Rain drifted across the mountain, a cold, gray veil over the slaughter.

“Senior Brother Lu… so it really is you.”

Zhao Feng stared at the black-robed cultivator standing before him. The man’s face was shrouded in shadows, indistinguishable, but Zhao Feng’s eyes held a complex mix of recognition and sorrow.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

The black-robed figure tilted his head back slightly, then lowered it to meet Zhao Feng’s gaze. He laughed, the sound relaxed, almost casual.

“Heh! I knew I couldn’t hide anything from your Clear Sword Heart. I even left false trails within the Sect specifically to mislead your intuition.”

“But… you’ve improved quite a bit these past few days, Junior Brother.”

“The clues you left were very effective,” Zhao Feng replied, his voice steady. “I truly believed it was someone within the Sect plotting against you. That is why I never dared to approach your family, for fear of alerting the enemy. I never expected…”

Zhao Feng paused, his grip tightening on his sword. “But why do you still hide your face from me?”

Silence descended again. The black-robed cultivator took a deep breath, the air hissing through his teeth, but he did not answer.

Zhao Feng did not press him. Instead, his tone shifted, becoming conversational, as if they were two old friends catching up over tea rather than standing amidst corpses.

“Speaking of the past… Elder Qin eventually took me as his disciple. I learned a great deal from him.”

“Him? Hah!” The black-robed figure scoffed. “Then it seems I did save you after all. That old bastard is finally dead, I hope?”

The man chuckled warmly, spreading his hands in a welcoming gesture. “Since the old man is gone, Junior Brother, why not come with me? Your Senior Brother is now the most clear-sighted figure beneath the Elders in the Heavenly Gate Sect. If you join me, I have the power to protect you.”

“Protect me like before?” Zhao Feng interjected, his voice dropping to a glacial chill.

“Of course!” The answer came without hesitation. “You will always be my Junior Brother!”

Zhao Feng fell silent. For a fleeting moment, his stern features softened, as if he were looking back at a warmer, brighter time. But the moment passed, and he slowly shook his head.

“Unfortunately… from the moment you faked your death to abandon the Sect—from the moment you chose to deceive even me—that path was closed.”

The black-robed cultivator said nothing. After a long while, he exhaled a long, weary breath, his relaxed demeanor returning.

“I knew you wouldn’t agree. You always were too attached to the Sect… Heh! I truly cannot understand it. We are cultivators! We seek the Dao of Longevity! With my aptitude, reaching the perfection of Qi Refining in the Eastern Sage Sect was my absolute limit. But here? In the Heavenly Gate Sect?”

His voice rose, trembling with fanaticism. “I established my Foundation overnight! The Golden Core is within my grasp! I can even briefly control the ‘Blood Bone Holy Venerable’!”

“That is a Nascent Soul entity!”

“Junior Brother, tell me! Is the Sect really that important?”

Hearing the desperation in the black-robed man’s voice, Zhao Feng laughed for the first time. It was a bleak, hollow sound.

“Senior Brother… if a man abandons his bottom line for the sake of longevity… what is the difference between you and those mindless human puppets?”

Zhao Feng’s aura suddenly sharpened, his intent focusing into a singular point.

“Moreover… my Dao has never been about living forever!”

He spoke no more. He gently grasped the hilt of his second-grade magical sword and slashed out.

Shing!

A cascade of sword radiance erupted, eclipsing the heavens and swallowing the rain.

“We have been brothers for so many years… must it end like this?”

Even as the killing blow approached, the black-robed cultivator couldn’t help but ask.

The only answer was a sword strike of even greater violence.

The black-robed cultivator finally stopped holding back. His expression hardened, and instantly, countless mysterious white bones surged from his palms like a horrific tide…

A long time passed. The rain continued to fall.

“Senior Brother… can I ask one last favor?”

“What is it?”

“Give them a way out.”

“…Alright. I promise you. Go in peace.”

Clang.

The broken remnants of a second-grade sword fell into the mud, splashing rainwater. The shards reflected the face of its owner, now still.

The black-robed cultivator looked down at his sleeve. A neat section of the fabric had been sliced away.

“Your talent… it is still so enviable. So jealousy-inducing…”

“How could I dare to let you live?”

He sighed, a sound full of regret and relief.

Then, without a shred of lingering attachment, he stepped over the body and walked toward the iron cage artifact. He paused slightly, turning his head to the Heavenly Gate disciples waiting behind him.

“When the Spiritual Power of this cage dissipates…”

His voice was low, indifferent.

“Anyone with Low Grade Spiritual Roots or better… anyone at the Sixth Layer of Qi Refining or higher… Kill them all.”

