Starting as the heir of a marquis's mansion, I gained access to a summoning system.

Incredibly fast.

Like a streak of silver appearing out of nowhere, it pierced the night sky silently. Tu Wanshan didn't even have time to react—the sword light grazed his cheek, leaving a deep hole in the wall behind him.

Tu Wanshan broke out in a cold sweat.

"Who goes there!"

No one answered.

In the darkness, a gray figure slowly emerged.

He was slender, with delicate features but no expression. His eyes were vacant, as if unfocused. He wore a faded gray robe, and a narrow longsword hung at his waist. The scabbard was plain and unadorned.

Meng Xinghun.

He walked very slowly. Each step seemed measured, neither too much nor too little. His sword remained sheathed. But the killing intent emanating from him sent chills down the spines of everyone present.

That was a killing intent that could only be forged through countless life-or-death battles—cold, pure, and devoid of any emotion.

The moment Chen Jialuo saw Meng Xinghun, his taut nerves finally relaxed. Wen Tailai gasped for breath. Zhao Banshan and Daoist Wuchen also showed expressions of relief.

Wan Gu Ku's pupils contracted slightly. He sensed danger.

This person is not simple.

"Who are you?" Wan Gu Ku asked in a low voice.

Meng Xinghun didn't look at him. His gaze swept over the injuries on Chen Jialuo and the others, and his brows furrowed slightly. Then he turned to Wan Guku, answering a question unrelated to the one he was asking: "You shouldn't have come here."

Tu Wanshan sneered, "Playing tricks! You think you can stop all of us by yourself?"

Meng Xinghun finally turned his gaze to his face. That gaze was devoid of any emotion—yet it made Tu Wanshan feel inexplicably uneasy.

"Who are you in the Azure Dragon Society?" Wan Gu Ku asked again.

Meng Xinghun remained silent for a moment. Then he spoke, his voice low and calm: "Azure Dragon Society, a branch of the One Moon Hall."

Yiyuetang. Divide the helm.

These four words were like a pebble thrown into a calm lake—stirring up a storm in the hearts of the Blood Dark Cult members.

Wan Gu Ku's expression changed.

He had assumed that the gray-clad swordsman was at least a high-ranking member of the Azure Dragon Society, but the man said he was just a member of a branch of the One Moon Hall.

What does this mean?

This means there are many people like him within the Azure Dragon Society. It means that only a branch leader came tonight, not the headquarters. It means the Azure Dragon Society's true strength far exceeds their imagination.

Tu Wanshan was also stunned. He had witnessed the terror of this gray-clad swordsman firsthand—a single sword strike piercing through his Blood Fiend Palm, leaving a bloody hole in his shoulder. Such a person was merely a branch member of the Azure Dragon Society?

"Who are you trying to fool!" Tu Wanshan shouted angrily. "A peak-level expert of the Innate Qi Sea Realm, a member of a branch?"

Meng Xinghun offered no explanation. He slowly drew his sword. The blade was as black as ink, reflecting no light under the dim lamplight—like a black snake devouring the light.

Wan Gu Ku's face was extremely gloomy.

He is a cautious person; otherwise, he wouldn't have survived to this day among the outer elders of the Blood Demon Sect.

The gray-clad swordsman's cultivation was at the peak of the Innate Qi Sea Realm—a whole realm lower than his own. But the man's aura, that cold and pure killing intent, made him feel a long-lost sense of threat.

He can leave. But if he leaves tonight, where will the Blood Demon Sect put its face?

"Young man," Wan Guku slowly raised his right hand. A layer of dark red blood light swirled around his withered palm. "You may not be aware of the difference between the Innate Profound Gang Realm and the Innate Qi Sea Realm. Today, I will show you."

Before he finished speaking, he moved.

A full-force strike from the early stage of the Innate Profound Realm is so fast that it exceeds the visual limits of a martial artist in the Acquired Realm.

The figure of Wan Gu Ku left afterimages in the air as his Blood Fiend Palm aimed straight for Meng Xinghun's chest. The palm wind carried a cold, decaying aura, and the air in its path hissed and corroded.

This single palm strike is enough to level a small hill.

Chen Jialuo and his three companions were on tenterhooks.

Meng Xinghun did not dodge.

He didn't even take a step back. He simply drew his sword. He thrust it out.

A flash of sword light.

There were no flashy sword moves, no overwhelming sword energy. Only one sword strike—a sword strike of extreme speed. It pierced the air, pierced the aura of the Blood Fiend Palm.

The sword pierced through the protective aura as easily as piercing a thin sheet of paper. Dark red light exploded on the sword—yet it failed to stop its advance in the slightest.

The countless bones withered in terror.

His Blood Fiend Palm was still a foot away from Meng Xinghun's chest, while Meng Xinghun's sword had already pierced his throat.

Without stopping. Without hesitation. The sword tip emerged from behind her neck, bringing with it a puff of warm blood mist.

Wan Gu Ku's pupils suddenly dilated. He lowered his head, staring incredulously at the jet-black sword blade—it seemed to have grown out of his own throat. He tried to say something, but only a muffled "hoarse" sound came from his throat.

The power of the Blood Fiend Palm dissipated a mere inch from Meng Xinghun's chest, the palm wind only managing to stir the corner of his clothes.

Meng Xinghun sheathed his sword.

The sword was pulled from the flesh without a drop of blood—it was too fast, so fast that the blood didn't even have time to touch the blade.

Wan Gu Ku's body swayed. He clutched his throat, blood gushing from between his fingers. His emaciated form slowly leaned forward and collapsed to the ground with a thud.

The entire battlefield was completely silent.

All the Blood Demon Cult disciples were stunned.

Tu Wanshan's eyes widened in disbelief. Wan Gu Ku, a cultivator at the early stage of the Innate Profound Realm and the seventh-ranked elder of the Blood Nether Sect's outer sect—couldn't even withstand a single sword strike from this gray-robed swordsman? No, not that he couldn't withstand it, but that his throat was severed by a single sword strike!

The corpses of countless dead lay in pools of blood, their eyes still open, unable to rest in peace.

Meng Xinghun turned around. His sword was already sheathed. His expression remained unchanged—empty eyes, a flat face, as if he had just killed not a master of the Innate Profound Realm, but merely crushed an ant.

Tu Wanshan felt a chill run from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his head. He took a step back, then another.

"You...you..." His voice trembled.

Meng Xinghun didn't look at him. After glancing over Chen Jialuo and the other three to confirm they were unharmed, he spoke calmly: "The rule of Yiyue Hall—trespassers die."

He paused for a moment.

"Who else wants to try?"

Tu Wanshan's lips trembled, and he dared not utter another word. He looked at the ten thousand corpses lying on the ground, then at the gray-clad swordsman—the other man didn't even seem to be drawing his sword, but he knew that if he dared to move, the next sword would be at his throat.

"Go...go quickly!"

Tu Wanshan shouted hoarsely and was the first to turn and flee. The Blood Demon Sect disciples were as if they had been granted a pardon and scattered in all directions, not even bothering to collect the corpse of Wan Gu Ku.

A night breeze swept by, carrying a faint smell of blood.

Meng Xinghun stood rooted to the spot, as silent as a stone statue. After a long while, he gently brushed away non-existent dust from his sleeve, his voice so low only he could hear:

"They shouldn't have come."