Wandering Swordsman |

"Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!"

With a flash of cold light, three poisoned darts pierced Lin Feiyan's chest, abdomen, back, and throat almost simultaneously! Each strike was fatal! Blood gushed out like a spring, instantly staining the soil beneath her red.

Lin Feiyan's already severely injured body trembled violently, her pupils dilated abruptly, and she made a weak "hoarse" sound as if she wanted to say something, but she was too weak to speak.

Her last gaze fell upon the center of Erhai Lake, as if searching for the sect leader and hope that had sunk to the bottom of the water. Then, the light in her eyes dimmed completely, like an extinguished candle.

Ding Chengfeng suddenly turned around, his eyes blazing with fury like a volcanic eruption!

His brows were furrowed, his face ashen and grim, like a dark cloud looming overhead, dimming even the moonlight. An invisible killing intent emanated from him, sweeping across the land like a chilling tide, freezing the air itself and abruptly stopping the lake breeze, which dared not cross this blood-stained ground. Ding Chengfeng's gaze was like a knife, fixed on Oda, his eyes filled with anger, astonishment, and a fury at his subordinate for usurping his authority.

"Oda, what do you mean by this?!" His voice was low and suppressed, each word seemingly squeezed out from between clenched teeth, carrying a thunderous rage that made the surrounding grass and trees tremble. "I just personally spared her life, and you dare—!"

Before the words were even finished, the lake surface rippled slightly, as if heaven and earth were also enraged by this act of disobedience.

Oda immediately knelt on one knee, head bowed, his black robe trailing like a sacrificial banner, his posture utterly humble, yet his tone as firm as iron, brooking no argument: "Chief, please forgive me. This person is an elder of the Diancang Sect, highly skilled in martial arts and of great prestige. If we spare her life today, she will surely become a great threat in the future." He paused, his voice lowering further, yet each word was like a nail: "For the sake of the Chief's great cause of unifying the martial world, for the Black Wind Gang's enduring legacy, please forgive my presumptuous decision to eliminate this threat completely, to prevent future troubles!"

Upon hearing this, Ding Chengfeng's chest heaved violently, like a raging sea. His intention wasn't to exterminate them—he wanted to use the pretext of "spare their lives" to leave them a way out. This would both severely damage the morale of Diancang and break their fighting spirit, and also demonstrate the Black Wind Gang's "compassion and righteousness," potentially allowing him to divide and conquer some disciples for his own use in the future. This was a meticulously planned move, an invisible net.

But all that Oda did was like a sharp axe splitting a spider web, completely severing that delicate balance!

From this day forward, the entire Diancang Sect will regard the Black Wind Gang as their mortal enemy. A blood feud that will last until death! There is no turning back, no way out.

"That's...that's the logic." Ding Chengfeng finally spoke, his voice hoarse, carrying a hint of weariness and helplessness, as if he had aged ten years. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, the breath like a knife cutting through his throat, and when he opened them again, the last trace of hesitation in his eyes had been sealed by cold ice. "But..." He paused, but ultimately did not say it, only letting out a barely audible sigh.

"Forget it!" He waved his hand abruptly, his voice resolute. "It's too late to say anything more."

Having said that, Ding Chengfeng turned and leaped into the air, his robes billowing like a black eagle spreading its wings. He, along with the three Holy Rulers—Xuanwu, Baihu, and Zhuque—like four shadowy figures, plunged into the dark waters of Erhai Lake. The water rippled gently, and their figures swiftly vanished beneath the shimmering light, as if they had never existed, leaving only a trail of blood and death.

Oda slowly rose, his black robes billowing in the wind, a chilling smile playing on his lips, like a viper's forked tongue. He raised his hand and flicked it lightly, a movement elegant yet deadly.

"All Diancang disciples, not one will be spared."

Behind them, more than ten overseas heretical cultivators responded to the call and moved. They were all dressed in strangely colored robes, their eyes gleaming with an eerie golden light. They wielded bizarre weapons—curved swords, chain hooks, and poisoned daggers—and pounced on the still-breathing Diancang disciples like ghosts. Their movements were precise and ruthless; every slash was aimed straight for the throat, every blow for the heart. They sought no fancy moves, only complete annihilation.

"Uh..." A young disciple struggled to raise his head, his eyes filled with fear and confusion. Before he could speak, a curved blade silently sliced ​​across his neck, blood gushing out and staining the grass on the lake shore red.

Oda personally stepped forward, squatted down, and used his finger to check Lin Feiyan's breath. After confirming that there was no problem, his smile deepened.

He slowly rose and surveyed the carnage: corpses lying haphazardly, shattered sword blades, a Daoist robe stained crimson with blood, and a pool of dark red blood slowly spreading under the moonlight, like an unhealable scar on the earth, silently accusing this meticulously planned massacre.

Then, with a wave of his hand, all the overseas evil cultivators followed Oda into the lake, like fish returning to the abyss, and followed Ding Chengfeng.

The lake returned to calm, as if nothing had happened.

Only the wind rustling through the treetops, stirring a few blood-stained hems of clothing, made a soft whisper, like the whispers of the dead.

The moonlight spilled down, illuminating the shocking dark red area, like a blood-red mirror reflecting the impending bloodshed.

Deep within Erhai Lake, in the Martial God's Tomb that has slept for a thousand years, Duan Qianya is unaware that his most trusted junior sister has shed her last drop of blood for him.

......

But Shen Mo, who was far away, saw all of this clearly.

After everyone had submerged into Erhai Lake, Shen Mo slowly came to the shore.

Moonlight spilled onto the ground, revealing a shocking scene: the corpses of Diancang Sect disciples lay scattered in the grass, their blood staining the surrounding soil like a gaping wound on the earth.

Lin Feiyan lay there quietly, her eyes slightly closed, her face serene, as if she had simply fallen asleep.

Shen Mo stood among the corpses, like an observer, his face expressionless. However, his mind was in turmoil. He lowered his head, his gaze sweeping over each body, a complex mix of emotions welling up within him.

He sighed silently in his heart, "If Duan Qianya hadn't coveted the secrets of the Martial God's Tomb, these people wouldn't have ended up like this."

Shen Mo knew that it was Duan Qianya's greed for the Martial God's Tomb that had plunged the entire Diancang Sect into an irreparable disaster. Now, Lin Feiyan's death was one of the prices paid for this path of greed.

Shen Mo looked around, a deep light flashing in his eyes. He knew that every life on this land carried its own mission and story, but on the huge chessboard of the martial world, they were nothing more than insignificant pawns, at the mercy of those with superior martial arts.

Shen Mo turned and looked at Erhai Lake before him. The lake was as calm as a mirror, reflecting the stars in the sky, as if nothing had ever happened. However, he knew that beneath the calm surface, a much fiercer battle was about to unfold.

The moonlight remained bright, casting its glow upon his solitary figure, as if draping him in a layer of silver armor. Shen Mo's gaze was firm and calm, yet his heart was churning with turmoil. He slowly lifted his foot and walked towards Erhai Lake.