared to life. It didn't glow red. It glowed a blinding, radioactive crimson. The pillar released a massive shockwave of corrosive energy straight into the backs of the white-robed soldiers. The blast melted their shields, shattered their armor, and sent fifty men flying into the air like broken dolls.
The courtyard went dead silent again. The surviving Orthodox soldiers looked at the smoking crater where their vanguard used to be, then looked back up at the balcony in pure terror.
Wuji stood up straight. "Kill the rest of them. If a single white robe makes it back out those gates, I'll execute the gate guards myself."
The demon disciples didn't need to be told twice. Energized by the brutal display of power, they surged forward like a pack of starving wolves, completely overwhelming the remaining Orthodox squad. Wuji watched the slaughter with empty eyes. It was a solid tactical win. He had stabilized the inner courtyard.
Then, the mountain screamed.
It wasn't a metaphorical sound. The actual bedrock beneath Black Blood Mountain let out a deafening, groaning shriek. The stone balcony Wuji was standing on fractured right down the middle.
Wuji grabbed the railing to keep his balance. He looked up.
The massive, dome-shaped energy barrier protecting the entire mountain peak—the absolute last line of defense against aerial bombardment—suddenly turned bright gold. A web of cracks spread across the dome, moving at impossible speed.
With a sound like a million panes of glass shattering at once, the barrier exploded.
The shockwave blew the smoke clear out of the sky. Wuji looked up, and the tactical reality of the situation crashed down on him. The squad in the courtyard was just a distraction. A small scouting party.
The sky above the mountain was gone. It was completely replaced by a sea of pristine, floating war-ships and thousands upon thousands of cultivators hovering on flying swords. They wore pure white robes that practically glowed in the night. The Orthodox Alliance hadn't just sent an army. They had sent everything.
At the very front of the armada, floating completely unsupported in the air, was a single figure. He radiated a blinding, golden light that hurt to look at.
Even from a mile away, Wuji could feel the sheer, suffocating pressure of the guy's ego.
The Karma Lotus interface flared a violent crimson inside Wuji's mind.
[CRITICAL THREAT DETECTED. HEAVENLY AURA CONFIRMED.]
[TARGET: YE CHEN. SON OF HEAVEN.]
Wuji wiped a fresh drop of black blood from the corner of his mouth. He stared up at the glowing hero blockading the sky. Things were about to get extremely complicated.