The rain over Qingzhou Plaza grew violent in a sudden, convulsive burst.
The mist of blood from the dead disciple had barely begun to drift before the freezing downpour hammered it back into the mud. Gu Yao held the shattered hammer, Severed Head, horizontal with his right hand. His once-slouched spine emitted a series of terrifying, bone-grinding cracks as it straightened, inch by agonizing inch.
Because the movement was too sudden, the seven Immortal-Locking Nails on his back glowed simultaneously with a sinister, dark-red light. Each ray of light felt like a white-hot serpent burrowing into his meridians, gnawing at his soul. Yet, under the eyes of three thousand chained mortals, he refused to bow again.
"This... this is impossible..."
Elder Mo Xiu stared down from the high white jade platform. The game of go he had so confidently controlled was long since forgotten. As he looked at the blood mist settling into the mud, he sensed a terror from an ancient era—an era thoroughly erased by the current generation of Immortal Sects fifty years ago.
It was pure physical vibration, an absolute brutality that rejected all spiritual qi. In this age of spirit-exhaustion, where every cultivator counted every thread of qi like a starving beggar, Gu Yao’s lavish display of raw, physical violence was nothing short of a desecration of the natural order.
"Who are you? Who the hell are you!" Mo Xiu shrieked, his right hand clutching the empty air above the white jade table.
SWOOSH.
A longsword, translucent green and entwined with the wailing souls of countless victims, materialized in his palm. It was his natal treasure—the Marrow-Sucking Sword. The blade vibrated with a high-pitched, metallic whine as the siphoned Mortal Rhyme of three thousand mortals swirled frantically within its spine.
Gu Yao looked up at the green sword, his grey pupils shrinking to the size of needle points. Fifty years ago, during the Great Purge, he had personally destroyed tens of thousands of such demonic weapons.
"A dog of the Sect is not worthy to hear Gu's name," Gu Yao rasped. Each word tasted like a blood-stained shard of iron on his tongue. "I only see that within the spine of your sword, there are the cries of my two neighbor's children. They disappeared three days ago from Sophora Alley. It seems they ended up here."
Gu Yao took a step forward, the six-hundred-pound hammer dragging a deep, bone-exposed trench across the stone floor.
Below the high platform, the mortals chained together—those with eyes once as dead as grey ash—now flickered with a faint, near-desperate spark of hope. They watched this blacksmith, a man who usually bowed his head and dared not breathe too loudly in the presence of an administrator, as he straightened his spine before a Golden Core Elder.
"Kill him! Kill him now!" Mo Xiu screamed, his face contorting with a sudden, unbearable panic.
He felt a threat he had never experienced before—not a threat of raw power, but the threat of something called dignity resurrecting in the hearts of these cattle-like mortals. To the ruling class of the Immortal Sects, the idea of a mortal holding dignity was far more lethal than any spell.
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Following Mo Xiu’s roar, dozens of inner disciples from the Hall of Rejuvenation swarmed out from the dark shadows surrounding the plaza. They were no longer underestimating him. They drew their weapons simultaneously, channeling their spiritual energy to the limit. Dozens of flying swords converged into a silver, glittering torrent in the sky, carrying a killing intent meant to grind all things to dust, completely submerging Gu Yao.
The sky above the plaza was blotted out by the metallic sheen of the sword-storm.
At that exact moment, Shen Yi, who had been shrinking behind a stone pillar at the edge of the plaza, let out a cry of terror.
SWISH.
A cunning inner disciple had spotted Gu Yao’s apparent weakness. Moving like a phantom through the shadows, he bypassed the main battlefield, his poisoned, purple dagger aimed directly at Shen Yi’s exposed throat.
"Get out of the way, mortal trash!" the disciple sneered, his eyes filled with ruthless efficiency.
Gu Yao’s face, previously as calm as an ancient, dark well, twisted in an instant. The stone-grey in his pupils evaporated, replaced by a blinding, volcanic crimson.
"Seeking death!"
Gu Yao let out a low, beast-like growl that shook the rain-filled air. His right hand pressed hard against his lower spine, and in that split second of supreme willpower, he forcibly suppressed the violent backlash of the Immortal-Locking Nails.
He did not turn his body. Instead, he made a sharp, grasping motion with his left hand toward the sky.
The rain within a thirty-foot radius seemed to freeze for a single heartbeat. Then, under the pull of an invisible, terrifying physical force, hundreds of falling raindrops converged instantly into his palm, condensing into a single, razor-sharp, transparent arrow of compressed water.
SHINK—!
Gu Yao flicked his wrist. The water arrow tore through the air with a supersonic crack, leaving a trail of vacuum in its wake. It pierced clean through the assassin’s forehead before the disciple could even lower his dagger, carrying a spray of ghastly blood and brain matter into the stone pillar behind him.
The disciple’s body stiffened, his eyes wide with disbelief, before collapsing like a sack of stones.
Gu Yao’s silhouette flickered. Because his movement speed was too high, a trail of white mist generated by the sudden pressure change streaked through the air. He appeared instantly before Shen Yi, his broad body forming an unyielding wall between her and the storm.
With his left arm, he gathered her slender, trembling frame into his chest, shielding her face from the carnage. With his right hand, he swung the six-hundred-pound Severed Head upward, delivering an unreserved, full-power strike against the downward-pouring torrent of dozens of flying swords.
"BEGONE!!"
BOOM—!!!
A massive, ear-splitting explosion shattered the air over Qingzhou Plaza.
Dozens of qi-infused flying swords, upon making contact with the shattered head of the iron hammer, were like a flock of fragile sparrows slamming into a mountain cliff. The spiritual circuits within the weapons shattered instantly. The blades cried out in a cacophony of dissonance, snapping into pieces and spiraling away like useless scrap metal.
The shockwave from the collision blasted the rain thirty feet away, creating a temporary dry zone in the middle of the storm.
Gu Yao spat out a large mouthful of stagnant, dark blood onto the stone floor, his chest heaving violently. The six wounds on his back were leaking steam and crimson fluid, but he did not retreat an inch. Instead, he straightened his spine yet another inch, forcing his body to stand upright against the weight of the heavens.
He looked down at the trembling Shen Yi in his arms. The violent, destructive red glow in his eyes flickered, softening as he gazed at her pale, rain-streaked face.
"Shen Yi, close your eyes," Gu Yao whispered, his raspy voice carried by the cold wind.
He tightened his grip on the heavy hammer, his white-hot blood dripping onto the cold iron.
"Do not look upon the ugliness of this world."
his world."