My Ares Son-in-Law

Qingyangzi felt as if his dantian was being devoured by thousands of ants, his soul was being burned by raging fire, and even his consciousness was gradually dissipating!

"No... have mercy! Senior, have mercy!!"

At this moment, the glory of a century-old family and the dignity of a Celestial Realm expert were all crushed by the instinct for survival!

Tears streamed down Qingyangzi's face as his aged body collapsed to the ground. He frantically slammed his forehead against the bluestone slabs, the sound echoing loudly. Blood instantly stained the ground red. The once invincible ancestor was now as humble as a begging dog!

Xiao Chen watched indifferently.

He stood in the center of the courtyard, his black clothes stained with blood, his figure as upright as a solitary peak, his eyes without the slightest ripple, as if the person in front of him was not a Celestial Realm expert kneeling and begging for mercy, but merely an eyesore of an ant.

The Nether Spring Sword hovered in his palm, frantically devouring the bloodline essence of the Qingyang Sword Sect. Its dark light grew stronger and stronger, even emitting an eerie red glow. The blade was slightly hot, as if a hungry beast was feasting!

The originally indistinct dark patterns on the blade are now becoming clearer at a speed visible to the naked eye... They are fine, ancient, and powerful reverse scale patterns, with flowing light, mysterious and domineering!
The last scream abruptly ended.

In the courtyard, besides Xiao Chen, there were only the trembling outer members of the Qingyang Sword Sect, as well as Elder Hai and Lin Zhenghao with complicated expressions.

Dozens of core members of the Qingyang Sword Sect, from their patriarch Qingyangzi to the elders of each hall, were all turned into withered, dried corpses, their skin clinging to their bones, their eyes wide open, their faces frozen with extreme fear and resentment.

Their vital energy, cultivation, and bloodline essence were completely destroyed, becoming offerings for the awakening of the Nether Spring Sword.

The night wind swept by, swirling up ashes and blood foam that twirled and fell through the air.

The Youquan Sword in Xiao Chen's palm gradually quieted down, its dark light receding and its scalding temperature slowly fading, transforming back into that inconspicuous black short blade.

However, on the blade, there was an extremely fine dark gold pattern... like an ancient crack that had healed slightly, flowing with an imperceptible divine power, as if a sleeping dragon had finally opened its eyes a crack.

The moonlight shone down again, its cold light falling on Xiao Chen's blood-stained clothes, making his unfathomable eyes appear even more chilling.

The Qingyang Sword Sect, a century old, is now extinguished, its lights extinguished, and its place as silent as a tomb.

The once bustling sect compound is now only filled with dried corpses and bloodstains, and even the wind carries a deathly chill, daring not to howl easily.

The sky over the provincial capital is destined to change color starting tonight.

In the distance, the city lights flickered and traffic flowed endlessly. The ordinary people were completely unaware of the shocking changes taking place in this deep mansion in the East District, still immersed in the peaceful night.

Only a very few martial arts experts standing at the top of the city's shadows seemed to sense something, and suddenly awoke from their slumber or meditation, all looking in the direction of the Qingyang Sword Sect, their brows furrowed, and a strange palpitation and unease welling up in their hearts... It was an instinctive fear of apex predators that came from the depths of their souls.

With a flick of his sleeve, Xiao Chen sent the Youquan Sword into a streak of black light, disappearing into his sleeve and leaving only a faint trace of its burning heat. Like a satiated beast, it fell into a deep sleep, awaiting the next blood-drinking dragon roar.

In the courtyard, it seemed as if several seconds had been taken away.

The wind stopped, all sound ceased, even the chirping of insects fell silent.

The remaining members of the Qingyang Sword Sect stood frozen in place, their eyes seemingly nailed to Qingyangzi's dried corpse.

Qingyangzi, a name once shrouded in secrecy in the martial arts world of the western region, the one who supported the Qingyang Sword Sect for three hundred years, now lies quietly in mud and blood, his hair and beard covered in dust, withered and emaciated.

He did not die in battle, nor did he die from exhaustion.

It was drained of all life force, turning into a worthless dried corpse.

Like slaughtering livestock, clean and efficient, even with an almost artistic, cruel precision. "Heh...heh..."

The Elder Hai made a strange, broken sound from his throat; it wasn't anger or grief, but the sound of some belief shattering completely in his chest.

He staggered backward, his shoes grinding against the gravel with a harsh screech, each step feeling like stepping on his broken heart. He looked at the young man standing there, sword sheathed, his black clothes stained with blood, his figure solitary and aloof, like a demon god emerging from the depths of hell.

That wasn't the look you gave an enemy.

It's like ants looking up at the suddenly collapsing sky, left only with despair and awe.

Regret? At this moment, it was no longer a simple emotion, but had transformed into a deadly poison that overwhelmed his lungs, chilling him to the bone and making his whole body stiff.

He recalled Lin Zhenghao's hesitant words upon returning home that day, Zhao Ruixiang's disdain, and the conflict that could have been avoided... There was a path that would have allowed the Qingyang Sword Sect to reach the heavens, but it was severed by the sect leader himself, resulting in this blood-soaked carnage tonight.

"Father...Great-grandfather..."

In the distance, Zhao Ruixiang's daughter knelt on the ground, her fingers digging deep into the soil, her nails broken and bleeding profusely.

She didn't scream or cry, but her whole body trembled violently uncontrollably. Cold sweat instantly soaked through her layers of fine clothes. The chill of death didn't come from the blood in the outside world, but from seeped out little by little from the depths of her bone marrow, freezing her limbs and bones.

She should have known better.

From the moment the young man in black stepped into the courtyard, his eyes held no warmth whatsoever, only indifference as if all living beings were nothing but weeds.

late.

Everything is too late.

The Qingyang Sword Sect's three-hundred-year foundation was ultimately destroyed by the arrogance of its own people, turning into a fleeting crimson sunset in the provincial capital tonight.

Xiao Chen casually lowered the increasingly dark Youquan Sword in his hand, blood still clinging to the tip, about to drip, its crimson hue eerily bright in the moonlight. His gaze slowly swept across the entire area, and wherever it fell, the air seemed to be weighed down by an invisible pressure, even the flow of air became stagnant.

No words.

He simply raised his chin slightly.

"Pfft."

The first dull thud of a knee hitting the ground, so heavy it seemed to strike the very heart of everyone, came from a Qingyang Sword Sect warrior wielding a sword.

The sword in his hand fell heavily to the ground with a clang, the blade striking the bluestone slab with a piercing, crisp sound. He collapsed to his knees as if his spine had been removed, his forehead pressed tightly against the cold ground, his back trembling violently, and he dared not even breathe.

Then came the second sound, the third sound...

"Plop! Plop! Plop!"

The muffled thuds spread rapidly across the field like dominoes. Like reeds swept away by an invisible giant wave, one after another, the masters of the Qingyang Sword Sect gave up all resistance, their knees slamming heavily to the ground.

Struggle? Resist? Faced with the absolute terror of their patriarch's death and the complete demise of their core experts, all courage and dignity became laughable illusions. At this moment, all they wanted was to live, even if it meant crawling on their knees like dogs in the dust, clinging to that faint glimmer of hope.

Zhao Ruixiang's daughter also slowly lowered her body, her beautiful face buried deep in dust and blood. Her elegant robes were stained with filth, but she cared nothing for appearances; only her uncontrollable trembling betrayed the deep-seated fear in her heart. (End of Chapter)