Outside Heaven mending Peak, over a dozen disciples gathered. At their head stood three: Zhao Xuhe, Fairy Qingchen, and the bitter old librarian, Wang Bairong. They were the only ones present with Mid-Stage Qi Refining cultivation.
Zhao Xuhe stepped forward, his voice carrying an air of gracious authority. "Honored juniors, thank you for answering my call." He offered a shallow bow to the assembly.
"To be frank," he continued, "I discovered a predecessor's cave dwelling outside the peak. Unfortunately, it is protected by a powerful formation I cannot breach alone."
Fairy Qingchen seamlessly took over, her voice a soothing chime. "That is why we've gathered you all. Combine our strength, break the formation, and share the treasures within. Senior Brother Zhao is a member of the Three Rivers Society—his reputation for fairness is known to all. No one will leave empty-handed."
Their performance was flawless. With Wang Bairong adding his weary credibility, the scattered group of disciples quickly coalesced into a determined unit.
Together, they flew into the endless expanse of the "Sea of Clouds Connecting to Heaven." After a quarter-hour of flight, Zhao Xuhe halted.
"This is the place."
With a wave of his hand, his Qi parted the rolling mists, revealing a magnificent, dragon-coiled mountain peak suspended in the void.
"Panlong Isle," Zhao Xuhe announced. "Once the cave abode of the sect's True Disciple, Panlong Zhenren. The guardian formation was a Foundation Establishment-grade array, but the earth veins that powered it have dried up over the centuries. Its power is now less than a tenth."
"Follow me, and let us break it together."
He led the way inside. The others, eyes gleaming with anticipation, followed.
A moment later, a lone figure materialized from the clouds nearby.
Lü Yang.
He observed Panlong Isle below but made no move to enter. Instead, he retrieved four black banners from his storage pouch and began methodically placing them in the surrounding sky.
The debt deadline approaches. This life doesn't have much time left anyway.
Why not go for a big score?
His mind worked coldly. He didn't believe in altruism within the Demonic Sect. Zhao Xuhe's "group exploration" was a trap—he was sure of it.
But a dozen-plus disciples, including the crafty Wang Bairong, were not easy prey. Even if Zhao Xuhe succeeded, he'd be wounded, drained. The perfect moment for an ambush.
Why risk the maze inside when I can wait at the exit?
For this plan, he'd spent his last 100 Contribution Points on a Four Illusions Banners set. The formation lacked offensive power but excelled at confusion and containment, trapping anyone within a maze of misdirection.
Now, patience. The hunter's greatest virtue.
Lü Yang settled into concealment, his gaze fixed on the island's entrance.
Inside Panlong Isle, the trap was sprung.
The scene had transformed from cooperation to slaughter. The disciples who had flown in together were now scattered, fighting for their lives as streaks of crimson light harvested them. The air reeked of blood and iron.
"ZHAO XUHE! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!"
"Kill us, and the sect's life-lamps will expose you!"
Their screams and curses were met with cold indifference. Zhao Xuhe and Fairy Qingchen stood apart, watching the massacre. All pretense of civility was gone, replaced by arrogant, sinister satisfaction.
"Struggling is pointless," Zhao Xuhe sneered, his voice icy. "This place was prepared for you. This Blood Demon Soul-Severing Blade cost me 3,000 points. None of you are leaving Panlong Isle alive!"
Another flash of crimson. Another disciple fell, his body desiccated in an instant, his essence absorbed by the vicious flying dagger.
"YOU DEMON!" The only real resistance came from Wang Bairong, but Zhao Xuhe toyed with him, wearing down his energy and spirit.
"You really thought you could take my spirit stones and live?" Zhao Xuhe mocked. "I bought all your Substitute Puppets for this. Now, with them gone, you're just a brittle old man. After I kill you, I reclaim the points I paid. A net gain of puppets for free. I should be thanking you!"
Enraged, Wang Bairong faltered. In that instant, the blood-red blade shot forth, piercing his chest. With a final look of profound resentment, the old librarian collapsed, his life force devoured.
Silence fell, punctuated only by the last gurgling breaths.
"Congratulations, Senior Brother." Fairy Qingchen approached, wiping a sheen of sweat from her brow. Maintaining the blade's slaughter had drained her as well.
"My thanks, Junior Sister." Zhao Xuhe sheathed the now-sated, glowing dagger. "With this nourishment, can it break that restriction?"
Qingchen examined it, her delicate brow furrowing. "It seems... still slightly short."
Shink.
The sound was soft, wet.
Qingchen's eyes widened. She looked down at the Blood Demon Blade now buried in her abdomen. Confusion, then horror, flashed across her face before it, too, was wiped blank, her body shriveling to a husk.
Zhao Xuhe pulled the blade free, now pulsing with even more potent power. "It should be enough now."
He proceeded to a sealed stone chamber deep within the isle. Without ceremony, he raised the blood-fed blade and slashed.
BOOM!
The door shattered. Inside rested a single jade case.
Hands trembling with avarice, Zhao Xuhe opened it. Inside lay two ancient manuals.
"Nine Transformations Dragon Art"
"Precious Tome of the Myriad Dragon Ascension"
A third-grade true inheritance! A path straight to the Golden Core Realm!
"Master didn't lie..." Zhao Xuhe whispered, ecstatic. "Three lifetimes of diligent service to Panlong Zhenren, accumulating merit... this inheritance is my destined reward! With this, I can refine True Dragon Qi, build the Myriad Dragon Dao Foundation, achieve true reincarnation... The Golden Core path is now clear!"
Greed overpowering caution, he stowed the priceless manuals. I must return immediately, disperse my current cultivation, and begin anew!
He soared from Panlong Isle on a beam of escape light, his mind already in his future seclusion chamber.
His flight lasted one second.
"Who's there?!" He jerked to a halt, senses screaming.
There was no answer.
Only a sword-light—magnificent, silent, and faster than thought—already at his throat, its killing intent freezing the very air.
The Oriole had struck.