The earth trembled. War drums, like the heartbeat of a dying god, pounded across the plains before the imperial capital. One hundred and fifty thousand soldiers of the Foreign Tribe stood arrayed in a sea of black iron and cruel steel. Their banners, depicting wolves and skulls, snapped in the wind, carrying a stench of blood and savagery that choked the air. They were a wall of death. A tide of slaughter. Their collective killing intent rose like a foul miasma, pressing down on the very soul of the city. Grandmasters standing on the battlements felt their Inner Qi churn, their meridians ache under the suffocating pressure. The Regent King, Lu Tian, stood atop the highest gatehouse. He wore the usurped dragon robes, a golden crown upon his head, looking down at his instrument of destruction with a satisfied sneer. This was true power. Not the fleeting respect of the martial world, but an army that could grind cities to dust. Then, they came. From the east, a scattered line of figures appeared. They were not an army. They were a collection of individuals—the great Sect Masters, elders, and disciples of Jianghu. The Shaolin Abbot, the Wudang Sword Master, the Beggar's Clan Chief. All of them, Grandmasters in their own right, followed a single banner: the stark, black dragon of the Dragon God Hall. They numbered less than two thousand. A pitiful stream against an ocean of steel. The Foreign Tribe warriors jeered, banging their shields, the sound a deafening mockery. The martial artists looked grim. They had answered the Dragon Order, but seeing the reality of the enemy was a different matter. This was not a sect war; this was a meat grinder. Doubt flickered in their eyes. At their head walked two figures. The War Goddess, clad in brilliant silver armor, her divine sword on her back, her face a mask of cold fury. Beside her, a young man in simple black robes. His hands were empty, his expression lazy, almost bored. Lu Feng. He walked as if strolling through a garden. The suffocating killing intent of one hundred and fifty thousand men washed over him and dissipated, unable to touch his tranquil core. His presence was a paradox: utterly unremarkable, yet it silenced the world around him. The wavering hearts of the Jianghu masters steadied. Fear was useless before a man who did not seem to know the meaning of the word. Lu Feng stopped a hundred paces from the enemy line. He raised his eyes, not to the army, but to the man on the wall. His voice was not loud, yet it cut through the din of war drums and carried to every ear. "Lu Tian." The Regent King laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "My foolish nephew! You dare call me by my name? I am the Emperor! And you have brought a handful of martial arts thugs to challenge the might of my legions? Kneel, and I might grant you a quick death." Lu Feng’s eyes were cold pools of indifference. "You are a traitor to the family and a traitor to the empire. Today, your bloodline ends." Lu Tian's face twisted in rage. "Insolence! General Kutu! Show this whelp what a true warrior is! Bring me his head!" A giant of a man rode forward from the Foreign Tribe ranks. He was over seven feet tall, his body a mass of scarred muscle, wielding a monstrous executioner's axe. The aura of a peak Grandmaster exploded from him, laced with the brutal essence of countless battlefields. He was a killing machine. "I am Kutu, the Blood Axe of the Steppes!" he roared, his voice shaking the ground. "Die, boy!" He charged, his horse's hooves tearing up the earth. His true essence surged, infusing the axe with a crimson glow. The weapon cleaved the air, promising to split Lu Feng in two. The Jianghu masters held their breath. Even they would have trouble facing such a ferocious attack head-on. Lu Feng did not move. He did not even look at the charging general. He simply lifted a single finger. A wisp of energy, almost invisible, shot forward. It was not a blade. It was not a physical force. It was pure, unadulterated sword-qi—the will of a Sword God made manifest. Before the axe could fall, General Kutu froze. The crimson glow on his weapon vanished. His eyes widened in disbelief, then horror. A thin red line appeared on his forehead, ran down his nose, his chest, and all the way to his saddle. A second later, he and his armored warhorse split perfectly in two, collapsing to the ground in a spray of blood and gore. Silence. Absolute, terrified silence. The jeering army was struck dumb. The martial arts experts stared, their minds reeling. One finger. He had killed a peak Grandmaster with a single thought. Lu Feng’s cold gaze remained locked on the Regent King. "Your dog is dead. Are you next?" Lu Tian's face was pale, but the sneer quickly returned, twisted and ugly. "Power... yes, you have power. But a Sword God is still a man! And all men have weaknesses!" He laughed, a crazed, triumphant sound. "You think this army was my only plan? You are a fool, just like your father! Bring her out!" The soldiers on the wall parted. Two guards dragged a woman forward, her hands bound. She wore a simple white dress, now stained with dirt. Her long hair was in disarray, but her bearing was still noble, her face beautiful, though filled with shock and betrayal. It was Xue Feng. Lu Feng's lazy expression finally broke. A storm gathered in his eyes. A terrifying killing intent, colder and sharper than a glacier, erupted from him, focused solely on the man on the wall. The Jianghu masters felt a chill so deep it threatened to freeze their very souls. The Regent King relished the look on his nephew's face. He pressed the tip of his own sword against Xue Feng's neck, drawing a bead of blood. "They told me she was important to you. The Saintess of a dead sect. How touching." He saw Lu Feng take a half-step forward and pressed the blade harder. "Ah, ah! Stay right there. One more step, and her head rolls. She was so trusting, so easy to lure away. A true shame." Lu Feng’s voice was low, a deadly promise that resonated in the very bones of all who heard it. "Release her." "Beg me," Lu Tian snarled, his eyes wild with victory. He was winning. He had found the Sword God's weakness. He raised his sword high, preparing to make his point. The Regent King stands atop the city wall and raises his sword to cut down Xue Feng's shoulder — she has been taken hostage, betrayed and led there by a traitor.

Chapter 13: The Siege of the Capital City