The colossal war barge of the Jade Fire Sect cast a suffocating shadow over the clearing, its jagged crimson prow blotting out the midday sun. Below, planted firmly on the fractured flagstones of the terrace, Shaurya stood flanked by his two disciples, looking up as a mountain of a man rose from the forward deck.
Huo Ling paced to the bow. His broad, beast-like silhouette was draped in blood-red robes, and when his gaze locked onto Shaurya's dark spectacles, the sheer weight of his aura pressed down on the mountain like a falling furnace.
Shaurya maintained an easy, unbothered posture, hands tucked casually into his sleeves, but internally, his brows twitched. The man looks less like an orthodox sect leader and more like an overgrown bear dipped in chili oil.
Huo Ling rested both hands on the blackened iron railing, looking down not at adversaries, but at vermin awaiting extermination.
"Under the sky of Blue Stone City, blood answers only to fire! You have mistaken our patience for weakness, boy. Today, we remind the world that those who spit upon the Jade Fire Sect are erased down to the ninth generation!
Strike them down! Paint these rocks red and scour this mountain clean!"
At his command, eighty figures leaped from the railings in a descending cloud of fluttering red robes. Thirty inner disciples hung back on the higher crags to seal the escape routes, while fifty outer disciples hit the terrace flagstones first, their boots clattering in aggressive unison.
Shaurya didn't shift his stance. Inwardly, he tapped the interface. System, scan the vanguard. Who's running the show down here?
[Target Appraisal: Outer Contingent.]
[One cultivator at Qi Initiate Level 3. Nine at Level 2. Forty at Level 1.]
Shaurya's brow furrowed behind his dark lenses. That's it? Why are their numbers so pitifully thin on substance?
[Analytical assessment: The Jade Fire Sect reigns supreme only within the borders of this backwater municipality, Host. In the grander framework of the continent, their foundation is laughably shallow.]
Catching the lay of the field, Shaurya took half a step forward, sweeping a dismissive glance over the advancing mob. "Listen, you lot are far too fragile for this work. Pack up your scabbards and march down the hill, or leave your bones in the dirt."
The casual contempt struck like a whip. At the head of the formation, a burly outer disciple unsheathed a notched saber with a harsh metallic ring. "Arrogant dog! I, Mo Yan, chief of the outer roster, will take your head to wash our sect's honor!"
Mo Yan lunged forward, his saber igniting in faint red qi as he closed the distance.
Before the blade could cross half the gap, a blur of motion cut through the air. Xiao Rui stepped directly into the attack's path, twisted his hips, and drove a clean, unadorned straight right directly into Mo Yan's face.
CRACK!
The impact sounded like a dropped boulder pulverizing a dry melon. Mo Yan didn't even have the chance to cry out; the sheer kinetic violence crushed his facial bones instantly, whipping his limp frame through the air to crash into the stone forty paces back. He didn't twitch again.
A suffocating quiet fell over the slope.
Up on the warship's forecastle, Jiang Lin—the crippled young master who had instigated the entire feud—clutched the rail, his jaw slack in naked disbelief. Mo Yan, the undisputed apex of their outer ranks, had just been snuffed out like a guttering candle by a boy who was begging on the streets yesterday.
Xiao Rui pulled his bloodied knuckles back, shook the dust from his sleeve, and tilted his chin up toward the ship. His eyes locked onto Jiang Lin, his lips parting in a cold, predator's smile that sent an icy spike straight down the crippled youth's spine.
"Avenge Brother Mo!" twenty outer disciples screamed, breaking the stupor as they surged forward in a disorganized, vengeful swarm.
Xiao Rui didn't give an inch. Moving with terrifying economy, the boy weaved through swinging sabers, delivering single, bone-shattering strikes with mechanical precision. Every punch found a sternum, a temple, or a jaw. Bodies scattered left and right like straw dolls in a gale.
Shaurya leaned to the side, whistling under his breath in genuine amusement. Good heavens… one clean hit per body, twenty bodies down. The kid is literally One Punch Man, just with a full head of hair. Incredible.
The remaining thirty outer disciples skidded to a dead halt, their boots scraping the stone as raw terror clamped around their throats. Retreat meant execution at Huo Ling's hands; advancing meant meeting the fist of a miniature monster. Desperation won out. With ragged, panicked shrieks, they rushed in unison.
