“Soul Devouring Saber Art, Final Form: Unity.”

The words left Han Lie’s lips like a sigh. He didn’t shout. He didn’t posture. He simply let the Crimson Oath fall.

Hum.

The world seemed to hold its breath. A hum, pure and terrifying, resonated from the blade. The Pure Yang spiritual power that had been coiling around the steel didn’t explode—it coalesced. It became a single, solid line of blinding crimson light, detaching from the saber and slicing through the air.

It met the Nether Sect’s beam of annihilation head-on.

The crowd braced for a shockwave. They expected a cataclysm, a deafening roar of colliding energies.

They got silence.

There was no explosion. The crimson line met the black beam and didn’t even slow down. It was like a hot knife through butter, slicing the chaotic energy of the formation in half. The beam split, fizzled, and dissolved into harmless motes of light.

The red line continued.

Snick.

The triangular barrier of the Nether Spirit-Extinguishing Array fell apart like a house of cards in a hurricane.

“Pfft!”

Zheng Feng and his two fellow elders stiffened. In perfect unison, they vomited blood, the red spray stark against the grey rock. Their faces went from flushed with exertion to the color of old ash. Their auras collapsed.

“Impossible…” Zheng Feng clutched his chest, staggering. “We… we used the formation…”

The onlookers stared, mouths agape. Three Peak Golden Core experts, fortified by a sect-guarding array, defeated in a single stroke?

Han Lie didn’t offer an explanation. He didn’t offer mercy.

“The gap between peers,” Han Lie said, his voice cold and indifferent, “is an ocean you will never cross.”

He moved.

Crimson Oath flashed. A simple horizontal slash.

Three heads left three shoulders.

The blade drank greedily. As the blood sprayed, the saber hummed with a dark, euphoric resonance. It wasn’t just taking life; it was devouring their Hun and Po, stripping their souls to fuel its own evolution.

The red steel darkened, taking on the deep, rich hue of coagulated blood.

It’s close, Han Lie thought, feeling the weapon’s delight vibrate through his arm. A few more souls, and it will ascend to Heaven Rank.

He flicked the blood from the blade and turned to the crowd. His eyes were sharp, predatory.

“Now,” he said, his voice rolling over the terrified silence. “The Heavenly Void Sect takes two spots.”

He paused, letting the weight of his kill settle on them.

“Who approves? Who opposes?”

The crowd shuffled back. This wasn’t just a cultivator; this was a monster in human skin. He killed without hesitation, without remorse. He was a true son of the Demonic Path.

“Hehe. I oppose.”

The voice was light, almost bored.

The crowd parted. Zhao Batian stood there, his hands still tucked in his sleeves, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“It’s Zhao Batian!” someone whispered. “The Sun Moon Sect and Heavenly Void Sect are finally clashing!”

Han Lie turned slowly, his expression unchanging.

“I wondered who it was,” Han Lie said, a mocking lilt in his voice. “It turns out to be a former loser.”

Zhao Batian’s smile didn’t waver, but his eyes hardened. “You seem pleased with yourself, Han Lie. But do not mistake my past mercy for weakness. I told you, next time, I would not lose.”

He stepped forward, his aura flaring. “And today… since you didn’t bring a Nascent Soul elder to hide behind, I won’t waste my time.”

He gestured. Behind him, the disguised Li Qingyu stepped forward. The suppression on her aura vanished, revealing the terrifying, suffocating pressure of a true Nascent Soul expert.

“Last time, someone saved you,” Li Qingyu rasped, her voice like grinding stones. “Let us see who saves you today.”

She raised a hand, preparing to crush Han Lie like an insect.

“Hehe…”

A dry, weathered laugh cut through the tension.

“Fairy Li,” a voice interjected smoothly. “How about this poor Daoist accompanies you for a few moves?”

An elderly man stepped out from the Myriad Sword Pavilion’s group. It was the sleeping dragon Xiao Yuruo had brought. Elder Huang Hai.

Li Qingyu froze. Her gaze snapped to the old man.

“Old Thief Huang,” she spat. “This is between the Sun Moon Sect and the Heavenly Void Sect. What business is it of the Myriad Sword Pavilion?”

“None, really,” Huang Hai said, stroking his beard slowly. “I simply cannot abide bullying.”

“Hypocrite!” Li Qingyu sneered. “You righteous sects preach about destroying demons, yet here you are, protecting a demonic cultivator? If word gets out, your reputation will be in tatters!”

“Scaring me with reputation?” Huang Hai chuckled, shaking his head. “I am old, Fairy Li. Such threats are wasted on me. If you have complaints… speak to our Young Pavilion Master.”

All eyes turned to Xiao Yuruo.

She stood calm and poised, her white veil fluttering in the mountain breeze. Her beauty was obscured, but her presence was undeniable.

“What is the meaning of this, Xiao Yuruo?” Zhao Batian demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “Have you forgotten your station? Or are your sect’s principles just empty words?”

Xiao Yuruo met his gaze. She didn’t flinch.

“Holy Son Zhao is lecturing me?” she asked, her tone cool and imperious. “Let me be clear.”

She stepped forward, aligning herself visually with Han Lie.

“I am not helping the Heavenly Void Sect,” she declared, her voice ringing clear. “I am helping Han Lie.”

She tilted her head slightly, a challenge in her eyes.

“Does that answer satisfy you?”