Grumble...
The dark clouds gathering in the sky roared.
'Looks like it's going to rain soon...'
He suddenly felt the urge to pee. Was it due to old age that he was emptying his bladder more frequently these days?
He sighed and looked around. The surroundings were empty, populated only by dead bodies.
He slowly loosened his trousers and began to unleash the beast. He dared not look down; otherwise, he'd start thinking about things he shouldn't.
"Aahhh..." A satisfying sigh unintentionally escaped his lips.
At that exact moment—
'Fuck!'
Fwishhhhh!
A slash made of razor-thin Qi came flying right at him. He jumped back instantly.
The slash struck the ground, carving a dangerously deep, narrow fissure right where he had just been standing.
"Bastard! Are you trying to cut it off?!" His furious gaze locked onto the very person who had just tried to turn him into a eunuch.
The newcomer wore a white martial attire tainted with blood. His face was handsome and near-perfect, his blue eyes serene yet terrifyingly cold. A symbol was embroidered on the right side of his chest: the crest of the Orthodox Martial Alliance.
He was none other than the successor to the Orthodox Martial Alliance Leader.
His presence was as vast as the blue sky, but heavy enough to make an ordinary man tremble in absolute fear. In one hand, he held the legendary White Dragon Sword. His other hand was dragging a brutally beaten-up man by the collar, whom he casually tossed aside into the mud to focus on his target.
"Seeing the White Dragon Sword in your hand must mean you've become the new leader of the Orthodox Alliance," he observed calmly, pulling his trousers back up. "I never knew you'd use such a good sword to try and cut my thing off..."
"Shut up, you old bastard. I aimed for your neck," the Young Leader replied, his voice vibrating with a barely contained, burning hatred.
"Truly marvelous. To think you can lie so blatantly. The Orthodox Martial Alliance has clearly fallen into the hands of someone truly capable. The Old Leader must be very proud."
The Young Leader's pristine face instantly twisted in rage. "Don't you dare bring my father's name into your filthy mouth!"
The Young Leader didn't bother to hide his malicious intent at all. Anyone who knew the warriors of the Orthodox Alliance understood they never blatantly released their killing intent even in front of an enemy. They always tried to uphold their dignity and grace.
But this time, it was different.
The man standing in front of the Young Leader wasn't just some common villain. He was the greatest public enemy of the entire martial world: the Mad-Blood Demon. The very monster who had butchered the Young Leader's father—the previous leader of the Orthodox Martial Alliance—along with the head of the Unorthodox Faction, the elite warriors of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult, and countless other powerful masters.
"....."
"You know, I never wanted to kill your father," the man sighed, scratching his head.
"I never even wanted to see that man's face. One day he came into the tavern I was working at, and screamed about killing me for the sake of the greater good. I understand the hate your father had against me. But you know what he shouldn't have done? Slaughtered all the innocent people in that tavern in the name of justice."
"Nonsense! You demon bastard, you dare try to blatantly lie right to my face?!"
Looking at the Young Leader, the man could only sigh again. What could he even do? To this kid, the Alliance Leader was a flawless role model. Why would he ever believe the words of a so-called 'Demon'?
But whatever he said was the truth. That day, the Righteous Faction Leader had mercilessly slaughtered all the civilians in the tavern just because they happened to be standing near him.
The previous Alliance Leader had been nothing more than a hollow shell of a man. He saw the world entirely in black and white, and worse, he couldn't distinguish between his self-righteous ideals and the bloody reality he was creating.
Suddenly, a wet cough broke the silence.
The beaten-up man the Young Leader had dragged in finally woke up. His entire body was covered in sword slashes. He looked up at the old man standing before him.
"S-Supreme Leader..." the man uttered, a delirious, weak smile spreading across his bloody face.
The title quickly caught his attention.
'Supreme Leader?! Has that bastard finally shown up?'
How could he even begin to describe the sheer trouble and pain he had endured because of that specific fucker? He was a million times worse than the bald Black Fiend.
The 'Supreme Leader' was the unseen mastermind who started the largest war in the history of the world. Countless people had died, and many great martial masters were butchered by his fanatic subordinates like it was nothing. For some completely inexplicable reason, everyone in the world believed that he, the Mad-Blood Demon, was this 'Supreme Leader.' The Orthodox Faction, the Unorthodox Faction, and even the rogue demonic cult fanatics all believed it.
He was just lucky the Heavenly Demon hadn't taken personal action yet.
'I'm finally meeting you...' He slowly turned around. Strangely, he couldn't sense any presence behind him, which was terrifying considering the level of his own martial arts.
