Bai Ling was a ragdoll tossed by a hurricane.

She tore through the dense canopy, her body snapping ancient timber like dry twigs. For miles, the forest shattered in her wake until she finally slammed into the trunk of a massive sequoia, embedding herself deep within the splintered wood.

Boom!

Thunder detonated directly above her. Zhao Batian descended from the heavens, a bolt of living lightning crashing into the earth.

Bai Ling’s face was the color of ash, blood staining her lips a shocking crimson. Her limbs refused to obey; the residual electricity from his strike had locked her nervous system in agonizing paralysis.

It was a despairing gap. Facing Zhao Batian, a genius at the peak of the Golden Core, her late-stage cultivation was nothing more than a flicker of firefly light beneath the radiance of the bright moon.

Zhao Batian walked toward her, his silhouette expanding in her vision until he blotted out the sky.

“Bai Ling, little sister,” he said, his voice flat, carrying the weight of a judge passing sentence. “Do you have any idea the magnitude of the loss you’ve caused the Sect?”

He stopped a few paces away, lightning arching between his fingers.

“We failed to secure the Yin Yang Demonic Art. Because of you, Master was forced to wager away the Yin Yang Scripture. Even if you died a hundred times, it would not be enough to repay the debt.”

“Hahahaha!”

Bai Ling suddenly threw her head back. Her laughter was jagged, broken, yet filled with a terrifying sense of liberation.

“Good! You deserve it! Was I, Bai Ling, born into this world solely to be your puppet?”

She spat the blood from her mouth, her eyes burning with hatred.

“Did I ever receive a shred of dignity in the Sun Moon Sect? If you had treated me with even a fraction of humanity, I wouldn’t be where I am today. Heh… I can only say, you brought this upon yourselves!”

To Zhao Batian, her words were madness. But to Bai Ling, they were the absolute truth. Who would willingly remain a chess piece?

During her time undercover in the Heavenly Void Sect, the guilt and fear had nearly birthed an inner demon. It was Han Lie who had pulled her back from the brink.

He had saved her life when Ye Qingxuan would have executed her. He had maneuvered to rescue her parents and hundreds of her clansmen from the Sun Moon Sect’s clutches.

Han Lie had given her freedom. The Sun Moon Sect had given her a gilded cage.

Crackle!

Zhao Batian’s expression didn’t shift, but the lightning around him intensified, turning the air into a suffocating field of static.

“Done speaking? Then I’ll send you on your way.”

He raised a palm. Silver lightning coalesced into a blinding sphere of destruction, aimed directly at her heart.

Bai Ling’s pupils constricted. It looked like the reaper’s scythe, swinging down to harvest her soul. She closed her eyes.

Bang!

A cataclysmic explosion shook the forest.

But Bai Ling felt no pain.

She opened her eyes, confused. She hadn’t moved. Instead, it was Zhao Batian who had been blasted backward, skidding through the dirt.

A figure stood before her. He was not overly broad or imposing, yet his back seemed to block out the entire world, radiating a supreme sense of security.

“Brother… Lie?”

Bai Ling collapsed, weeping with relief. He had come. He had saved her again.

“You alive?” Han Lie asked, glancing over his shoulder with a calm indifference.

“I… yes…” Bai Ling lowered her head, shame mixing with her joy. She was a burden again.

“Then stay put. I’ll handle the trash.”

“O-okay.” She scrambled backward, giving him space.

Han Lie turned his gaze to Zhao Batian. The Holy Son was clutching his numb arm, his face twisted in a mask of dark fury.

“We meet again, Holy Son Zhao,” Han Lie said, his pitch-black eyes cold. “I really should have killed you last time. Leaving you alive nearly cost me my Sect’s Saintess. How would this senior explain that to the Sect Leader?”

“Heh.” Zhao Batian straightened, his aura flaring. “I thought you were going to play the turtle forever. Good. Today, we settle all debts, old and new.”

Han Lie raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely puzzled. “Old and new? Where does a defeated opponent find the confidence to speak of debts?”

The Crimson Oath materialized in Han Lie’s grip, its new blood-red runes pulsing hungrily.

“If I were you, I’d be praying that Li Qingyu is nearby to save you again,” Han Lie mocked. “Instead of standing here barking like a dog.”

“Last time was merely carelessness!” Zhao Batian roared, his composure cracking. “I told you, if we fought again, I would not lose!”

Zzzzzz—!

He screamed as his body began to contort. Hard, cyan dragon scales erupted from his skin, tearing through his robes.

His spine elongated, his muscles swelled with sickening pops, and jagged horns tore through his scalp. In moments, he grew to ten feet tall—a humanoid dragon standing like an iron tower, fierce and savage.

The pressure he exuded was heavy, physical, and suffocating. The Dragon Transformation Secret Art. He had pushed it to the absolute peak.

“The shame of the past shall be repaid today!”

With a roar that shook the leaves from the trees, Zhao Batian summoned the Silver Thunder Umbrella and hurled it.

Whoosh!

The weapon spun through the air, a drill of lightning tearing through the void toward Han Lie’s throat.

“You lack the qualification to collect from me.”

Han Lie didn’t move his feet. He simply flicked his wrist.

Clang!

The Crimson Oath batted the umbrella away as if it were a toy.

But the umbrella was a distraction. Following in its wake was Zhao Batian’s massive dragon claw, wreathed in enough lightning to melt steel, descending like a mountain.

Han Lie looked up. He didn’t dodge.

He slashed upward.

Hum!

The air screamed as the blade cut through it.

Zhao Batian had intended to catch the blade, just as he had done in their previous duel. He wanted to crush the weapon and humiliate Han Lie.

But as his claw neared the edge, a terrifyingly sharp will pierced his senses.

The blade… it was different.

It wasn’t just a weapon anymore; it was a predator.

Panic flared in Zhao Batian’s eyes. At the last microsecond, he abandoned the grab and slammed his palms together, trying to clamp the blade between them to stop its momentum.

Screech!

Sparks flew. Han Lie poured Pure Yang spiritual energy into the saber.

Zhao Batian’s massive, scaled arms began to tremble violently.

“What’s wrong, Holy Son?” Han Lie’s voice was a silky whisper amidst the roar of energy. “Why didn’t you catch this senior’s blade with your hand this time?”

In that instant, every hair on Zhao Batian’s body stood on end. The blade wasn’t stopping. It was cutting through his defense.

His eyes bulged in pure shock.

It… it upgraded?!