The Blood Demon Sect did not fall quietly.
They screamed.
Their foothold in the western reaches of the Eastern Kingdom had been cultivated over decades. Hidden strongholds carved into cliffs, underground halls soaked in blood, disciples raised on fanaticism and stolen internal energy. For years, they had survived by striking swiftly and vanishing before retaliation could arrive.
That era ended the moment Aldous stepped into their territory.
The first fortress fell in a single night.
Aldous arrived without banners, without announcements. Only a crack of thunder marked his presence, lightning splitting the sky as he descended into the canyon where the sect had slaughtered an entire merchant caravan weeks prior.
Blood Demon disciples poured from their gates, chanting forbidden mantras as their internal energy surged unnaturally. Their bodies swelled with borrowed power, veins bulging, eyes red with madness.
Aldous did not slow.
He moved like a streak of blue light.
His sword flashed once.
Then twice.
The canyon floor split apart under the force of his strikes. Lightning chained from blade to body, jumping from disciple to disciple as his innate physique responded instinctively to hostility. Men fell before they understood they had been struck, their meridians burned clean by divine lightning.
Within minutes, the canyon was silent.
The surviving elders attempted to flee.
They did not make it past the ridge.
By dawn, the fortress was rubble.
Word spread faster than fire.
Within a week, three more Blood Demon strongholds were erased. Aldous did not chase survivors. He advanced methodically, dismantling the sect's infrastructure, severing supply lines, annihilating training grounds, and destroying forbidden manuals.
Where others would have required armies, Aldous required only time.
The Orthodox Alliance watched closely.
So did the unaligned sects.
So did the demonic factions hiding in the shadows.
The Blood Demon Sect responded with desperation.
They gathered their strongest remaining elites and lured Aldous into a valley saturated with blood formation arrays. The ground pulsed with stolen life force. The air itself carried killing intent strong enough to crush weaker martial artists.
Aldous stepped into the formation alone.
The sect's remaining Masters revealed themselves.
Three men.
Each of them had crossed the threshold into mastery through forbidden means. Their internal energy was unstable but immense, their techniques grotesque distortions of orthodox martial arts.
"You should not have come alone," one of them sneered.
Aldous raised his sword.
"Then come together," he said calmly.
They attacked simultaneously.
Blood blades, corrosive mist, and crushing pressure converged on Aldous from every direction. The valley shook under the force of their combined assault.
Aldous inhaled.
The lightning within him roared.
His internal energy surged past its limits, breaking through restraint after restraint. Meridians reinforced by the Lightning God's Body held firm as his power exploded outward.
Thunder cracked the sky.
The blood formation shattered.
Aldous moved.
One Master lost his head before he felt pain.
Another was impaled through the chest, lightning detonating inside his body and reducing his internal organs to ash.
The third attempted to retreat.
Aldous caught him mid step, gripping his throat and lifting him from the ground.
"You are done," Aldous said quietly.
Lightning surged.
The body fell.
The Blood Demon Sect ceased to exist that day.
The Murim Alliance did not celebrate.
They reevaluated.
Within weeks, Aldous's name was spoken with reverence and fear. Sect leaders who once dismissed him as a prodigy now referred to him as something else.
A calamity in human form.
Aldous did not stop.
After eradicating the Blood Demon Sect, he issued challenges.
Formal duels.
Publicly.
He challenged sect leaders who had ruled for decades. Masters whose reputations were etched into Murim history.
Some refused.
Others accepted.
The first duel took place on a mountain plateau.
The Azure Sword Sect's rival Master arrived confident, his aura refined and deadly. He had reached ninety thousand internal energy, a threshold few could approach.
Aldous defeated him in three exchanges.
The second duel lasted longer.
Ten breaths.
The third lasted twenty.
Each time, Aldous restrained himself, testing technique rather than raw power. Each time, the result was undeniable.
His internal energy crossed a boundary no living martial artist his age had ever touched.
One hundred thousand.
The moment it happened, the world responded.
The sky darkened briefly. Wind surged outward. Even distant beasts fled as pressure rolled across the land.
Only Masters stood at that level.
And there were only ten.
Aldous became the eleventh.
His mana surged alongside it, his first magic circle glowing faintly beneath his skin as reserves climbed beyond reason.
One hundred thousand mana.
At that point, even the sect elders began to whisper.
God made flesh.
Aldous did not claim the title.
He did not need to.
When he walked through Murim, people bowed.
When he spoke, sect leaders listened.
When he challenged, no one laughed.
Yet in quiet moments, Aldous stood alone atop the balcony of his mansion, looking east.
He thought of his brother.
Aldrin.
"I hope you are alive," he murmured.
He remembered the smile Aldrin wore before the gods took them. Not bitterness. Not anger. Just quiet acceptance.
The world now called Aldous a monster.
A savior.
A divine blade.
But to Aldous, strength was not an end.
It was a responsibility.
And somewhere, he felt it.
A pull.
A sense that his brother's path was growing just as dangerous.
Just as significant.
Murim had acknowledged the Lightning Blade.
The world beyond Murim was next and Aldous was ready.