His heart pounded relentlessly. Tension filled his lungs. His head turned at an incredibly slow pace. He wondered what emotions he'd feel looking at the bastard who ruined his quiet life.
Anger? Fear?
He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and saw—
Nothing.
"What?" His mouth moved on its own. He looked back down at the injured fanatic in the mud. "What? Where is he? Are you playing with me, you scum?"
"A-As expected of you, Supreme Leader," the fanatic wheezed. "Even when your loyal subordinate is brutally beaten by this righteous scum, you pretend not to know me... Oh my, how wonderfully heartless." The fanatic's voice was mixed with bizarre pleasure, as if he enjoyed being treated like trash.
"But don't worry, Master. We made sure to kill all the major masters that could become a threat to you. All you have to do now is kill the Leaders of all the Factions and claim the throne of the Central Plains."
He pointed a finger at his own chest. "What? Me? You mean ME?!"
The fanatic smiled a bloody, toothless grin and passed out.
The Young Leader let out a cold, bitter laugh at this pathetic scene. "There is no need to pretend anymore, demon! Today, I shall avenge all my fallen comrades and my dear father, who sacrificed himself for the greater good!"
"WHAT? No, absolutely not! There is a massive misunderstanding here! I don't even know this guy!"
The Young Leader grew even more furious at his desperate denial. "At least have some shame, you bastard! You are scum, but you should not fall this low!"
"I seriously don't know him! And shut the fuck up! You and your father never stop giving lectures about what's right and wrong!"
"Enough!" The Young Leader shouted. His body released an immense amount of Internal Energy. The White Dragon Sword reacted to his fury, vibrating violently in his hand.
"What the actual fuck is going on...?" the man asked himself for the 187th time since his birth. This question had haunted his entire life.
But he couldn't do anything about it now. The young man in front of him had absolutely no intention of listening.
Before the Young Leader could launch himself forward, the sound of squelching mud echoed through the fog. It wasn't just one set of footsteps. It was dozens. Then hundreds.
Through the heavy mist and the stench of blood, silhouettes began to emerge. Monks gripping prayer beads with white knuckles. Swordsmen from the Mount Hua Sect. Assassins from the Unorthodox factions. Men and women from the most famous sects in the Central Plains, all encircling him like a tightening noose.
Their eyes were identical: bloodshot, burning with grief, and locked squarely on him.
The man clicked his tongue.
One of the men stepped forward from the crowd. "Young Leader, forgive us. But it's time to put our pride aside and join hands with the Unorthodox Alliance. They have suffered similarly to us. To bring this human scum down, we must join forces."
The speaker was none other than the Sect Leader of Mount Hua, the closest friend to the previous Alliance Leader.
"...Uncle." A soft voice escaped the Young Leader's lips.
He had always looked down on the Unorthodox Faction bastards. But deep down, he knew that to bring down this monster, he had to ally with them. He swallowed his pride, grateful that his uncle had been the one to initiate the unthinkable alliance.
"Bastard, we'll never forgive you for killing our Faction Leader!" an Unorthodox warrior roared.
"Yeah! Kill him! Kill him!"
Shouts of pure hatred spread across the battlefield. Every single person present was ready to die to see him fall.
"No! Let's talk this out! This is a super grand-level misunderstanding!" the man pleaded.
In response, the hundreds of martial artists simultaneously released their killing intent. The sheer pressure caused the surrounding air to warp and the ground to vibrate. They all drew their weapons. The Young Leader raised his vibrating sword, ready to strike.
'These muscleheads never listen...' The man let out a long, exhausted sigh. He cracked his neck, the sound echoing like a dry branch snapping.
If they wanted to throw away their lives over a misunderstanding, he was more than happy to oblige.
He lowered his stance.
"!"
Then, the world froze.
It wasn't a metaphor. The vibrating earth went dead silent. The swirling Qi of the hundreds of masters flickered and died out like candles caught in a hurricane. A suffocating, absolute zero chill swept over the battlefield, pressing down on everyone's lungs until they forgot how to breathe.
Step.
The sound of a single footstep rang out unnaturally loud.
The raging crowd of Orthodox and Unorthodox warriors suddenly parted, stepping aside in terrified, synchronized silence. No one dared to raise their heads. They stared at the bloody mud, their bodies trembling uncontrollably.
From the parted sea of warriors walked a single figure.
Step.
He was dressed in elegant, flowing black martial attire that seemed to absorb the ambient light. A simple silver hairpin held up his dark hair. His face was hauntingly pale, possessing an aristocratic, deathly stillness.
But it was his eyes that commanded the absolute terror of the battlefield. They weren't just dark; they were hollow voids. Abysses that sucked in all light, all hope, and all sound.
The Heavenly Demon had arrived.