The sphere of condensed energy hovering above Han Lie was no mere fireball; it was a miniature star, a crucible of destruction that seared the retinas of the thousands watching from below. The heat distorted the air, turning the sky above Qingzhou City into a shimmering mirage of ruin.

Yun Xuanzi, stripped of his earlier arrogance, roared in desperation. He channeled every ounce of his cultivation into his massive axe. The spectral weapon swelled, vast enough to cleave mountains.

“Earth Cleave!”

BOOM!

The collision shook the heavens. The axe bit into the solar sphere, grinding against the volatile energies. Yun Xuanzi’s teeth cracked from the strain, veins bulging on his forehead as he poured his life force into the strike. Slowly, agonizingly, the axe began to push the sun back. A flicker of hope ignited in his eyes—he was winning.

But the triumph died in his throat.

Through the blinding radiance, a figure emerged, untouched by the inferno. Han Lie stepped through the flames, the Crimson Oath blade in his hand pulsing with a malevolent, bloody light. His expression was bored, his eyes cold pools of ancient cynicism.

“Five moves?” Han Lie’s voice cut through the roar of magic, calm and mocking. “Why would I need five moves to kill trash like you?”

He raised the blade. Shadows seemed to weep from the steel.

“Soul Hook.”

Thrum.

There was no grand explosion, only a soft, sickening vibration that bypassed the physical defenses and struck directly at the essence. A crimson flash dissected the air.

Yun Xuanzi froze. The massive spectral axe disintegrated into motes of light. He looked down, confusion clouding his gaze, to find a thin red line traversing his chest.

Then came the sound—wet, squelching, like a thousand leeches feeding at once.

“Urgh… Ah…!”

The Crimson Oath flared, turning into a vortex of hunger. Yun Xuanzi shrieked as his blood, his qi, and his very vitality were forcibly ripped from his veins and siphoned into the blade. Visible ripples of red energy flowed from him to Han Lie.

In seconds, the Golden Core Perfection cultivator—a man who had stood atop the hierarchy of the region—withered. His skin grayed and tightened against his skull. His eyes turned into sunken pits. The scream died into a dry rattle, and then, a desiccated husk tumbled from the sky, hitting the devastatingly scarred earth with the hollow thud of dry wood.

Silence.

It was absolute. The wind ceased; the screams of the city vanished. Millions of eyes stared upward, unable to process the reality. A Late Golden Core cultivator had just butchered a Perfection stage expert as easily as snapping a twig.

Then, the roar of the crowd erupted, a chaotic mix of awe and terror.

Crack.

The celebration died instantly.

High above, the fabric of space shattered. It didn’t tear; it broke like a mirror struck by a hammer. Shards of reality fell away, dissolving into the void, revealing a darkness that breathed pure, suffocating dread.

Han Lie’s instincts screamed. The hairs on his arms stood up, and a chill that had nothing to do with temperature pierced his marrow. Nascent Soul.

From the fractured void, a leg stepped out, clad in fine silk.

A woman emerged. She was a vision of lethal beauty—silver hair cascading down her back, a face that retained a youthful, almost innocent plumpness, and lips painted a deep, poisonous purple. She wore a form-fitting cheongsam that hugged dangerous curves, yet not a single soul in the city dared to look at her with lust. To look was to court death.

The pressure she exuded was physical. It felt as if the sky had lowered, pressing the air out of everyone’s lungs.

Li Qingyu. The Sun Moon Sect’s “Old Monster.”

Her gaze swept over the ruins of the battlefield and locked onto Han Lie. The weight of her attention was like a mountain descending on his shoulders.

“You,” she said, her voice melodic yet carrying the sharpness of thorns. “Are you the Heavenly Void Sect’s Han Lie?”

Han Lie’s expression didn’t flicker. He sheathed his blade, his posture relaxing into feigned confusion.

“No,” Han Lie said flatly. “You have the wrong person, Senior. Goodbye.”

He turned to leave. A wise man doesn’t fight a losing battle, he thought. Especially not against a Nascent Soul monster.

“Heh.” Li Qingyu laughed, a sound like silver bells chiming in a graveyard. “You killed fifty-three of my disciples. You were quite arrogant then. Why so shy now?”

Han Lie stopped. There was no running.

“I’m here to collect a debt,” Li Qingyu murmured. She didn’t shout; she didn’t need to. “For the dead.”

She raised a single, manicured hand and clenched her fist.

Bang!

Han Lie froze. Invisible chains bound him—not chains of iron, but of his own biology. His blood stopped flowing. It thickened, roiled, and disobeyed the commands of his heart. He couldn’t move a finger.

“Damn it,” Han Lie cursed internally. He pushed his spiritual energy to break the hold, but against the ocean of her power, his resistance was a pebble thrown into a tsunami.

“Still struggling?” Li Qingyu’s eyes flashed crimson. She squeezed her hand tighter.

Inside Han Lie, his blood began to boil. It expanded, threatening to burst through his veins and explode out of his pores. Veins bulged on his neck and forehead, turning into distinct, throbbing ropes.

Pure Yang Sacred Body!

Han Lie mentally roared, igniting the solar fire within his core. The golden energy flooded his meridians, forming a burning barrier that suppressed the mutinous blood. The expansion halted, but the pressure remained, locking him in a stalemate of agony.

“Oh?” Li Qingyu tilted her head, genuine curiosity lighting up her features. “Interesting. You have secrets hidden in that body of yours.”

She took a step. Space folded beneath her foot. In a blink, the hundreds of meters between them vanished, and she stood directly in front of him.

The scent of orchids and old blood filled Han Lie’s nose. She was close enough to kiss, her presence overwhelming.

“But in the face of absolute power,” she whispered, leaning in, “tricks are meaningless.”

She raised her hand. Her fingernails elongated, turning into ten-centimeter daggers of hardened qi. She tapped his chest, right over his heart.

“Don’t be afraid, Little Brother,” she purred, her smile terrifyingly sweet. “Big Sister just wants to have a… heart-to-heart talk.”

She thrust her hand forward, aiming to rip the organ from his chest.

Han Lie couldn’t dodge.

Smack.

A jade-white hand materialized from the empty air beside Han Lie, catching Li Qingyu’s wrist in an iron grip.

The momentum halted instantly. The lethal fingernails stopped an inch from Han Lie’s robes.

“If you wish to talk,” a majestic, icy voice resonated from the void, carrying an authority that made the world tremble, “you can talk to me.”

Space rippled, and a figure in white stepped out, shielding Han Lie.

Ye Qingxuan, the Sect Leader of the Heavenly Void Sect, had arrived.