Before Xiao Rui could raise his hands, the temperature plummeted.
The air froze solid, and a dense shower of needle-sharp icicles rained from the sky. They fell in a blinding silver sheet, puncturing flesh and pinning limbs to the bedrock with wet, sickening thuds. Within three breaths, the remaining outer disciples collapsed into the freezing slush, their cries cut short.
Standing just behind her brother, Xiao Lian lowered her pale, glowing hands, her chest rising and falling softly. Even she looked slightly startled by the catastrophic output her awakened Ice Phoenix constitution had produced with a simple flick of her will.
Just like that, the entire outer vanguard was erased.
High above, Huo Ling's countenance darkened into pure thunder. He slammed a fist into the ship's bulwark, splintering the heavy timber. "Useless curs! Inner ranks, descend! Grind them into paste!"
Thirty figures vaulted from the deck, their robes whipping in the wind as they landed in tight formation, their auras humming with distinct, refined heat.
Shaurya checked the roster again. System, update.
[Target Appraisal: Inner Cohort.]
[Three at Qi Initiate Level 6. Two at Level 4. Twenty-five at Level 3.]
Alright, slightly more respectable, Shaurya noted, a smirk tugging at his lips. A shame they picked today to visit.
Xiao Lian stepped past her brother, her eyes flashing cold silver. "Ice Spheres of Death."
Seven translucent, crystalline orbs condensed above her palms, spinning with razor-sharp frost before detonating outward like artillery shot. They tore through the air, finding the strongest signatures in an instant. The three Level 6 disciples and two Level 4s barely had time to raise their guards before the spheres struck center-mass, freezing their torsos solid and shattering their cores on impact.
The surviving inner disciples watched their elite crumble in seconds. Panic took over, driving them into a blind, desperate charge.
Xiao Rui caught an ice-forged blade his sister condensed from thin air, diving into the panicked ranks like a reaper through tall wheat. Beside him, Xiao Lian wove her hands through rapid mudras, summoning a howling localized blizzard, a blinding mist of frost, and a relentless downpour of freezing needles.
In under two minutes, the clearing fell silent once more.
The mountain terrace was carpeted in shattered ice, crushed stone, and motionless bodies.
A terrifying roar tore from the war barge. The deck shuddered as Huo Ling's fury boiled over, and fifteen figures dropped from the upper bridge like falling meteors. These were the core disciples—the true martial pride of the Jade Fire Sect.
Shaurya scanned the squad, his eyes narrowing as the system interface flickered.
[Core Vanguard: Leader Wei Hang at Qi Initiate Level 10. Ten at Level 8. Four at Level 7.]
Now these guys actually have some meat on their bones, Shaurya thought, his battle instincts sharpening.
He placed a hand on Xiao Rui's shoulder, gently pulling the boy and his sister behind him. "You two did your jobs brilliantly. Step back and catch your breath. Your master will handle the reception from here."
At the front of the core cohort, Wei Hang sneered, tossing his braided hair back as his sword caught the sunlight. "A destitute rogue and two brats think they can stand against the inner sanctum? You truly don't know the height of heaven."
Shaurya adjusted his dark spectacles, his smile turning distinctly wicked. "In a fair exchange of blows? Probably not. You outnumber me, and you're loaded with fancy gear. But who said anything about playing fair?"
He raised his right hand, snapping his thumb and forefinger together.
"Soul Destroying Array—ACTIVATE!"
Snap.
A deafening, brassy hum ripped through the atmosphere as the ground flared with interlocking crimson runes. The formation snapped shut in an instant, locking the fifteen core disciples in an inescapable spiritual mire.
Wei Hang's arrogant smirk froze, his joints locking solid under an unseen gravitational vice. "What is this—?!"
From the ship's prow, a watching elder recognized the forbidden resonance and panicked, diving off the deck to break the perimeter. Two Grand Elders followed instantly, launching blistering beams of fire qi to shatter the nodes—but the strikes splashed uselessly against the barrier's exterior like water on oiled silk.
Spectral, blood-red flames surged from the flagstones, ignoring armor and flesh to burn directly into their spiritual souls. The core disciples shrieked, their eyes turning milk-white as glowing fissures ran across their skin.
Within ten breaths, fifteen peak talents were reduced to piles of gray, drifting ash.
