The wind on Hua Shan’s peak was a whisper of ghosts. Lu Feng stood, the heavens still trembling from the shattering of his seals. His true essence, a vast and silent ocean, now surged through his meridians. The distraction Gui Ying had set—the threat to the Su family—was a child’s game. An insult.
His senses, amplified to a godlike clarity, pierced through miles of earth and shadow. He found him. Not in a grand palace or a hidden fortress, but in a place reeking of ancient death.
A flicker. Lu Feng was gone.
The Shadowfang Ruins. A skeletal city swallowed by a cursed forest. Demonic Qi hung in the air, thick and suffocating, twisting the trees into gnarled claws. Lu Feng appeared at the edge of the ruins as if he had always been there. Beside him, Bai Li materialized from a whisper of wind, her hand already resting on the hilt of her divine sword, Frostfall. Her killing intent was a clean, cold razor against the foulness of the place.
They took a single step into the courtyard of a collapsed temple. The shadows writhed.
From every broken archway, from every darkened corner, figures emerged. Dozens of them. They wore black, featureless masks, and their bodies moved with a disjointed, predatory grace. Their eyes, visible through the slits, glowed with an unholy crimson light. These were not mere martial artists. They were puppets, their life force corrupted by demonic arts.
Gui Ying's elite guard. The Soul Reavers.
A hulking figure, his face a roadmap of scars, stepped forward. He carried a massive, serrated blade. “The Dragon Sovereign,” he rasped, his voice like grinding stone. “And the famous War Goddess. Lord Gui Ying sends his regards. He knew a rat of your caliber would smell the real trap.”
Lu Feng’s expression was one of utter indifference. He did not look at the scarred man. His gaze was fixed on the darkened temple ahead, as if the assassins surrounding him were nothing more than dust motes in the air.
Another Soul Reaver, leaner and faster, laughed. A high, grating sound. “Look at her. The peerless Bai Li, the terror of the battlefield, reduced to the Sovereign’s loyal pet. What a waste.”
Bai Li’s eyes turned to ice. “You are not worthy to speak my Lord’s title.”
*Shing.*
Frostfall was a whisper of light. A silver arc, too fast for the eye to follow. The mocking assassin froze. A thin red line appeared across his neck. His head slid from his shoulders, and his body crumpled to the ground, the crimson glow in his eyes extinguishing instantly.
The scarred leader roared. “Kill them! Bathe this ground in their blood!”
The Soul Reavers surged forward, a tide of demonic energy and cold steel.
In that instant, Lu Feng and Bai Li moved as one. They met in the center of the courtyard, their backs pressing together. A familiar, unspoken pact. A bond forged in a hundred battles.
They did not need to speak. They did not need to see.
An assassin lunged for Lu Feng’s unprotected back, his claws tipped with black poison. Before his strike could land, Bai Li’s sword was there. Frostfall pierced through his throat from the side, a perfect, economical thrust. She never turned her head. She simply felt the threat to her lord.
Simultaneously, a volley of needles, each one humming with corrosive Qi, shot towards Bai Li’s blind spot. Lu Feng did not move. He simply raised his left hand, palm open. An invisible shield of pure, golden true essence materialized. The needles struck it and vaporized into black smoke, not a single one passing through.
He protected her from the unseen. She protected him from the seen.
A Soul Reaver unleashed a torrent of black fire. Lu Feng flicked a sleeve. A wave of sovereign pressure, immense and irresistible, slammed into the attacker, crushing his bones and extinguishing his demonic flames before they could even form.
Three more leaped at Bai Li. She became a whirlwind of silver light. One step, three flashes of her sword. Three bodies hit the ground, neatly severed in two. Her movements were flawless, a deadly dance of unparalleled grace and lethality.
They were an island of calm in a storm of death. Lu Feng’s movements were minimal, almost lazy. A pointed finger would shatter a sword. A cold glance would freeze an opponent's meridians, causing their Inner Qi to implode. Bai Li was his blade, a peerless weapon that moved with impossible speed, reaping lives with every breath.
The assassins, puppets of a demonic art, knew no fear. They only knew the command to kill. But even their corrupted minds could register the futility of their assault. They were throwing themselves against an unshakable mountain and a razor storm.
The scarred leader watched, his crimson eyes burning with fury. His men were being slaughtered. He let out a guttural roar that shook the ruins.
“For the new Sovereign!” he bellowed, his muscles bulging and tearing through his clothes. Black veins pulsed across his skin as he activated a forbidden blood sacrifice art. “We will drag you to hell with us!”
The remaining dozen Soul Reavers followed his lead. They all roared, their bodies contorting as they burned their own life force. Their demonic Qi erupted, merging into a single, horrifying torrent of destructive energy—a wave of pure annihilation aimed directly at the pair.
The attack was too vast, too powerful to be deflected by a simple gesture. It was the combined sacrifice of twelve elite demonic warriors.
Bai Li’s expression was resolute. Without a flicker of hesitation, she spun to face the oncoming blast, planting her feet to shield Lu Feng with her own body. Frostfall began to glow with a blinding white light as she prepared to unleash its ultimate defensive art, even if it shattered her own soul.
“My Lord!” Her voice was firm, a declaration of ultimate loyalty.
For the first time, a flicker of emotion crossed Lu Feng’s cold face. Not fear. Not concern. But a chilling, absolute fury.
He placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle yet firm, stopping her instantly. His voice was quiet, yet it carried the weight of the cosmos itself.
“Stand behind me.”
It was not a request. It was the immutable law of the universe. Bai Li obeyed without question, her heart trembling not with fear, but with awe.
Lu Feng stepped forward, directly into the path of the demonic tsunami. He stood there, calm and still, as the world-ending power crashed over him.
The leader of the Soul Reavers laughed, a broken, triumphant sound. “Die! Dragon Sovereign! Die!”
The ground exploded. Dust and debris filled the air. But as it settled, a sight of pure terror greeted the assassins.
Lu Feng was unharmed. The apocalyptic wave of demonic energy had not dispersed. Instead, it swirled around him, drawn towards him like a vortex. He was not blocking it. He was not enduring it. He was devouring it. The raw, violent Qi was being absorbed directly into his body, refined by his sovereign essence.
The scarred leader’s laughter died in his throat. “No… Impossible! No one can refine raw demonic Qi! It’s poison!”
Lu Feng’s eyes, once a deep, indifferent black, now held a faint golden glow, laced with wisps of the very demonic energy he had just consumed. He raised a single finger. The remaining Soul Reavers froze in place, their bodies locked by an invisible force. They watched in horror as their own life force, the very essence of their being, began to drain from them, flowing like streams of light towards Lu Feng.
“Gui Ying inherits the power of a dead man,” Lu Feng said, his voice echoing with an ancient, chilling finality.
“But I,” he continued, his gaze piercing through the dying assassins, through the ruined temple, and into the darkness beyond, “am the one who killed his master.”
He then spoke one last thing, a promise that sealed their fates and shook the very foundations of the Demonic Sect. “And I am here to collect the debt.”