He strode away without looking back.

Behind him, the red-and-black robed cultivators exchanged glances and nodded silently.

Wang Ba didn’t know when he had fallen asleep.

Perhaps the air inside the cage was too stifling, or perhaps the night of terror had simply drained him dry. Or maybe it was some suppressive effect of the artifact itself.

Regardless, when he woke, he found the other cultivators in the cage were also rousing from a heavy, groggy slumber.

His mind snapped back to reality. Senior Brother Zhao!

He instinctively touched the spot on his shoulder where Zhao Feng had patted him earlier. His heart raced. There was no time to investigate the sensation now. He scrambled to the edge of the cage and tried to push aside the heavy black curtain that draped over the bars.

To his surprise, the curtain moved.

A sliver of gray light pierced the darkness.

The sudden brightness startled the other prisoners. They scrambled up in a panic, blinking against the glare.

“We’re not dead?”

“We’re alive!”

“Did the Sect Leader come back? Did they save us?”

Whispers of desperate hope rippled through the crowd.

But their relief was short-lived. From outside the cage came the sound of heavy footsteps and low, unintelligible commands.

Whoosh!

The black curtain was abruptly ripped away. Dazzling, harsh sunlight poured in, blinding them for a moment.

But they were cultivators, after all; their eyes adjusted quickly. What they saw froze the blood in their veins. Surrounding the cage stood rows of cultivators in the crimson and black robes of the Heavenly Gate Sect.

One of the dark cultivators chanted a harsh incantation. The iron cage shuddered, then flew upward, shrinking rapidly until it was retrieved by its owner.

“This… are they letting us go?” someone whispered, voice trembling.

“All of you, over here! Line up, single file!” A dark-faced cultivator, radiating the dense pressure of heavy Spiritual Power, snorted coldly. “If anyone dares to act rashly, I will execute them on the spot!”

If these Eastern Sage Sect disciples had any fight left in them last night, the long night of terror had extinguished it. Their spirit was broken. Like sheep, they obediently shuffled into a line.

One by one, ‘Magic Restraining Shackles’ were clamped onto their wrists, instantly severing their connection to their spiritual energy. They were now no stronger than mortals.

The dark-faced cultivator produced a Talisman and began testing them, moving down the line with efficient brutality.

He pressed the Talisman against the first disciple. It glowed brightly.

“Oho? The first one is a Dual Spiritual Root!”

The dark-faced cultivator’s grim expression cracked into a wide smile.

The disciple, sensing a chance at life, immediately adopted a servile, ingratiating expression. “Yes, yes! Fellow Daoist, is your noble Sect recruiting disciples? I am willing to join the Heavenly Gate Sect! I… I also have some hidden savings, cultivation resources I can offer to you as a tribute!”

The dark-faced cultivator looked at him with a beaming smile, then meaningfuly glanced at his subordinate.

The subordinate grinned, grabbed the disciple’s arm, and led him away toward the rear of the camp. “Come with me, brother. You have a bright future.”

Seeing this, the remaining prisoners felt a surge of adrenaline. The despair in their eyes was replaced by a burning glimmer of hope.

Those who knew they had good aptitude stood taller, filled with confidence.

The Eastern Sage Sect was dead. The higher-ups had used them as bait and fled. Loyalty was a joke. Now, it was every man for himself. Joining a major power like the Heavenly Gate Sect—even if they were demonic cultivators—was a stroke of fortune amidst disaster.

Many rubbed their hands together, eager to be tested.

Only Wang Ba’s expression was ugly.

Damn it! Since when does a demonic sect like the Heavenly Gate care about aptitude? he thought bitterly. I’m finished.

The line moved quickly. Cultivators with high talent were led away with smiles and congratulations. A few disciples with poor aptitude and low cultivation bases were shoved to the side, left standing in the mud.

The ‘rejected’ group looked on with envy as their talented peers were escorted to safety. The Eastern Sage disciples waiting in line cast sympathetic glances at the rejects. Poor bastards, their eyes seemed to say. Useless to the very end.

When the Talisman was pressed against Wang Ba, the light was dim and pathetic.

The surrounding cultivators looked at him with profound pity.

“Four Spiritual Roots… such trash aptitude. The Heavenly Gate Sect won’t even look at him.”

“Sigh. It can only be said that this is his fate.”

Wang Ba’s heart sank. He was going to die because he was too weak.

Just as despair threatened to overwhelm him, a voice full of surprise rang out from the crowd of demonic cultivators.

“Haha! Brother Wang! You really are still alive!”