Ninety-five disciples. Wiped clean off the registry in less time than it took to boil a pot of tea.
Huo Ling's face turned an apoplectic shade of purple. The war barge tipped violently as he vaulted off the deck, slamming into the terrace floor like an iron meteor and cratering the rock beneath his boots. Behind him, six Grand Elders and one ordinary elder descended, forming an intimidating semi-circle of seething vermilion qi.
Jiang Lin scrambled down the boarding rope last, his face bruised and pale, grinning with perverse satisfaction. Despite having his dantian wrecked earlier, he was now, by default, the sole surviving disciple of the Jade Fire Sect.
Three against ten.
The solitary regular elder stepped forward, his eyes bloodshot with raw, trembling hatred. "You butchered my nephew! Die, you bastard!"
Shaurya casually glanced at the prompt. Elder Wei Lan. Uncle of Wei Hang. Qi Initiate Level 8.
Ah, family ties. No wonder he's taking it personally.
With an unhurried flick of his wrist, Shaurya retrieved the Meteorite Sword from the system inventory.
The moment the dark blade cleared the spatial void, the surrounding atmosphere condensed. Even bound beneath its dormant seals, the ancient celestial iron exerted an imperious gravitational weight that made the flagstones groan. The approaching Grand Elders involuntarily checked their stride, their instincts screaming at the unfamiliar black steel.
Wei Lan lunged forward in a blind fury, his palms blazing with twin spheres of compressed flame.
Shaurya took half a step, shifting his weight just once.
The Meteorite Sword cleaved the air in a silent, effortless arc, resembling a flash of dark lightning falling from an empty sky.
For a heartbeat, the wind stopped.
Then, Wei Lan's body severed cleanly at the waist, both halves collapsing into the dirt before the fire in his palms could even dissipate.
Huo Ling's breath hitched, his heavy fists clenching until leather tore. "That sword… I cannot fathom its grade, but it is no mortal steel."
Shaurya ignored the gaping elders, holding the weapon loosely at his side as an urgent thought crossed his mind. Hey, System. Quick logistics check. Whenever I fulfill your assignments or wipe out hostiles, I'm supposed to accumulate combat experience, right?
[Affirmative, Host. Your assessment is entirely accurate.]
Shaurya's left eye gave a distinct twitch. Then where are the points? Why haven't they registered in my cultivation base yet?
[Host, you never issued the command to claim them.]
Shaurya froze, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. He dragged a deep, agonizing breath through his nose, rubbing his temples in pure frustration. You absolute parasite...
Before he could unleash a proper mental tirade, Huo Ling's aura exploded in a roaring pillar of flame. The eight Grand Elders fanned out beside their master, their combined spiritual pressure cracking the stone in jagged lines.
"You butchered every disciple carrying my banner!" Huo Ling bellowed, veins corded across his thick neck. "There is not enough gold in this province to pay for the blood spilled today!"
Shaurya tilted his head, giving a careless shrug. "Oh, really? Then I'm afraid you're out of luck, big guy. I'm completely broke. Don't have a single copper coin to offer you."
Huo Ling stared, momentarily derailed by the sheer absurdity of the response.
A Grand Elder to his left stepped forward, his beard bristling with righteous anger. "Insolent cur! If your pockets are empty, you will compensate our sect with your miserable life!"
Shaurya picked at his ear with his free pinky, flicking an invisible speck of dust toward the elder. "Tch. And who's going to collect it? A brittle old stick like you?"
"You—!" The Grand Elder choked on his own rage, his hands trembling as he reached for his sword.
Shaurya tuned them out entirely, focusing inward. System. If I claim the entire backlog of accumulated experience right this second, how far does it push my core?
[Calculation complete: The volume of vanquished targets is sufficient to facilitate a complete breakthrough into the subsequent major boundary.]
A brilliant, predatory smile spread across Shaurya's face.
The assembled elders exchanged uneasy glances, baffled by the youth who was grinning like a madman while surrounded by peak experts. Huo Ling's blood boiled hotter at the sight, taking it as the ultimate mockery.
Shaurya raised the Meteorite Sword, letting the black tip hover steadily between Huo Ling's eyes.
"Alright, boys," Shaurya drawled, pure swagger dripping from every syllable. "Bring it on."
TO BE CONTINUED.....